milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The door opens, and Tommy steps through -- haltingly, hesitant, when he finds the bar instead of the firehouse kitchen. In a moment of panic he considers turning back. But with a defiant set of his jaw he quickly stalks across the room toward the back door, straight past the bar, not giving it another glance.

Because he can't look at it. He can't look at it without feeling the urge to drink, the nagging tug of the liquor in those shiny glass bottles. His hold on sobriety has gotten shaky over the past couple of weeks. And even though he knows Bar herself wouldn't serve him any alcohol if he asked for some, he'd only get angry. And nobody needs that.

He really shouldn't be here.

Outside, it's evening. The sun's gone down and the sky's a murky shade of indigo, just dark enough to reveal the galaxies beyond.

Enough to make you feel like an insignificant little speck of shit.

With a heavy, bitter sigh, Tommy sits down on the porch steps, takes a cigarette out of a pack, and lights it up. He might as well take a smoke break before he goes back to work.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Excuse me?"

"Did I stutter?"

He just gives Voodoo a flat look.

"I don't do PT."

Voodoo rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that's the problem, fatass. C'mon, ditch the smoke. Couple of laps around the lake and a bodyweight circuit and you'll sleep like a fuckin' baby, booze or no."

"...Fatass? How do you even--? What about me makes you think fatass?"

He snorts through a plume of cigarette smoke.

"I ain't runnin' no laps, pal. Forget it."

Hm.

This calls for a deft touch.

Voodoo moves so quick Tommy might not see it until it's too late - he plucks the cigarette out of Tommy's hands and holds it just out of reach.

Voodoo gets a slowly raised eyebrow.

"Seriously? You're gonna play this game?"

"Mmmmhm."

The cigarette continues to smolder in Voodoo's hand.

"Three laps. One bodyweight circuit."

Tommy sneers.

"No. And you can shove that cigarette up your ass."

And he proceeds to dig a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

As quick as lightning, that is snatched out of Tommy's hands, too.

(The narration encourages you to substitute in the yoink sound effect of your choice.)

Edited 2013-08-26 03:37 (UTC)

"Hey--!"

Tommy grits his teeth. Voodoo is seriously trying his patience. Glaring at him, he holds up a hand, moving his fingers in a rapid gimme gesture.

"Alright, asshole, give 'em back."

Voodoo shakes his head, articulating an ah-ah-ah from deep in his throat.

"Three laps. One bodyweight circuit. No less. No more."

He taps the carton.

"Then you get these back."

Edited 2013-08-26 04:10 (UTC)

"This's getting ridiculous," he spits, and he gets to his feet, making an abrupt swipe for the pack.

As Tommy lunges, Voodoo fits the palm of his free hand on Tommy's face and squeezes.

Sophisticated? No. But it works.

"It's simple, Gavin. You PT, you get your smokes. You PT, you get the best goddamn sleep you've ever had. You don't PT, I crush these," he says, tapping the carton again, "and then I crush you."

"Get the fuck off me!"

Sure, the demand comes out muffled, but Tommy's anger is clear enough as he grabs hold of Voodoo's wrist and tries to wrench himself free.

"Alright, fine, I'll do your stupid PT!"

Voodoo smiles. "Excellent. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

The cigarette is flicked away, and the carton is passed off to a nearby waitrat for securing. A healthy tip ensures Tommy won't be able to finagle it back.

"We'll start off with an eight-minute mile pace. If you slack off or fall behind, I will break you."

With that, he's off and running.

And Tommy just folds his arms. Standing there.

He really doesn't give a fuck about anything right now. Not his cigarettes, not Voodoo's goddamned PT or his threats.

He turns on his boot heel and starts back up the porch steps.

After a couple steps, Voodoo senses he's not being followed.

So he stops, turns around, and puts his hands on his hips.

"Come on, Gavin. Don't be a bitch."

He doesn't stop or turn around even as he flips him off.

