don't f*** with king's cross (an advanced rp) discussion
newest »
Mod
Mod
"Must you make so much noise while I'm trying to sleep?" a drowsy voice, laden with sleep, drawled from the back corner of the Blind Beggar. Curly hair rumpled from sleep and with a seemingly unimpressed expression on those soft features, Klaus Wembley was the picture of a young boy irritated that he'd been awoken from his slumber. He remained in the back of the familiar pub, leaning against the bar with his arms crossed and his speech was interrupted by a lazy yawn leaving his lips, "Couldn't you have given me at least another hour?"
He'd passed out on the bar after downing several glasses of different alcohols - drinks that he didn't heed much attention to in the first place. And now as he blinked hazily at his surroundings, lashes sticky with the traces of his short and relinquished far too quickly shuteye, he reckoned that several hours had already passed since his arrival. Squinting at a clock above the bar, Klaus figured that it was at least nearing two in the morning. If he hadn't been so rudely awakened by the barkeep, he would have slept until at least three.
Begrudgingly, since he was awake already, Klaus ordered another drink. The same bartender protested, being very suggestive that he should return to his home for the night. But, there was no arguing with the Wembley boy when he reached over the bar and grabbed the half empty bottle of whiskey he'd been working through hours ago. "Uh - you see, Laurie will pay for it - don't worry," Klaus clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth before mockingly saluting the man behind the counter. Not sticking around long enough to find himself in the middle of an argument, Klaus whisked himself away into the decent sized crowd still occupying the benches and chairs of the pub.
A girl caught his eye. She was in the far corner of the pub, pushing a long lock of hair behind her ear while she animatedly talked with her friend. Klaus didn't have to look at her for very long to know that he'd definitely enjoy taking her back home with him. However, as he glanced to his right, he spotted another man, standing a meter or so away, and followed his gaze back towards the same girl.
"Hey - you there!" Klaus hollered impulsively at the stranger, "Don't even think about it. She's going home with me."
The burn of Irish whiskey as it went down his throat was almost therapeutic to Dominic, lips pressed against the rim of a deep glass cup amidst the bustling patrons, eyes appreciating the sight of a girl across the room. The taste of alcohol on his tongue washed away his earlier irritation that had drove out to sneak away from the palace in the first place like a thief in the night. It had taken a bit of effort to get past his sister, who had been bristling with curiosity over his father’s announcement over dinner that evening at dinner - a marriage prospect. Marriage? It was quite news to Dominic. If it was up to him, he’d die happily an unmarried man. But just like all the other heir apparents before him, he was expected to wed and produce a heir to continue on the vicious cycle of the entrapment that was the throne.
From what his father had told him, his prospective bride was what he would expect. An English lady from a respectable noble family. Wellmannered and adept in skills such as sewing, painting and playing the piano. All things that Dominic could care less about yet he was expected to spend his life pretending to for the sake of the throne. In that regard, he wondered if his father actually loved his mother. He doubted it. What the king really loved was the image being married to a woman like Queen Anne gave him. His mother was a woman in a league of her own, too good for what she had to put up with. She’d probably have a fit if she saw him now, blending in quite nicely with the ruffians that filled the chairs of the bar he was in instead of being safely behind the walls of the palace at this time of night.
Speaking of ruffians, his concentration was plucked away by a voice, loud enough for him to hear over the bolstering chatter of the bar. His blue eyes drifted away from the woman and landed on the culprit, eyeing him curiously as he took a long drink from his glass, silently trying to put a name to his face. The Winchester was less than impressed when he realized it was a Wembley of all people. Not Laurie but his younger brother Klaus.
“I saw her first.” He mused, lips forming into a taunting smirk as he leisurely leaned against the pillar behind him. “You should go back to sleep, Wembley. Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
Mod
Handsome. The stranger had the kind of face that'd stop women right in their tracks. Given his age, he must be accustomed to all the gawking and the attention, idly smiling at those that drifted into a sudden pause in their natural expression when he'd returned their stare, flocking to their friends and shielding themselves behind shy laughs and darting eyes. With features molded from granite itself, the man's face was sharp and defined, particularly around his smooth jaw and the slopes of his high cheekbones. He had tousled dark brown hair, thick and slicked above his forehead and his eyes - a mesmerizing deep ocean blue, flickering with the lapping waves of the River Thames itself. Then, his body - his body -
Klaus's gaze lingered a moment purposely longer. The stranger's perfect lips, twitching into a smirk so mocking and so tormenting, were ripe for enlightening conversation - or something far more intimate.
And the Wembley boy was enthusiastically inclined for all of it.
"You know who I am?" Klaus reflected out loud, tilting his head down an inch while further spectating on this distraction. Though it wasn't very odd in the first place for any visitor of the Blind Beggar to be familiar with the Wembley boys even if he didn't know everyone else. After all, this was an establishment frequented and practically owned at this point by the King's Cross. Everyone knew that the Wembley brothers, particularly Klaus himself, routinely graced the bar with their presence. Still, Klaus prided himself on knowing the regulars of the pub and this stranger was not one of them - a new visitor then.
Swishing his procured bottle of whiskey between his fingers, Klaus nonchalantly meandered through the crowd of folks between them, preferring to talk rather than shout. Standing eye to eye to his bar entertainment for the night, Klaus braved on a bigger challenge than he'd initially anticipated when he'd first spotted the brunette sitting in the corner with her friends. Still none the wiser, the girl continued on with her companions surrounding her while Klaus and this stranger fixated on one another.
