Alright. In hindsight, it may have been better to have just let bygones be bygones—not mention the untreated heart condition he suspected the lout to have, stolen his car keys and, far more importantly, the flash-drive in his pocket and called it a productive night. He probably shouldn’t have suggested that the bodyguard was having an affair with the man’s wife either. He had no basis of that knowledge, but he was…unimpressed with the dialogue exchange and felt like ruining a few lives would be pleasant. For him, anyway. Too much long term gratification, not enough immediate planning.
And then the standing and the swearing, spittle flying everywhere and of course, the shoving. He had no time to plant his feet, and doubted it would have made much of a difference. He stumbled back, tripping over his own shoes, landed heavily in a nearby booth. Right. Bottle of some expensive liquor or other to his left. A sigh, barely concealed. Addicts were such animals. He used to be one of them—dreadful. Disgusting. He considered his options, calculating. Smash the bottle on the table and jab into the eyes? Or smash the bottle over big-wig’s head and hope for a concussion? Not hard to aim for the temple. Eyes were more effective though, a far better target. He supposes he could kick out and break the nose. As it turned out, he didn’t have to because the booth’s patron is standing.
He, whoever he was, was quite frankly, huge. Easily over two hundred pounds, and even at a glance, this was a man who knew how to handle himself. Went straight for a pressure point—maximum pain, minimal force or exertion. Knew what he was doing, definitely. Interesting. Protective too, didn’t like authoritative figures. People pushing weaker people around. Eddie folded one long leg over the other, settling back against the bench to observe the rest of the scene. The finance…whoever he was—lab rat really, inconsequential—his employers were far more interesting…went staggering off. He suppressed a chuckle, rearranged his lapels.
When the man turned…His eyes. There was something wrong with them. Not heterochromia, no he had that himself. Iris implants, perhaps? Unlikely, hard to schedule and to justify. He felt like it was rude to stare and to ask fbgj he wanted to blurt out the question, regardless. He considered the volume of liquid missing from the bottle, decided to hold his tongue. The tone was friendly enough when he was spoken to, Eddie refrained from rolling his eyes.
“God, no.” Extremely evident disdain. “You couldn’t pay me to touch a hooker of his”
Blunt, as always. He supposed he could summon up a thank you, make it sound relatively genuine.
"Thankfully I’m not his waitress, and thank you…Jay, for your…intervention. Well timed.”
He’d avoided the main question, wondered if he ought to buy another bottle for his new acquaintance.
He wasn’t blind, and the stranger wasn’t subtle. He caught the lingering stare, knowing what had caught his attention. Jason’s eyes weren’t exactly normal, and they attracted attention. Very nearly luminescent, and a pale blue that seemed to glow with an electricity that came off as supernatural. Blame Talia, and her secrets about his resurrection.
“That’s probably best, man. She’s damaged goods."
He laughed, then swirled the remnants of his whiskey around his glass, looking down.
"You show a lot more restraint than most at a bar, friend. I’ve had people follow me to the bathroom just to ask about my eyes. Nice tact."
He was looking up now, drilling into the man’s own eyes, letting him see just what Jay was talking about.
"Don’t mention the rescue. I’ve wanted an excuse to hurt him for a while now. Drink?"
He lifted the bottle, tipping it to the stranger.
"And I need a name, pal. It’s that, or you get a new nickname.”
The smile showed it as a joke, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
and all of this will never be the same again 