[OPEN] HERE IS SOMETHING YOU CAN'T UNDERSTAND:

[crystalmethod]

[open to all]

They call them pubs here. Trevor dislikes this. He refuses to use their slang, and he has already gotten into a verbal fight with someone over language. Of course, this was all incited by Trevor himself after some hapless bar patron decided to insinuate that "English" was better than "American." Or maybe he wasn't insinuating anything; Trevor just assumed he was. Or maybe the man just politely told Trevor to calm down. Trevor can't remember the reasoning anymore because it was a blur of rage.

He now can be found in the middle of a rant - one in a series of many - shouting out into the dingy pub and attempting to cause another scene, which for some reason hasn't gotten him kicked out yet.

"Lager is a fucking scourge. It's goat piss. It doesn't get the distinction of being bull piss, because that shit is strong. Which one of you pip-pip jerkoffs tried to buy the whole bar pints of lager? Is that how you show your affection, you sadist? I know you're still here! I'm gonna find your presumptuous hide and carve it right off!"



[closed to clara]

There is one ray of light in this shithole. An older woman who seems content to just watch him do his thing. He's caught her looking at him and, fearless, steps right on over and takes a seat right next to her. Leaning on the table, he turns on his "charm", which just consists of him lowering his voice and staring at her with an intensity that'd make most people uncomfortable.

"Now this is a fucking crime. Beautiful girl like yourself all alone, having to buy your own drinks. Here, lemme handle that." He takes out his wallet, picks through it and procures a-- £50 note. God dammit he hates pounds. Forgot he had some of his money converted the other day.

Comments

[crystalmethod]

"Ohhh ho ho. Yes, indeed, I shall go on," Trevor spits, mocking the way this asshole talks. And by going on, Trevor's going to walk right up to the man and yank his drink out of his hand, then toss it somewhere. Might crash into a head. Who knows.

"Sorry, hope that wasn't your fucking lager!"

[emotioneater]

There's a moment that passes by where Cooper just stares at the idiot who decided to decorate the floor with his drink. Then he hops off his stool and draws himself up to his full height....which doesn't really do much in the way of intimidation, seeing as how he's only 5'6". There's a glint in his eye that doesn't bode anything well for Trevor. There's still a smirk on his face as his voice goes soft and low.

"You've just given yourself two options, pal. You can buy a drink t'replace the one you just wasted or I can take it out of your hide. Your choice."

[crystalmethod]

Trevor is completely blind to the look. Part of him wants to crack up when the guy approaches, because he could probably use his head as a damn armrest if he wanted to.

"You're gonna... pull your next drink out of my ass? Okay. Give me one second. Just one second so I can muster up the perfect shit for you."

Staring at him, waiting for that first hit 'cause he's more than wanting to get into a fight tonight. Even if it's with someone vertically challenged.

[emotioneater]

"They never do take the first option," Cooper mutters to himself. Normally, he'd feel bad about getting into a fight with a normal human being when he's so clearly outmatched, but this guy is an asshole. Cooper's going to enjoy taking him down a few pegs.

His fist moves with blinding, unnatural speed and the crack it makes when it hits Trevor's jaw can be heard all over the bar. He actually pulls his punch a little at the last moment. A vampire of his strength can punch straight through a wooden door when he's of a mind to do so, and while this guy may have it coming to him, Cooper had no desire to leave a bloody hole where his head used to be.

[crystalmethod]

Trevor's just so pleased with himself and his incredibly clever comment about the drink and the shit, he doesn't see it coming. Not that he... would in the first place. It becomes painfully (literally) obvious that this short fuck is of the supernatural persuasion.

Trevor's essentially slammed to the floor, his entire face exploding from the punch to the jaw and-- is it broken? Ain't like he hasn't had one of those before. But no, he can move it, just-- maybe a molar's loose now. Ah well. Didn't like that one anyway.

He spits out blood, looks up at the-- short fuck-- again, squinting. Pointing.

"You-- think you're-- fuckin' better than me..." Yeah. He can really feel that whiskey now.

[emotioneater]

Cooper half-hopes Trevor will just decide to stay down once he hits the floor. But taking that course of action would require having more than the only two remaining brain cells rubbing together inside this gentleman's cranium. What a pity he's still able to talk. He should've punched him in the throat.

"Oh please. The arse end of a donkey is better than what you are." He follows that up with a kick to the ribs. Most of the patrons are watching the one-sided fight now. None seem inclined to intervene on Trevor's behalf.