A leering grin drew to Klaus's lips as their eyes met, "I'll go to bed." That unassailable confidence strummed through him so naturally, in the leisured posture of his back to the nonchalant manner with which he took his sweet time to carry the conversation like all the time in the world lay within his own hands. In that distinctively smooth drawl of his, he declared, "But, I'll be going to bed with her."
With kindle lighting a blaze in the deep blues of his eyes, Klaus smirked, "I wouldn't mind taking you back with me as well."
Dominic was all too comfortable to the heat behind the Wembley’s gaze, drinking it in as the corners of his lips twitched with amusement. His tongue swiped out, licking up the droplets of whiskey on his glistening bottom lip as he observed close whilst the younger male observed him. Dominic always had a weakness for curls and Klaus’ thick head of wild bronze curls didn’t help the growing intrigue that burned through the prince. His hand moved, his glass tipping back as more rich whiskey poured down his throat, a thick eyebrow raised at the Wembley’s tainting words and the underlying tone of mischief behind them. But Dominic wasn’t quite interested in what he had to say. He was more focused on the full lips that the words had poured out from. Tempting images washed through his mind like the oceans waves lapping at the shore, coaxed out by Dominic’s budding inebriety. He entertained them for the few seconds it took Klaus to come closer to him, silently musing at the implications that came with tasting a Wembley. His father would be pissed. Laurie would be pissed. But most importantly, Dominic would have his due share of satisfaction for the night. That is if he wasn’t disappointed.
Despite his status in society, Dominic wasn’t oblivious to Klaus’ reputation. He was a wild child who wrought havoc in the streets of The Burrows. Of course, all the Wembleys were cut from the same cloth, but from what he knew Klaus was another breed of his own, crossing lines that weren’t supposed to be crossed. However, everything Dominic had heard were fleeting rumours, whispered from the lips of common folk and drunken patrons who gossiped over the counters and tables in pubs. And even if he chose to believe them, was he looking for trouble tonight? Well, there was no point in pondering that thought. He always was which is why he contently egged him on and decided to pose his own challenge.
Dominic’s eyes shifted away from Klaus towards the girl in question, who still stood quite blissfully unaware of the situation that had formed because of her. Brunette waves tumbled past her shoulders, animated chuckles leaving rosy lips as she sat happily amongst her friends. It wasn’t love at first sight for Dominic. It never was. She was just an opportunity for a bit of entertainment to close off his escapade. But for some reason, he wanted to snuff out that confident gleam in Klaus' blue-eyed stare.
“Well, aren’t you bold?” Dominic drawled out lazily, lips forming into a Chesire smirk, humming slightly in acknowledgement. Teeth scraped against his bottom lip briefly as he leaned his head back, his jaw clenching as if he was in a state of deep thought. “How about a wager?”
Mod
"A wager?"
With a raised eyebrow, Klaus watched the man before him with settling interest. Though he'd been passed out on the bar only several minutes ago, he was once again rejuvenated with newfound liveliness. Whiskey mixed with other strong alcohols throughout the entire night, leaving him far from sober as well as rather likely to drink until the night became a blur. A tempting challenge like this would either hinder the drinking for a brief moment or yank him to the completely other opposite extreme. However the night would end, Klaus certainly had no idea, but the thrill of the chase and the surprise was enough to whisk him fervently back into action.
"What kind of wager?" he parried back, eyes flickering across the man's mouth again for a short moment before meeting his eyes once again.
By default, Klaus was a terribly lustful person. Within seconds of training his eyes on a target, he was practically compelled to carry through on his wishes. Compliments and confessions made for men of romance slipped from that forked tongue so easily and so carelessly, slipping whispers and ideas into the heads of so many. With the delivery of famous poets and the charisma of leaders, it was no difficulty for him to charm women or men into his sheets for the night.
He was a performer in the least though many didn't give him credit for the charades he played. That usually came as a result to the fact that he'd successfully gambled with his role, carried a tune that so many had fallen for so effortlessly. His healthy affection for sex and intimacy fostered a mixture of reactions from his lovers. But, it was only ever those scorned by the devastatingly short love affair with Klaus Wembley that ended up spitting his name on the streets. However, that didn't nearly stop him from continuing to play the game for as long as he pleased.
Klaus leaned against a long wooden beam extending to the ceiling, forcing the stranger watching him to follow him with his eyes. "I don't like to lose, mate," he finally confessed, pressing the rim of his bottle to his lips once again and spilling the warm amber liquid back onto his tongue. A spiral of heat spilled through his chest, curling through his body so vividly, enough to spread a boyish grin across his lips - cheeky even when he added on, "What? If I lose, do I get to go back to your bed instead?"
Predictable yet interesting enough.
Dominic fought the urge the to chuckle, his bemused smirk hidden behind the rim of the glass. He watched with contentment as Klaus seemed to readily eat up the treat he had offered him from the palm of his hand. This is why Dominic enjoyed the gritty undertones of English society. English nobility were far too bland for his diverse palette. What he craved was to finally be surprised, something that could hold his genuine attention and Klaus was doing a decent enough job, entertaining the prince with how readily he took the bait. Dominic was a man that had England itself in the palm of his hand which meant that there were swarms of women and men who fought for the bragging rights to being able to say that they were able to seduce the golden child of House of Winchester. He was chased. He never did the chasing. And he didn’t plan on doing now despite the suggestive undertone burning in his crystalline irises and the flirtatious set of his lips, another intricate act by the enigmatic man that was the Crown Prince of England.
This wasn’t even the climax however.
