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 mister heat blister, mister 101, Jaq
derek phineas
 Posted: Dec 18 2014, 04:43 PM
talk dirty to me *saxophone solo*
26Wonderlanderstoxicologist29 postsapplicationplotting
Izzy is Offline
derek phineas

tag: Jaq | notes: finally did this!
Derek was sitting in the bar with his thick coat on, scowling between the small space between his scarf and the rim of his puffball hat out the window at the snow that was steadily falling upon the street, and the idiot people dancing around in it. Derek hated the cold more than literally anyone else in the world. The root of his hatred ran back to when he’d been a cold-blooded reptile in Wonderland, but even now that he could create his own body heat, he still didn’t find the chilly weather any more appealing. So why had he bothered trekking out in this god awful weather instead of staying home in his cocoon of blankets next to the heater that may or may not have been catching on fire at this very moment on account of his stupidity? Well, as a man on the verge of complete alcoholism, it had been the five vodka bottles and three Jack Daniels – all depressingly empty that he’d dug out from various somewhat surprising places in his apartment that had thrown him into the back of a severely under-heated cab on the slippery unsafe roads he might as well have died on, in his personal opinion, to arrive at this bar to drink until he was barely coherent enough to leave, buy out the closest liquor store, and head back home to light himself on fire.

That was how his evening was going, thank you very much.

And he’d clearly been having a miserable enough time as it was, drinking his Long Island iced tea through a straw in a way that was reminiscent of the movie Penelope, when some dickwad decided to stop in the middle of the doorway as he entered the bar, leaving it wide open for the chill to get in with his outstretched arm blocking the way out while he paused to chat up some girl who was trying to leave. Now, knowing Derek, the thing about this that pissed him off was not what it should have been. As much as he himself enjoyed harassing unsuspecting girls, it wouldn’t do him any good if his balls were to freeze off, which he was very much convinced was possible. And so, in the same way most of his terrible ideas started out, Derek decided to say something. A mitten’d hand reached up to pull his scarf just loose enough to speak.

“Hey. Shitface. Want to close the fucking door?” He said, terribly polite as per usual, Some of us don’t have extra blubber to keep us warm you fucking manatee.” The manatee in question stopped mid-sentence when Derek spoke, and he turned to face the lump of winter attire. Derek squinted at him as menacingly as one could when intoxicated and dressed like a marshmallow.

"Wanna run that by me again?" he said. Derek was more than happy to oblige. He took the hat off his head to reveal some shocking hat hair and slurred, "Sure. I called you a fucking manatee. Shut the door."

It wasn't long before the door was closed, but that good thing was traded off for Derek now very easily being lifted by the front of his coat onto his feet to get a better look at the manatee's angry face, apparently. Derek's eyes widened slightly in panic. The guy growled at him.

"'Least I'm not a little twig," he said. "Whataya gonna do, ya bitch? You're not so tough."

As much as this guy's breath was warming Derek's face, it wasn't a pleasant aroma. Derek decided he wanted to leave this situation he'd brought upon himself. He carefully removed his mittens and tossed them onto the table. He looked back at the guy who waited for his response, and...

Derek attempted to run, but the guy's hand still fisted in his coat held firm. The guy smirked, amused, as Derek continued to try and wriggle out of his grasp, pulling at his sausage fingers and the material of his coat, but neither budged. Some people in the bar who'd been watching snickered at the display of weakness, and Derek rolled his eyes. Reverting back to his older instincts, the skinnier man leaned in and bit his opponent, hard, right on the knuckles. With a yelp, his coat was released, and Derek scurried away. But not for long.

Derek was caught once again, this time by the back of his coat, and was dragged back by the red-faced man, with both of them ignoring the exasperated voice of the bartender threatening to call the cops.

"You little shit, you made me bleed!" He wound up his fist that was now a little red, barely bleeding, "now you're gonna get it!" Derek covered his face with his hands, completely useless in this sort of situation. He hoped that maybe someone would intervene, as if he'd ever given Karma a reason to spare him. Which he hadn't.
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