Realistically, it's not that many people. He's seen far bigger mobs gather on the streets of New York. This? They're talking a dozen, give or take. But it's still a sizable number around what amounts to few square feet next to a grill full of propane that might or might not still be leaking gas. He really doesn't wanna see what happens when the next bottle that goes flying cracks open against it.
Logan rises to his feet. If anyone was banking on the other guy to calm a bunch of uppity jackasses down instead, well. Doesn't look like that's happening. Problem is, he's not a peacemaker, either. Usually he stops a fight by ending it himself. Except this isn't worth his time, definitely not worth whatever headache-inducing bullshit might come his way if he throws twelve people into the pool in full view. And in the half-second beat where he waits to see what happens next, his hand still wrapped around one beefy fist attached to a man who looks increasingly alarmed that he can't break freeā€”in that half-second, it's by sheer fucking luck that a shotgun cracks the air. Not here, but in the distance, back in the disaster zone that's become the parking lot. A dozen heads turn. Then: Hey! That's my car!
The slurring shark-eyed man yanks his arm away. Logan finally lets go, watching backs turn. The tension disperses as fast as it gathered, redirected toward a new source. You know what? He's gonna call that a win.
He huffs under his breath. Anyway. How's the repair job going? 'Cause he's not sticking around for them to come back hungrier and madder. ] Maybe you oughta let them starve.
no subject
Realistically, it's not that many people. He's seen far bigger mobs gather on the streets of New York. This? They're talking a dozen, give or take. But it's still a sizable number around what amounts to few square feet next to a grill full of propane that might or might not still be leaking gas. He really doesn't wanna see what happens when the next bottle that goes flying cracks open against it.
Logan rises to his feet. If anyone was banking on the other guy to calm a bunch of uppity jackasses down instead, well. Doesn't look like that's happening. Problem is, he's not a peacemaker, either. Usually he stops a fight by ending it himself. Except this isn't worth his time, definitely not worth whatever headache-inducing bullshit might come his way if he throws twelve people into the pool in full view. And in the half-second beat where he waits to see what happens next, his hand still wrapped around one beefy fist attached to a man who looks increasingly alarmed that he can't break freeā€”in that half-second, it's by sheer fucking luck that a shotgun cracks the air. Not here, but in the distance, back in the disaster zone that's become the parking lot. A dozen heads turn. Then: Hey! That's my car!
The slurring shark-eyed man yanks his arm away. Logan finally lets go, watching backs turn. The tension disperses as fast as it gathered, redirected toward a new source. You know what? He's gonna call that a win.
He huffs under his breath. Anyway. How's the repair job going? 'Cause he's not sticking around for them to come back hungrier and madder. ] Maybe you oughta let them starve.