His index finger tapped against the rim of his glass as his gaze picked apart the man before him, taking note of every mannerism, the way he phrased his words. It would take a fool not to realize that Klaus was adequately adept in the more lecherous aspects of human nature, enjoying the push and pull of lustful pursuits. However, unfortunately Dominic wasn’t the unassuming prey that he most likely thought he was, judging from the way the Wembley’s eyes burned a hole into him, not even attempting to hide their hunger. Of course, Dominic wasn’t against playing the role, downing the rest of his alcohol and discarding the now empty glass on the table beside. Leaning forward, his back lifted off the pillar as he smoothly closed the distance between them, his mouth practically ghosting against the shell of Klaus’ ear and a hand pressed against the chipped wood of the piller above Klaus’ head.
“Were you expecting a pity fuck?” He hummed, a slow wolfish grin forming on his lips, straight pearly rows of teeth making their appearance. “Only winners get the spoils of war, I’m afraid.”
He lingered for a few lasting seconds before he pulled back, nestling back comfortably in his original spot against his pillar as if the exchange never occurred. However, he had returned with the Klaus’ bottle of whiskey now in his possession, eyes connecting with the Wembley’s as he took a generous sip from it, relishing in the familiar taste of quality whiskey on his tongue.
Mod
A tingling thrill sprang up his spine, such a delicious chill he wasn't expecting. Out on the town like this, Klaus didn't usually find other men well suited for these kinds of endeavors. If anything, it was a rare occurrence if he ever did find another man so agreeable. He had little to no concern about expressing his own desires in public, whispering half truths and flirtatious remarks alongside casual touching even when another man was involved. But, the usual response wasn't so - so gratifying. So deliciously enjoyable.
"No - not a pity fuck," he retorted, his smirk widening, "A victory one."
Klaus stared at him long and hard with those piercing blue eyes, watching him drink away at his own bottle. Scanning his broad shoulders, traveling down the length of his torso, he couldn't help but notice that his muscles filled so well into the cinched fabric of his white collared shirt. His coat hung around his figure casually and even in the late hours of the night, his tie was still made tight around his neck. Warring with instinct, Klaus resisted the urge to grab the tie himself. A scalding smirk spread across the Wembley's lips, eagerly anticipating whatever came next. Because if this was only the beginning, he could only imagine the lengths that the rest of the night might circle into if they both let it continued any longer. And his imagination was already running without restraint, so wild and fanatical that he knew he'd only be disappointed by reality. But, it was still nice to think the of the possibilities, right?
And if anything, he'd try whatever he could to make fantasy a reality.
But, Klaus was also never one to follow other people's expectations of him. An agenda of his own was always in the making, plans set and followed because that was what he wanted to do. And so, before things could really set off, he made his next move. Snatching his bottle of whiskey back from the stranger, Klaus slid past him and approached another man sitting atop a stool and flicked his hand at him, urging him to move aside. Without hesitation, the man moved. Klaus continued, stepping onto the stool and then onto the table, grabbing a glass on the way and tapping it against the bottle above his head loudly. "Hey - hey, everyone!" he announced after several heads turned to spectate.
"This bloke, right here -" he pointed his hand with the bottle, "thinks that he can beat me in a - what? A drinking game, I presume." Klaus waved his wrist offhandedly before gesturing to a man below him, "You all know that my blood is almost - what do you say? How much percent of my blood is alcohol, do you think?"
"One hundred percent!"
"A hundred percent, he says!" Klaus cheered, earning corralled shouts of support from the crowd gathered around him. Amplified by the attention showering on him, he continued, "Liquor is a Wembley's best friend, isn't it, fellas?" Another cheer followed. Klaus grinned, "You think he can beat a Wembley?" Raucous boos picked up amongst the intensified spring of applause and attention. A scalding smirk spreading across his lips as his burning gaze returned to the stranger, "Well, then - let's show our guest why around here - you don't fuck with the King's Cross."
When the noise calmed down a moment later, Klaus beckoned the stranger forward, "What'll be the game then, mate?"
The blaring roars of support from Klaus’ audience did nothing to psych out the prince, instead his lips pulled back in a grin, winking teasingly at the Wembley when he directed the attention to him, his excitement clearly written on his face. His back remained against the wooden pillar, eyebrows raised as he intently watched the onslaught of the Wembley’s confident boasts. You don’t fuck with King’s Cross. Amusement bubbled deep inside Dominic, lips twitching as he fought a chuckle. If only he knew that he was talking to the one man that didn’t feel the least bit fazed by the gang’s influence. But he however acknowledged that Klaus was indeed a Wembley, possessing that trademark haughty and reckless pride. Just like Laurie did during their appointments.
But unlike Laurie, the younger Wembley was more suited to Dominic’s eccentric taste. He exuded blind carefreeness that was practically nonexistent in the people Dominic was forced to surround himself with as a noble. It was a breath of fresh air that he indeed sought out tonight and it didn’t hurt that Klaus looked good doing it. Dominic’s hawk-eyed blue gaze followed his every movement, as if Klaus was a sculpture in a museum and he was an art critic, appreciating the the way his skin glistened underneath the light, perspiration traversing over his prominent collarbones that peeked from the neck of his loose shirt. The Winchester had a low itch to bite that confident smirk off Klaus’ lips.
Pity he wasn’t planning on losing.
When the energized chatter had died down, Dominic’s hands came together for a slow clap, igniting intrigued murmurs from the crowd of patrons. “I do in fact want to fuck with King’s Cross. So come down, kid. Take your defeat like a good lad.” His finger beckoned towards him in a come hither motion, his own nonchalant confidence exuding from his mannerisms. Yet before the show could go on, the electrified and palpable atmosphere was broken by the sound of the door slamming against the wall and a livid gruff shout. Heads turned, including Dominic's, everyone's attention on the source of the loud interruption. Never a dull moment in here it seemed.
