[Stretching his arm along the back of their chairs, he makes a show of getting comfortable, but he'll enjoy this personally as much as it's just some kind of put on.]
Mm. What'd they feed you at that spa? You taste like.. jasmine tea. Or kombucha.
Kombucha, ouais. [Said with a smirk before he pulls Logan in to tongue him lazily. He can hear the aggressive scrape of a chair, the sound of approaching boots.]
[So long as he can taste Jean-Paul, Logan could almost forget about the purpose for this little public display of affection. At least until the smell of their interloper interrupts him.
He half turns with an eyebrow already cocked suspiciously.]
You don't look like the server we started with, but if you're checking up on us I'll take another whiskey.
[Jean-Paul looks impishly up at the fellow glaring at them. He knows that Logan is so much more intimidating than he is, but this is one of the occasions where his more delicate features will be an advantage: homophobes love to hit the fairy boys.]
Or did you want to join us, cutie?
[He slides off of Logan and around behind their new friend before the guy can finish throwing the punch. Which means it hits Logan, naturally.]
[He's not the only one who enjoys being antagonistic. And if he enjoys watching Jean-Paul start some shit, it's probably because the man is as good at it as he is.
What he's not expecting is their easy target to attempt a swing quite so quickly. When those knuckles his nose the dram of whiskey in his gasp sloshes across the table top.]
Are you fuckin' kidding me?
[He sniffles and smells the blood in his nose but whatever ruptured isn't enough to spot any trace of it when he touches his face and checks his hand.]
I thought I'd be a little drunk before I hurt somebody tonight. Too bad for you. My aim is better when I ain't tipsy.
Jean-Paul, for his part, perches on a bar stool and studies his nails critically before ordering more whiskey and tipping the bartender an obscene amount. Then he turns to sip his drink and watch, smirking.
The crunch that this man's nose makes when introduced to Logan's fist is as visceral as the steady stream of blood that starts to dribble from his face like a leaky faucet.
"Don't waste your energy. You'll never hit him," he warns when the guy considers his initial target, now getting comfortable at the bar, unscathed. "But you can try me again. I'll give you a free one even.e"
The bludgeoning that ensues doesn't last long. Even if Logan keeps insisting the man gets a fighting change by dragging him to his feet a few times. It only seems fair to keep giving him the option to continue if he wants to take him up on it.
"You wanna keep this up you better think about choosin' a weapon, bub" he says offering up a stray bottle.
"Logan, stop teasing him," Jean-Paul finally intervenes. "Go on, throw him out and help me drink this. If you're still antsy after we'll go find, I don't know, an illegal MMA ring."
By the time Jean-Paul pipes up the man looks more than a little staggered. Either from the beating or the confusion about the way this fight has gone for him. In any case his urgent nodding seems to agree with Jean-Paul.
"Yer a lucky man," he says, setting that bottle gently back on the counter. Much to the bartenders appreciation. "I'm less forgiving when I'm drunk."
"There's one in Greenpoint," he says when their unwitting target scurries off.
"Yeah? How come?" Maybe that's no so shocking coming from a man like Jean-Paul. "For some reason I always I think of you as... being above that sort of shit. But then I remember your terrorism days."
Jean-Paul tips his head back and laughs. "Most people forget about that. And that I get into fights constantly. See, this is what happens when you invest in nice clothes. It's really all it is - you look like the sort of guy who starts fights. I don't."
"You might be on to something," he admits looking Jean-Paul over a long minute. He certainly walks the walk of a man above the rabble.
"Then again, the fights I remember you most for are the verbal slaughterings. Brutal. But less likely to leave blood stains," he teases. "If I wanted to look nice I shoulda been born smart I guess."
"I get by," he admits. Not that it's ever stopped him from wondering what it would be like to be someone else. "Speaking of your wallet and stuff I do well though. You might wanna stop for some cash if you feel like makin' a buck off a cage match."
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Mm. What'd they feed you at that spa? You taste like.. jasmine tea. Or kombucha.
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He half turns with an eyebrow already cocked suspiciously.]
You don't look like the server we started with, but if you're checking up on us I'll take another whiskey.
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Or did you want to join us, cutie?
[He slides off of Logan and around behind their new friend before the guy can finish throwing the punch. Which means it hits Logan, naturally.]
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What he's not expecting is their easy target to attempt a swing quite so quickly. When those knuckles his nose the dram of whiskey in his gasp sloshes across the table top.]
Are you fuckin' kidding me?
[He sniffles and smells the blood in his nose but whatever ruptured isn't enough to spot any trace of it when he touches his face and checks his hand.]
I thought I'd be a little drunk before I hurt somebody tonight. Too bad for you. My aim is better when I ain't tipsy.
[With a short, sharp jab he returns the favour.]
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"Don't waste your energy. You'll never hit him," he warns when the guy considers his initial target, now getting comfortable at the bar, unscathed. "But you can try me again. I'll give you a free one even.e"
The bludgeoning that ensues doesn't last long. Even if Logan keeps insisting the man gets a fighting change by dragging him to his feet a few times. It only seems fair to keep giving him the option to continue if he wants to take him up on it.
"You wanna keep this up you better think about choosin' a weapon, bub" he says offering up a stray bottle.
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"Yer a lucky man," he says, setting that bottle gently back on the counter. Much to the bartenders appreciation. "I'm less forgiving when I'm drunk."
"There's one in Greenpoint," he says when their unwitting target scurries off.
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He hops off his stool and grabs Logan's arm. "I do love watching you be all aggro, sometimes."
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"Yeah? How come?" Maybe that's no so shocking coming from a man like Jean-Paul. "For some reason I always I think of you as... being above that sort of shit. But then I remember your terrorism days."
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"Then again, the fights I remember you most for are the verbal slaughterings. Brutal. But less likely to leave blood stains," he teases. "If I wanted to look nice I shoulda been born smart I guess."
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He snorts and shakes his head. "I think you do well as you are."
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"I get by," he admits. Not that it's ever stopped him from wondering what it would be like to be someone else. "Speaking of your wallet and stuff I do well though. You might wanna stop for some cash if you feel like makin' a buck off a cage match."
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He smirks and elbows Logan gently. "Mmm, alright, let's swing by an ATM. Feels like cheating, though."
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