londoncallingrpg

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OTA

It was like an itch you knew you weren't supposed to scratch. A lot of things had become clearer to Jag, about himself, since he'd watched Hex's videos, and somehow, the closer it came to the time Val would be back, the more Jag wanted to give in to his 'old' habits and do something really stupid. Start a bar in a fight with an arsehole or two, and get hurt.

It was as far from healthy as he could get, he realised, and that was why he hadn't started a bar fight in over a month now. He was in a bar right now, having a pint and trying to resist the desire to walk over to the bastards in the booth right behind him. Their racist, homophobic conversation wasn't making it easy on him. He was waiting for the misogyny to make an appearance, really. He'd barely touched his pint in the last ten minutes and was gnawing on his thumb's nail, feet propped on his bar stool, one leg bouncing.

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"Then why sit here? You're on edge, full of energy. You could channel that into something worthwhile," Crowley suggested. The bartender came to him and he ordered another pint, then turned to face Jag while he waited. He was dressed in a black suit with black shirt and red tie, his sunglasses on even in the dim light of the pub. His shoes were snakeskin.

"Yeah?" After taking another drink of beer, Jag tilted his head to the side to watch him, an amused challenge - amused, but lined with a definite need for pain. "And what would that be?"

"What would you truly like to do right now? You should do that," Crowley replied with a sly, oily smile.

"I'd really like to go punch that wanker," Jag glanced back at the table. "But then they'd just wipe the floor with my arse, and what would be the point?"

"Oh, go on. You're a bully fellow. I would wager you have a better chance than you think," he replied smoothly. He could make certain of that. "You're burning to do it. I can tell."

One eyebrow went up, then Coby gave a half shrug. "I'm all about 'you do you', but I don't know, dude. When that's what I'm after, I usually go better ways than some random bar fight."

"What's it to y..." Jag interrupted himself as he heard another raucous laughter from that table, and then a few disparaging words about a girl he knew nothing about, but he was certain did not deserve to be called that.

Jag blinked at Coby a few times, then took another drink before saying, "That was a joke." It was. And it kind of wasn't, but Coby certainly hadn't been supposed to pick up on that.

"Oh, I have no vested interest. I just think people should be a bit freer with indulging their urges," the demon replied. "And they're so rude. Go on...teach them a lesson, friend."

"Yeah. He said I might be able to join the crew. Boom operator or something," Danny nodded.

Felix really did not belong in a place like this, and certainly not in his designer suit, pink checked shirt, and silk scarf draped around his neck. He knew he stuck out like a handful of sore thumbs, but clearly, that was his goal. For some time now, he had been seated at the bar, drinking a succession of bourbons with water. Maybe he liked to stand out, but there was no reason to compound his effete appearance with an equally fruity drink.

It wasn't long before Felix had all he could stand of the group at the nearby table. He set down his drink, paid up his tab with a winning smile, and swung down off his stool to stride over to them.

He placed one slender tattooed hand on the table, cocked his hip, and leaned in. "Hello, darlings," Felix purred in his best posh tones. "I couldn't help hearing you all calling for me. The lavatory's just there; who'd like to go first?"

Coby took another drink, unbothered. It wasn't any of his business whether it was meant as a joke or not. It was all good. "Never said it wasn't. I'm just sayin', if I were looking for it, I wouldn't be picking fights."

Jag turned halfway round on his stool to frown over at the table, at the intrusion of that voice. The bloke sounded - and looked - way too posh (in an extravagant way, yeah) for Jag to like, but he did like the spirit of going over and getting nasty with those wankers.

Wankers who were apparently shocked speechless for a few seconds, before one of them - the loudest one - retorted, "Sod off, we're not poofs."

"You know what? I will," Jag retorted, for no real reason he could have pinpointed, if asked. He'd been fighting the urge for so long, however, and it felt good to finally give in, a sweet rush of yes, this feels right, no matter how wrong it actually was.

Walking over to that table and asking them whether they made such a thing out of hating poofs because they secretly wanted dick was enough for one of them to throw the first punch, and Jag fully expected to take a beating. There were three of them, after all, and one of them was big. But somehow, despite taking a few licks, they all ended up on the floor by the time the bartender managed to stop the fight.

Jag was breathing hard, his lip was split, and he could feel a bruise forming on his cheekbone. A few more parts of his anatomy hurt, where they'd landed punches, and he docilely let the bartender throw him out of the pub, grabbing his jacket on his way and frowning as he was pulled towards the exit, simply not understanding how he was the one still standing.

"Sounds better than working for that wanker," Jag stated, thinking back to the bartender.

"Yeah, that would be fucked up," Jag agreed, then dropped his gaze, and took a drink from his beer. Who had Coby said he knew, at the party? He couldn't remember.

"Really?" Felix asked in an entirely feigned shocked tone, making no move away. "For the last twenty minutes it's been nothing but 'faggot' this and that. I thought you were performing a mating call."

Jag couldn't help but laugh at that, and the loudest of them stood up suddenly, jerking his head in his direction. "You find that funny?"

"It really is," Jag confirmed with another chuckle. "As in, he's right."

Coby shrugged. Who was he to judge what was fucked up? But no sense beating a dead joke. "So. We're going to be trying out a couple of new songs tonight. You'll have to let me know what you think."

Felix glanced over his shoulder, straightening, pleased that he had at least one backer in the wings. He wasn't unaware that one of the men had risen, that this situation could quickly grow far more dangerous very soon. The rush vicious delight that Felix experienced while needling ignorant bigots transcended any fight or flight response. Win or lose, he'd provoked a reaction, and that was like a drug to him.

"Thank you," Felix said to the gentleman at the bar, giving him a gracious nod. Then he turned back to the table to explain, "You see, if I sat about loudly tossing 'chav twat' into every sentence I'd expect every one of you fellows to come running."

"Sure," Jag agreed easily, still feeling a little off balance but going ahead with the change of topic. "Full band, then?" He thought he remembered Coby telling him he sometimes performed on his own.

"Homophobic arseholes works just as well," Jag chimed in helpfully.

"You wanna go outside?" the leader asked Jag angrily. Apparently focusing on him was easier than dealing with the fabulousness of their original problem.

"He's alright really, honest. Just, you know- We're not that close. We used to go to the same clubs, then he- I dunno, got married, got a business," Danny shrugged and trailed off.

"Yeah. Me, Máire, Dave, and Brion. Started out as a one-off, me sitting in with them, but we clicked. Before we knew it, off and on became a regular thing. It happens that way sometimes. It's a good group, and we all still have our own things too." Coby didn't mind talking about the band, and hey, it was better than listening to the assholes and whatever they came up with next. "Keeps us on our toes, and the music fresh."

"If that's his pub, he's definitely a wanker," Jag stated with a frown. "He should've thrown out those guys two beers ago."

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