“Oi, Klaus Wembley! You thought you could fucking hide, did ya?”
Mod
The longer that his gaze lingered on such a piece of art, the greater his intrigue. It wasn’t that difficult to catch Klaus’s eye, practically anyone could do it. He found most people attractive and it only really ever took making eye contact with him once for him to approach should he be interested. What was difficult, however, was maintaining his interest. With thoughts so disjointed and abrupt, Klaus didn’t have much focus. He grew bored quickly, spurred by the smallest distractions around him, anything to occupy or entertain him because every second was being spent and he didn’t want any of it to be wasted. Time was precious and he only ever really gave it to the people he trusted wouldn’t leave him regretting it.
Nothing was definitive, but his new rival for the night hadn’t disappointed yet.
Balancing on an old, rickety table with little support from its three stumped legs, Klaus struggled to maintain symmetry from this height. With his knees bent ever so slightly, he managed to ride the tottering table, bottle of whiskey dangling from his long, thin fingers so carelessly. As that cocky smile split across Klaus’s lips, he drew ready to bound off his stage for the night, following curiosity to new lengths just to see what presents it might have for him - what intrigue and mystery that this stranger could gift him tonight.
However, it all was cut short far too quickly. As commotion drew through the Blind Beggar with his own name at the forefront of it all, Klaus was forced to regroup, staring at an all too familiar man stalking up to the table he was standing on with unrestrained rage. He didn’t have a moment to back away, the man’s fist gripping so hard onto the opened collar of his button down, tight enough to remind Klaus that he needed to breathe. His free hand pressed against Mr. Frederick Walker’s, chortling, “Mr. Walker, you found me! What a pleasure!”
Walker was upset and rightfully so. After all, Klaus was to blame for the impending doom the shoemaker and his wife’s marriage faced. But, did he feel guilty about it? Not at all. He snickered now, “Sir, on the contrary actually - you see while you’ve been searching for me elsewhere, I was in your bedroom still fucking your wife.”
Frederick Walker was a sight for sore eyes. Or more like he was a sight that made eyes sore. He was a burly man with what seemed like a permanent layer of grime on his skin, receding hairline hidden under the cover of his cap and a potbelly that made Dominic feel almost sympathize with the buttons of his shirt for the immense strain inflicted on them. But despite the Walker’s off putting, Dominic found his new source of entertainment since the last one was so rudely and disappointingly snuffed out.
“Fred! Fancy seeing you here!” With a clap of a hand on the shoulder, Dominic pulled Fredrick’s attention away from the grinning Klaus, only to beam at the intruder just as menacingly with a tilt of his head, blue eyes gleaming with chaotic mischief as he took his body weight off the pillar slightly.
Dominic watched the plethora of emotions that swept across Walker’s faith. First, it was anger. Then it was confusion, causing his thin eyebrows to scrunch and the wrinkles on his forehead to become even more distinctive if that was even possible. Next, it was jaw-slacked surprise and a touch of fear that had Dominic grinning, that carnivorous wolfish grin appearing on his face once again. Frederick had finally recognized.
“I do believe I said the next time I saw you, I would be collecting the money I’m owed.” Dominic mused, words escaping him in a smooth deep drawl that resonated through the now quiet space. His hands clasped behind his back, exuding haughtiness and both nonchalance simultaneously as his gaze burned into the man, who could only stammer out a rushed reply, nervous and hesitant unlike his bold demeanor he exhibited upon his entrance. “V-Val? L-Listen, I-”
Dominic was quick to cut him off, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment, completely disregarding the man before him. “Yes, Val. The same Val that you owe £300 to.”
There was a gasp somewhere in the bar and Frederick’s face turned red with anger or embarrassment. Either way, Dominic was adequately amused. He wondered what his face would look like purple.
Raising an eyebrow, Dominic leaned back against the support beam, a chuckle bubbling from him as if miffed by the situation. “If you’re going to gamble, you should be ready to settle your debts. Is that really how pathetic you are? No wonder your wife cheated on you. If I was her, I would have fucked someone else too. Honestly, Klaus is probably not the first.”
Like a volcano bubbling over, Dominic could practically see the steam erupt from Frederick’s ears and he charged like a bull towards him, fist swinging to no doubt strike Dominic’s face. However, the prince managed to move out of the way causing the heavy man to smack into the wooden pillar, the force causing a nearby table to shake and Frederick to stumble back towards the bar counter, slightly dazed from the collision but coherent enough to keep standing and attempt to make a swing at the closest of his two targets - Klaus.
Mod
It was just one night. One night! Fine, fine - he wouldn't lie. It wasn't just one night - it was actually three nights. Or rather, three consecutive nights and much of the next Sunday morning while Walker was away visiting his sick mother on the countryside. Klaus thought he was lucky, getting away with a feat as large as this one especially with all the time that he'd been gifted. But, as soon as he got comfortable, having sex with the same woman for the nth time right before and after the hefty breakfast she cooked him, Walker returned early. The red painting his cheeks and his ears so prevalently now reminded him a lot of that morning. A grin prodded at his own lips even now, spreading larger across his cheeks even in the midst of an escalating problem - Klaus wanted to remember this face for the rest of his life!
