Just as the title says, this was my attempt about the need to get a bit of the aggro out, and as someone had suggested a good fight was in order, I wanted to deliver. ^_^ However, talk shortly swung around to BoDs and whatnot so I decided to plunk this right here in the Academy. Yep. Knock yourselves out (literally), and have fun! >.>}
The lounge itself was awash in the noise and clamors of personnel all hoping to relieve themselves of the stresses of their respective duties, the clink of pilsner glasses and snifters as high and frequent as the laughter that rang and rebounded about the room. She had been carefully nursing her drink as she awaited her friend, hoping to indulge in one more cocktail with some idle chat before returning to her quarters for the evening.
The sudden sensation of something wet and absolutely freezing soaking through the back of her blouse stole her from her thoughts, her back straightening from the discomfort. The bartender had stopped preparing the cocktail settled onto the bar top, fixated on something behind her as other patrons began to turn with rapt attention. She had placed her drink back onto the bar to pluck several napkins from an adjacent dispenser, her nose wrinkling in irritation when she realized that she could not reach the center of her back and the good majority of the liquid. The person had not even apologized after the incident, adding to her frustration; if it had been an accident, then she easily could have forgiven them and excused herself to clean up, but it seemed that her antagonist was as clumsy as they were rude, and she bristled with anger. Indignant, she whirled around in order to find the cause of the spill.
…Just in time for an elbow rearing back for a punch to hit her squarely in the face.
Dazed, Laurel reached a hand up to gingerly feel at her nose for any discernible injury, relieved that when she had pulled it away for observation that it had not come away with any blood. She had noticed that she been leaning back onto the bar from the blow, the commotion in front of her began to escalate, the man sitting beside her getting up to join the fray amongst many others within the room. It had seemingly erupted out of nowhere, the laughter and sounds of glass terminating into a singular spurious, heated argument with many participants. She could not hear much over the chaos, but scant details such as ‘Sarapin’, ’dead’ and ‘brother’ were clearly audible in the fierce din.
It was no doubt the man standing with his back closest to her bad been the culprit of both the spill and the blow, his face red with both drink and fury as he continued screaming at gods-knew-whom in the writhing mass of bodies before him. He took an awkward step hampered by alcohol backwards and threatened to knock into her again; before she could talk herself out of it, her arms had been forced outward to push against the advancing bulk of his body, his legs trodding unsteadily forward clumsily before he fell face-first onto the floor, his arms neglecting to come up in time to break the fall.
He whirled around to face the young woman from the floor, Laurel still so stunned by her reaction that she hadn’t had the mind to lower her arms until he was glaring at her. The brunette blushed, realizing that this had gone awry far too quickly for her liking and now she had unwittingly become a part of it. It seemed that he had also bitten his lip in the fall, a spilt blooming into a sanguine tear onto the flesh.
“You’re gonna regret that, broad.”
Laurel was consumed with rage, an emotion not unfamiliar to her but one that she had so rarely entertained. Broad? She was so unaccustomed to being addressed in a manner not even half as rude as this, and again it was as if her hand moved of its own accord to take her neglected drink from the bar top to splash the tepid liquid into his face. He had already been scandalized that a woman half his size had the audacity to even consider shoving him, much less suffer him to further insult.
She eyed his blouse for any indication of his rank, realizing that he had already lost it at some point. Laurel looked about herself for a means to escape before he had a mind to try to hit her, but noted that the lounge was now thick with people fighting, leaving her no path to leave unscathed. Sighing in resignation, she plucked her cover up from off of the ground and tucked it securely beneath her belt at the small of her back to keep it from further damage. The man had already arisen once again, his eyes a dark promise of violence as he came toward her, her trembling hands forming into fists as she stood upright and dared him to hit her. Gentility would have to be damned, for once.