"If your ass ain't on fire, I ain't runnin' after you," he calls out.

Tommy won't hear him until he hears the THUMPTHUMPTHUMP of boots on wood.

A fraction of a second later, he's tackled by 185 pounds of SEAL going at a full sprint, pinning his arms and legs to the ground.

"Now, see, if our roles were reversed, I could flip you like it weren't nothin'. But since you don't PT like the bitch you are and, as such, are lacking in the requisite pushing power, how, how, how are you going to escape?"

Beat.

"I'm way used to nutshots, by the way. If you wanna waste your time with 'em, though, that's cool."

"Jeezus fuck--"

Tommy hits the floorboards hard, the wind knocked out of him, the shock of being tackled and pinned not registering until Voodoo speaks. And even then the words don't make any sense because he can't hear anything for the blood pumping in his ears. He thrashes wildly, much like a mad dog at the end of a noose, all futile rage.

He's lifted dead weight heavier than Voodoo many times before-- but then again, there was fire and smoke all around him. Maybe if someone set the porch on fire, Tommy would do better.

"The fuck is your problem, asshole?!" he growls.

"My problem," Voodoo says, holding him still, "is that you are weak. Weakness is fucking pathetic in anyone, Gavin, but it's especially pathetic in you. The people out there, depending on you - if you can't flip me, if you refuse to make yourself stronger, how the fuck are you gonna save 'em when they're countin' on you? Huh? Huh?"

He leans down, his voice deathly precise.

"The answer is - you're not. You will let them down. I will not fucking abide that.

"I know your type. Guys so wrapped up in their personal angst they just don’t give a fuck about the world around them. Think they’re oh-so-special, that the world revolves around them, that it should just cut ‘em a chit to let ‘em be teenage girls for a while. Hell, once upon a time, I was your type.

"But you know what? I got the fuck over myself. I stopped bein' such a whiny little bitch, stopped the attention-whorin' emo shit. And all that anger, all that fuckin' emotion? I channeled it. Made myself stronger from it. Because the world will never give a fuck, Gavin. The sooner you accept that, the better off you'll be."

He gets off of Tommy.

"Get up, shitheel."

Edited 2013-08-27 09:42 (UTC)

weak

Words filter in through to his brain.

pathetic

you will let them down

Voodoo lets him go and he scrambles to his feet to face him, breathless with anger, eyes still burning.

You're wrong (you're right)
You don't know what the fuck you're talking about (you got me)

Tommy should be stronger than this, and he has been, as far as he's concerned, however reluctantly. He hasn't had a drop of liquor in close to a year, no matter how badly his demons got to him, no matter how painful the grief and guilt became. This is just a temporary setback. That's all it is. That's all he'll let it be. But if he fails at sobriety tonight, because of this bullshit, he'll only have himself to blame.

Failure.

He knows that if he goes through with Voodoo's stupid PT routine, he'll fail. At this point, he can't deal with failing at something -- again. He could at least try to prove him wrong, but something else besides overblown pride runs deep in Tommy's psyche: spite. It kicks in whenever anyone shows him the truth about himself.

"I don't need to prove myself to you, so don't ever tell me what to do," he growls. "You don't know me. So fuck off."

Voodoo shrugs, his hands in his pockets. "Okay. I don't know you. Fair 'nough."

He leans against the railing. "But here's what I do know. I know the door to the Bar's right there," he says, nodding to it. "I know if you want, you can be outta here in ten seconds flat, back in your world."

He scratches at his beard. "I also know that there ain't no Security guys out here to stop you if you wanna take a swing at me. What happens next is completely up to you. Always has been. Always will be."

Edited 2013-08-28 08:48 (UTC)

if you wanna take a swing at me

The rest of what Voodoo says goes mostly unheard because Tommy is already crossing the space between them, and he lashes out with his right fist, aimed at his face, wanting nothing more than to just shut him the fuck up.