Walker's grip on his collar was incredibly tight, but the moment that his new comrade began speaking, his constraint began to loosen. The heated tension began to raise in the pub, but the longer that Walker grew distracted with Dominic, the looser the grasp on his neck became. Blue eyes darted back and forth between the scornful husband - an apparent heavy gambler - to the man he owed a fortune to, delighted by the new exchange that he didn't even have to add to. Anger simmered in Walker's entire body, practically radiating off of him as he struggled to think - at this point, it was likely he wasn't thinking at all. He couldn't have been because -
"Fuck!" Klaus chortled, a short groan slipping from his lips as his head whipped back from the impact. There was no choreography, nothing beautiful about the way that Walker raised his fist against him - disappointing really. The Wembley slowly laughed, his hair shifting chaotically against his forehead while his chest raised and lowered with every breath. Blood dripped from his nostrils, smearing across his upper lip and smudging against mouth as well. Staggering back, the entire table shook with Klaus's full weight on it, his body incredibly unbalanced out of a lack of preparation from the punch. But, while the crowd reacted around him, a series of gasps and shouts and whispered gossip, Walker appeared ready to throw another punch, unsatisfied with the pulsing heat thrumming through his knuckles just like it did across Klaus's likely bloody broken nose.
However, Klaus didn't let him land the punch this time.
With the full weight of his hand and the momentum of his arm, Klaus crashed the half drunk bottle of whisky straight down on Walker's balding head with full force. He protested, "Fuck you, Walker! How many times do I have to tell you guys not to go for the nose?" A howl of contentment slipped from the boy's lips as he watched the madness that ensued before him. Hard glass shattered across the man's skull, scattering into pieces so easily and raining down around them in a matter of seconds. A dull pain stung in his own hand - fragments of the glass had broken against his fingers and his palm, but they were only small nicks apart from one deep cut near his thumb. Walker, however, was in much worse shape, stumbling from the shock and still surprisingly standing, shrouded in glass and dark blood.
The rage in his eyes reminded Klaus of a bull. And looking in his direction, all that Walker could see was red. Though the Wembley boy wanted to revel in his small victory, he couldn't for more than a moment because a second later, all he could see were dozens of suited bodies standing taller than him while his own back hit the floor, feet coming incredibly close to his face.
Someone - probably Walker - had shoved him.
In a matter of seconds, it turned into all out chaos.
Blood splattered and stained the white fabric of Dominic’s shirt like droplets of crimson paint on a blank canvas. He wasn’t quite sure if it was Klaus’s or Walker’s but he couldn’t find time or care to ponder the thought as the sound of a rough collision erupted throughout the bar, Klaus’ body clattering into the unexpecting bodies of a group of men sitting by the bar, knocking of thee table as well as chairs, glass shattering against the floor and shards scattering across the space. It was like a domino effect, men falling from their seats and colliding with the rough wooden planks with a dull boom while others got knocked in the face by flailing arms. Dominic himself was slightly impressed by the clusterfuck of males that had ended up on the ground in only a blink of an eye but then he wasn’t allowed to marvel in the irony of the situation for long, shaken out of his intrigue by a grabbing hand at the collar of his shirt, pulling him from the safety of his spot and into the heat of the chaos and against the bar counter.
Blue eyes blinked, staring into the face of unbridled anger. Frederick Walker looked absolutely monstrous, blood dripping down the side of his face in a crimson waterfall, causing his hair to stick to his forehead and humid breath blasting into the prince’s face, causing Dominic’s nose to scrunch from the putrid scent of it. In the lasting seconds where Frederick only glared at him in the close proximity of their faces, Dominic had the urge to comment on just how he was in terrible need of a mint, he was interrupted by a fist flying towards him and finding a home on his face, the sheer impact causing his back to fall back roughly on the bar counter. Dominic groaned out, tongue swiping out across his lip and being welcomed with the metallic taste of his own blood.
For fuck’s sake. He had an official outing tomorrow. “You fat fuck! What’s with you and faces? It’s not my fault you’re uglier than shit!”
Despite how his cheek burned and his head throbbed, Dominic still had the gaul to taunt the raging man, quite expectedly earning him yet another incoming attack yet at the last minute he rolled out of the way. However, the bartender was not as lucky, rising up from behind the counter to be greeted by a fist to the temple, causing his body to fall back and knock into the shelves lined with liquor which like everything else in this bar seemed to suffer from the brute strength that Frederick dealt out, bottles on bottles of alcohol tumbling from their places and crashing into the floor, breaking upon impact.
Dominic was more pissed about the waste of good alcohol than the pain.
It seemed the bartender was just as livid, recovering from his daze and rising from the floor, a large hand giving Frederick a taste of his own medicine and grabbing him by the collar and pulling the upper part of his body over the bar, holding him captive and delivering a hard blow to his lower jaw. Dominic used the opportunity to lift himself off the bar, brushing the shards of glass off his clothing but a shout to his left caused him to turn his head, spotting a man who he recognized as Frederick’s mate, hurtling in his direction, fist at the ready. However, Dominic wasn’t keen on being hit again, ducking in time to save himself but causing yet another person to become collateral damage. The man’s fist struck a patron behind him, one of the men that had toppled to the floor earlier, who charged towards his attacker, ready to give him the same violent treatment. Dominic didn’t waste time however, hands finding a bar stool by the counter and swinging it, hitting the assailant in the back, the wooden seat, splintering and breaking as the man crumpled to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
Dominic spat out a mouthful of blood. "What do you think I am? A fucking free-for-all?"
Mod
In a matter of seconds, the world descended into chaos.
Klaus couldn't see much of anything past the legs and feet that surrounded him, not to mention the fact that there were a few others that'd gone down to the floor alongside him when he'd fallen from the table. Tangled limbs and broken glass across the floor boards made it difficult to get up. By the time that Klaus's vision cleared, there were a swarm of angry men on all sides. However, instead of enjoying their drinks and watching the madness like they had been before, they all joined in the fight as well.
Fists flew in the air. Men were throwing their hands in whatever direction they could, making contact with faces and body so roughly and abruptly. Like a switch, violence spread through the crowd like a wildfire, catching each man alight with such ease. Klaus had been the kindle, sparking the initial flame and the madness that ensued afterwards carried on like falling dominoes. There was no telling who was hitting who at this point and not even a clear understand of why they were hitting each other - but there was no method to the madness, either. Disorder and inebriety made it difficult to think fast and all any of them could do was land another punch on the person that'd hit them first.
Klaus struggled on the floor, his palm feeling around the floor for empty space, finding it only after patting haphazardly against another man's chest. He'd finally managed to turn on his knee when his other hand accidentally pressed against another man's cheek, pushing it aside while he used the stability to maneuver himself up into a standing position. Shoulders bumped into him even when he was standing once again, leaving him still slightly off balance. The blur of black and grey suits made it difficult to spot coherent figures and in the flood of all of them in the dim lights of the Blind Beggar, Klaus still could not quite catch sight of the initial target - Walker. Nor could he spot the man from earlier either.
But, then another hand swung at him. Knuckles caught him straight in the cheek, whipping his face in the other direction. An explosion of pain drew across his jaw and his mouth, leaving him wincing and grabbing at the area that'd been injured. And without much time to think or recuperate, Klaus did only the next logical thing that he could. Much like a cat, the Wembley boy shifted towards his attacker, jumping from the ground and landing himself on his assailant's back. His arms wrapped tightly around the man's thick neck while his legs flailed from the side's of the man's body, struggling to stay atop of him given how his attacker tried to force him off.
Growls of focus and frustration slipped between his teeth as he smashed his fists against the man. As he wrangled the man, he caught sight of the man from earlier, the one that'd been flirting with him. Klaus almost grinned at him with blood stained teeth, but then his attention was diverted back to his attacker. That was when the man's teeth sunk into Klaus's arm, biting hard enough to make Klaus yield his grip and slip off his back. Stumbling on his feet, he couldn't catch his balance. Another forceful shove ensued, leaving him slipping on broken glass, spilled alcohol, and tumbling limbs until his back landed against several other man throwing punches at one another - and now all deviating all their pent up frustration towards him as their new target.
Mod
Dominic.
Lou had heard the prince’s name, uttered by a local swigging a pint with his mates just on the street. “A rowdy fighter, that one, the prince and that Wembley boy, heh!” It had stopped the princess in her tracks, halting with half a bite of candy apple lodged in her cheek. Her brother? Here, at the Blind Beggar? It would appear she wouldn’t be the only Winchester having snuck off to town that evening, against their father’s orders.
Exchanging a look with Dawson, before he could advise her against it, Louisa abandoned her candy apple on the cobblestone and ran along the curving road. The pub wasn’t far, just across the market square. The roads were dimly lined with gas lamps, but she didn't need light to know exactly where the Blind Beggar was.
The commotion was unmistakeable; as she came round the bend street, Louisa could see a few onlookers peering inside at the action through the windows. There were muffled shouts, the crash of glass, and a trio of men who came bumbling out of the Blind Beggar. The fight had gotten out of hand. Breathing in hitches with her coat flying behind her, Louisa skirted round the drunkards rolling about on the cobblestones as she reached the Blind Beggar.
The adrenaline sang in her ears, heart thundering like one of her mum's horses hooves on the pavement. Fear sank like stones in her stomach as her eyes fell upon the main event inside.
It was a bloody brawl.
Burly men tossed each other aside, glass smashed on heads, stools split in half on patrons. It was a horror to behold, nausea rising in her stomach. Having been paralyzed by fear, Louisa must have been staring for several gripping moments before she came to her senses.
Her gloved hands tugged open the door, immediately a strong musty stench nearly knocking her backwards off her feet. There was an uproar, cheering, hooting, all sorts of rambunctious leering that overwhelmed her from all sides.
There was the prince, disheveled and smattered with his own blood as he wrestled with a boy on the pubs grimy floors. “Dom! Dom-!” Louisa shrieked, yelping with every punch that connected with her brother’s face. He didn’t seem to quite hear her, too engrossed in trying to wrap his fingers around the boy’s neck. Her Dominic had never been this way, a respectable gentleman, noble- but what unfurled before her eyes was something other. She never knew he could be capable of what he did, hurting the boy like he did without a single ounce of mercy.
Crying out for Dominic, Louisa couldn’t get within arms reach to pry the other boy away- with her fur coat and finery, she attracted more attention than she hoped for, a few whistles and lewd comments shot her way. Lou tripped over a man lying on the floor, sending her stumbling into another man who let his hands linger around her waist. “Oh-!” Louisa cried out, the stench of stale breath dusting her cheeks.
Distressed, Lou scrambled away from the man for Dominic, shouting his name hoarsely as another spurt of violence erupted next to her at the tables. Where was Dawson? In her haste, she had left him behind, now lost in the clamor that was a drunken man’s free for all. “Stop it!” Lou begged, near tears now as the boy fighting with Dominic seemed to gain the upper hand. Just then, Dom managed to fling the boy away, only to have him barrel right into Lou’s legs, taking them right out from underneath her.
Mod
His head was swirling.
Shapes and figures became quite the blur, but it wasn't like Klaus Wembley minded it very much. In fact, this was the exact dimension that he wanted to always live in. The kind where the walls drifted into one another, lines were no longer straight, and the floor and the ceiling were beginning to look like one. He thrived off of being off balance, enjoyed the sharp buzz that sprang through his limbs and his fingers whenever he came in contact with anything or anyone. The fire in his veins was all consuming, the state of no limits and potential opportunities was all he'd ever be driven towards.
And the only way to feel this way? Not only just getting drunk, but getting a fist in the face at the same time would likely be enough.
Several hands were grabbing at his arms and his shoulders. Despite the fact that he was a Wembley, he wasn't spared the onslaught of irate punches. If anything, this was quite the opportunity for men who sat on their hands and quietly bit their tongues in the presence of the Wembleys to take any well warranted anger out on one of the youngest members of the Wembley family. Especially one that tended to get on just about everyone's nerves that he came across. Klaus wouldn't ever admit to having enemies, but it'd be wrong to assume that he was likable at all even in the establishment that he always frequented.
The impact of hands and feet on his body thrummed through him, but very quickly, Klaus grew numb to it. His arms flailed in front of his face while his feet struggled to stay firm on the floor. In a matter of seconds, he was surrounded by a crowd. A well polished shoe now soaked with spilled alcohol and stuck with broken glass in its soles kicked Klaus in the back and then again in the ribs. He choked, almost biting off his own tongue from the force. The seconds blended together not much longer and after what seemed like only moments longer, Klaus could see the wooden ceiling of the bar once again. Struggling to breath, Klaus dribbled bloody spit on his lip, coughing to his side as he attempted to push himself off the floor.
It took a moment to gain his bearings. The bar was still a mess around him, warm bodies flailing without restraint at one another. Muffled feminine screaming from nearby caught his attention, close enough that he was surprised that he hadn't noticed her before. Perhaps that was because he'd been surrounded by men in suits on all sides only minutes before. Hastily rising to his feet, Klaus snatched up a bottle from the nearby counter, finding it shockingly untouched. Popping his neck unceremoniously, he trudged to the girl still screaming and yelling at the commotion happening before.
"Shhhhhh -" he told her, stepping in her way, holding her by the shoulder to keep her from intervening. A man was about to stumble at her feet and Klaus did not hesitate to push him away with one rough kick of his own shoe. "You're making a lot of noise - it doesn't really help, darling," he confessed, wincing at the pain in his brow swelling near his eye. Klaus didn't hesitate to down a long gulp of the amber whiskey, some splashing across his lips and chin as well as slithering down his exposed neck.
"A girl like you shouldn't be around - around all this -" he huffed, releasing his grip on her shoulder once he figured she wouldn't run away as he tucked the open bottle of whiskey into the tight grip of his armpit. Then, an idea spurred him, revealing in the intrigued smirk that spread across his lips, "Why don't I take you home to your daddy? I'm sure he's worried you're out this late."
Mod
Lou wasn’t quite sure what she had hoped to accomplish setting foot in this pub. Was it, saving the day, perhaps? Hooking arms with her equally mischievous older brother and traipsing into the night giggling about how they’d defied Papa’s quarantine order? Dom clearly had no intention of listening to her, that much was clear as she shouted over the commotion on deaf ears. The only attention she attracted was that of the sleazy men at the bar, some edging quite close while she ducked out of harm’s way, left and right.
Dominic didn’t seem to stop, but she didn’t have the opportunity to properly chastise him. Not yet, anyway, because just then, a hand latched onto her shoulder. Louisa yelped, jerking away from the hand that grasped her, but his hold was firm. It was a man, not much older than her; she hardly recognized him but could smell the slurred his lazy speech. He hushed her, all the while Lou’s expression twisting into one of disgust and shock. Who did this man think he was, touching her like that?
Royal etiquette taught that members of the Royal family were not to be touched. It was a universal law, punishable by arrest! Louisa had supposed everyone knew that, so what was this disheveled man getting at? Her head whipped around for Dawson, but he was nowhere to be found in the fray. “You-“ Lou began to protest, but the boy suddenly rotated to kick a man away from her. The man slumped against the grimy wood floors, moaning with his hand on his head. The cheek of it!
With her hand clapped over her gaping mouth, Lou’s blue eyes widened. It was a mad house; a circus! Repulsion bubbled in her chest, her stomach unsettled and her nerves unsteady as this man handled her.
“You’re making a lot of noise- it doesn’t really help, darling.”
Lou had half the nerve to strike him across the face for that one, if she hand’t been stuck in a stupor at the sheer audacity of this place. She was a woman, a princess! “Do you know who I am-?” Louisa scoffed, taken aback as he staggered with a bottle of whiskey swinging between his fingers. Dirty fingers, she might add.
There was something about common folk that made her uneasy- no one seemed to mind that she was a princess, nor that Dominic was the next King of England. They treated them all the same, and that terrified her.
She was hardly flattered by his observation, hugging her arm close to her body as soon as he’d found sense to let her go. The way he leered at her was deeply unsettling. Something about this boy did not bode well, and she wasn’t keen to linger around to find out what.
“Why don’t I take you home to your daddy?” The boy grinned, eyebrows cocked as if he dared her to overreact.
The King, was, in fact at the palace, in his silk robe phoning half of London to find the whereabouts of his children once Gregor had found their beds empty that evening, but that was aside from the point.
Louisa would never allow this man to escort her home.
Not ever.
“Well who the hell are you-? You manky halfwit!” Lou stopped short of a swear, punching the boy’s chest with as much strength as she could muster in her frustration. “Stay away from me! Dominic!” Lou raised her voice again, hoping her valiant brother would swoop to her rescue. “Dom, help me!” As it would turn out, he was far too busy knocking the daylight out of a poor common man. It wasn’t that she needed saving, but she saw the situation quite worse than it actually was.
“Dawson-? Where is that bastard?” Her voice was lost in the turmoil. She had lost sight of the front door, all around her tall men with overwhelming masses and foul mouths smashing pints at one another. The scene was frightfully dizzying, her lungs choking up with panic. “I need to sit down,” Lou bemoaned to no one at all, hand reaching out to stabilize herself against the nearest thing. Her hand latched onto a sleeve; the noise, the smell, the panic- Louisa didn’t think she could handle an ounce more.
Mod
She was pretty. No, actually, she was average looking. One long look down her frame told him more than enough. An expensive lady always showed off her riches in the purses she carried, the fine fabrics of her long coats, the heel of her shoe. Klaus found himself in the bedrooms - or more often times than he would rather admit, he'd find himself hiding away in their closets whenever their husbands returned home - of ladies born to riches. It was easy to spot one, after all they were like a groomed breed. And they also liked to move in packs together, walking side by side, their feet stepping forward in unison, their purses swishing by their legs. And they usually stepped out in the daytime and definitely not into the Blind Beggar like this. So, yes, this girl certainly looked like a woman with riches considering her garb and the irksome shrill height of her appalled voice - but she was one completely out of her environment. And without an entourage that surrounded her as well.
"Shhhh shhh..." he groaned, head tilting back with a wince. The lights of the pub were swirling in his vision and she certainly wasn't helping his settling headache. The Blind Beggar was slowly becoming a blur to him, but whenever he thought he'd really lost it, the girl's persistent shoving and yelling shook him into focus again. Klaus squinted at her now, his gaze flying from her smooth, unblemished skin to the thick arches of her brows, to her mouth, continuing to fly open to berate him and any others that dared come near to her. And she continued to yell for one man - a Dominic, he believed - but whoever it was that she was searching for never acknowledged her.
After only seconds of hearing her, Klaus was pretty quickly considering leaving her behind. It wasn't worth the effort and she very obviously wasn't interested in what he was offering. But, then, she'd grabbed at his sleeve, holding onto him and gripping his sleeve tightly. Even in his muddled mind, Klaus could recognize the signs. She was overwhelmed, panicking as she looked around at the scene that surrounded her. A woman like her must have never witnessed a thing like it - she obviously wasn't from around the Burrows. So, what exactly was she doing here anyway?
Klaus wiped at his bleeding lip with the back of his hand as he pulled on the girl into the opposite direction of the traffic of the incoming brawling men. His fingers lightly wrapped around her wrist as he urged her into the corner of the bar, pushing her lightly into the nearest booth. Slower, Klaus leaned against the table, pressing his bottle to his lips again, gulping a new stream of whiskey as he searched the men remaining in the bar. Still, he couldn't catch sight of Walker again. And then that reminded him again - "Who are you looking for again? You're not married, are you?" Klaus asked suddenly, shifting his focus on her, swiftly lifting her left hand into his view. There was no ring.
"Oh - sorry," he apologized dumbly, "I believe I got some blood on you. I'll take care of that." Klaus winced once again, craning his sore body in a position to pull out a wrinkled handkerchief from his coat's pocket. He offered nonchalantly, "Here - use this."
Noah was definitely going to advise against it. When Elouisa looked at him like that, he already knew what she was thinking. No, they were not going to a bar, especially if there was word of a brawl. That was the stupidest thing they could possibly—
And she was gone. He sighed. This girl.
His footsteps picked up, thudding loudly on the brick road. She was still visible in the crowd, a blur of movement amongst the slowly moving pedestrians, and he was fast enough to almost catch up. It was just unlucky that the rest of the shoppers seemed to have it out for him. A couple stepped in his way and he politely ducked around them, then another woman, and, Lord, this day was really testing his patience.
Finally managing to slip through the crowd, he too found his way to the bar. It was hard to miss. Too much yelling and glass shattering. His eyes scanned the front steps first, hoping that maybe Lou was smarter than to just wander into a fight. She wasn't, apparently. Note taken. He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night before jogging across the narrow street and into the pub.
Rowdy was the best way to describe it. Empty bottles flying, bodies being pummeled, loud expletives shouted across the room. It seemed less like a fight and more like a riot, if he were to be honest. He hadn't seen one like this in a while.
Elouisa. She wasn't at the entrance. How deep had she gone in? He started to search for her in the chaos when hot pain shot through his face. He stumbled to the side, blindsided by the sudden blow. His cheek felt on fire, spreading to his nose and the bottom of his eye. A man, stout and cocky, had struck him, Noah realized. He looked happy with himself too. A smug smirk lifted his flushed cheeks. Absolutely bevied, this one was. He fell hard when Noah's fist collided with his beak of a nose.
Wiping at the small amount of blood dripping onto the top of his lip, Noah finally spotted Elouisa in booth... with a Wembley. Of course. Why wouldn't things get worse? He tried to keep his frustration under control as he approached the table, but it was clear he wasn't in the best mood. At all.
"Elouisa," he started, completely ignoring the man across from her. "We need to leave." He looked over his shoulder. Dominic was practically wrestling someone. Noah sighed. The universe hated him, didn't it? "Dominic," he called out, deep voice cutting through the chaos. He wasn't sure if the other man's eyes caught his, but he motioned his head to the door anyways. This night couldn't have gone worse and he was determined to get them out of it. Elouisa first—his eyes were on hers again, intent—then Dominic. At the very least, he trusted Dominic to listen to him. Elouisa... Not at all.
