lepidopterologist

Why did it always seem to be pubs lately?

Harry had not come in here looking for a fight. It was intended to be a simple meeting with a contact who had some information relevant to a skirmish in the Middle East they'd been looking into. The contact was a journalist, supposedly harmless... But someone had missed something. It was an ambush.

This time, it had been someone else who'd locked the doors to the pub. One moment, Harry was sitting at a table with the contact, halfway through a Guinness. The next, a man from the bar had gotten up and locked the door, and then all three men from the bar were coming at him.

The fight might have been quicker a year ago, before he'd been shot in the head. Before occasional hallucinations of butterflies in the middle of fights. But his coordination had gotten better in the past couple of months. He'd been working on it. He hadn't even had to shoot anyone. Just hand-to-hand combat paired with a few stun darts from the umbrella. Blood was even kept to a minimum. But by the time it was over, all four men were knocked out in various states of bruised, bloody, and broken on the floor of the bar.

At some point during the fight he'd also shot a stun dart out of his watch to hit the bartender just before he'd called the police. He hadn't even noticed the young man sitting at a booth in the back, not until it was all over. So after hitting the unconscious bartender with another dart from his watch, this time set to "amnesia," he turned his attention to him.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The moment the fight had started, Fin had made a point of ducking low and staying out of sight. Fights were dangerous... Not because he was worried about being hurt, but because he was worried about being found out. He still bled, but he bled slow. He wasn't freezing, but any medic who tried to take his pulse would find him slightly chilled with an unnervingly slow pulse.

So Fin had stayed low, hoping to go unnoticed. ...Clearly, it hadn't worked.

"I'm not sure I'm the one you owe an apology to," he said quietly, his body tense and slightly cloudy gaze focused on the man.

"I don't suppose I'll convince you that they were the threat, not me," Harry said, his voice and entire demeanor calm as ever, despite the scrapes on his knuckles, the crack in the blacked-out lens on his glasses, the blood on his shirt. He supposed it was reasonable to perceive him as threatening when he'd just taken on four men with his bare hands (and an umbrella) and won.

"You have to admit, after that performance- It would be a hard sell," Fin pointed out, doing his best to sound nonchalant and relaxed about it.

...He was doing a fair job. Pity there weren't any cameras about, he could use some more dramatic scenes for his reel.

"That was self defense," Harry pointed out. And it was true, too. After all, he hadn't even pulled his gun.

"In any case, I'm terribly sorry, but it's best if you simply don't remember this," he said, and twisted his watch back to amnesia mode.

Tensing again, Fin closed his eyes and turned away, expecting something far worse than what actually happened next.

Harry pointed his watch at the young man, and a small dart shot out of it and stuck him square in the neck.

Fin remained still and tense for a long moment after the sting of the dart hit him- And then realized nothing had happened. He wasn't dead, didn't feel sick... Should he pretend to be dead? Pretend to faint? Had he waited too long to react?

He'd never been much for improv.

With no idea what he ought to do, he slowly relaxed and pulled out the dart.

"Um..."

Harry had expected him to flop over. To be unconscious for half an hour or so, and then wake up disoriented, not remembering the past hour or so, but be completely fine.

He blinked, clearly surprised. And he had no idea what to say. He looked down at his watch. Glanced over at the bartender, who had reacted completely as expected. Could one of the darts have been a dud?

He pointed his watch at him again, clearly embarrassed. "Ah, my apologies. Don't worry, this won't hurt you at all."

Fin put his hands up, hoping to block the next dart from hitting his neck again.

"Or you could just... Not. I think you're wasting your time, mate. If you're trying to dose me with something, you're out of luck. I'm... Not very susceptible."

He could (and often did) drink most of his mates well under the table before he got sloshed, and when it came to a bit of recreation, it took the really hard stuff (and a decent amount of it) to get a good high.

Harry nearly apologized again, telling him that this chemical had been tested extensively, and it was full proof. It must have just been a dud dart. But really, what was the point of explaining.

He offered a kind, serene smile, and then shot another dart at him.

The dart hit, and not wanting to suffer a third, Fin pretended to faint, slumping over hard in his seat.

Harry looked at him for a few moments, and determined that he'd been right, the first dart had been a dud, and this one had had the desired effect.

He lowered his arm and straightened his cuffs. Then he glanced around the room and heaved a heavy sigh before heading out the back door.

Fin

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject