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russet-writing · 8 months ago

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03 Lost

“See what happens” | Screwdriver | Club

Content: Profanity, Drinking (in a club/bar setting), Some violence, Threats, Whumpee kind of having a position of power, Whumper not respecting that at all lol

“They’re startin’ their shit again, Whumpee.”

The Scotch he had been drinking got caught, choking him for all of two seconds before he managed to swallow it down. Out of the corner of Whumpee’s eye, he could see his bartender. She was hovering next to him, looking a whole lot more uneasy than usual, just mindlessly twisting a rag into a martini glass– Nervous energy. His eyes flicked to hers for a brief second and he knew exactly what was wrong just by the look on her face. They came back. Of course they would come back. No measly little warning could keep the Harpoons out of his hair…

“What do you mean they’re starting their… I– Didn’t I tell you that next time they come in you were supposed to fucking–” He cuts himself off and pinches the bridge of his nose, nostrils flaring. Reel it in, Whumpee. A deep breath.

“Didn’t I tell you,” A low murmur this time, “that the next time they tried to come in, you were supposed to turn them away?” When he opens his eyes again, he allows them to drift past the bartender, over to the bar and the crowd that had accumulated there. Sure enough, in the sea of faces and emblazoned leather jackets, his gaze catches on one staring right back at him: Whumper. Whumper, with those same fiery eyes and that same shit eating grin that widened as he lifted a mocking glass to him and downed it. Last time the bastard was here, he had broken about six of those glasses, the shards of which had ended up half-lodged in some poor drunk asshole’s scalp. Whumpee’s eye twitches.

“You don’t think I tried that?” The Bartender hisses with exasperation, following his gaze to the leader of the gang who… was now waving her over for yet another drink. Pompous prick. She bristles and whips her head to look at Whumpee, all tucked up frozen in his armchair. She turns back to Whumper. Back to him. And then, finally, she makes up her mind. With what has to be the most gall he had ever seen her display, she slams the martini down hard enough to nearly crack it and steps towards him, brandishing the damp rag.

“You are the owner of this club, you hear me? Be a man, get off your ass, and go get those psychos off my bar!” The last two words had spit flying at his face. A beat passed as he stared up at her. The bartender’s eyes slowly widened, coming to the realization she had just shouted at her boss, regretting it, and hoping to God it wouldn’t get her fired… but then, Whumpee lowered his gaze and slowly rose to his feet. His jaw was clenched, determination knitted between his brows.

Wordlessly, he makes his way over to the bar.

“Hey, pal…” Whumper called out in that sing-songy voice (the kind that makes you want to beat the everloving daylights out of him.) Whumpee knew he had probably heard that whole interaction judging by the knowing look in his eyes and his lax, confident posture. Whumpee didn’t care, not anymore. He was tired of this. “Long time no see. Starting to think you’ve been holding out on m–”

“You need to leave.”

It came out a lot hoarser than he would have liked, but they seemed to hear him just fine. For a small moment, it felt like the air shifted. The idle chatter around them seemed to falter before, ever so slowly, every head turned to the two of them. Whumpee swallowed, gaze flickering briefly over the watching eyes. Whumper never looked away. Whumpee takes a deep breath and meets Whumper’s gaze head on.

“You need to leave.” It came out firmer that time. More like how the club owner should sound. But all that determination and feigned confidence simply crumbled the moment Whumper rose from his seat, movements fluid and agile like something ascending, something not human– it was nothing like the sweating and scarred men around him. No, Whumper was something entirely different. Something otherworldly. All that previous arrogance was gone, replaced now with something… terrifying. Whumpee almost misses the arrogance. When he rose to his full height, he only had about two inches on Whumpee, but God it felt like he was towering over him. Whumpee barely managed not to cringe backwards when the man leaned in and whispered,

“Or… what?”

A small part of him wanted to give in and say ‘Or nothing! Hah, what a funny prank– I definitely got you. Drinks are on the house tonight, fellas!’ but he could still feel his bartender’s eyes on him… Damn it, he had a reputation to look after. He wasn’t going to let some rag tag nobodies tell him how to run his club.

“Or I’ll have you arrested, Whumper.” He shoots back. “I’ve asked you not to come back here and I’m allowed by law to refuse you service.”

He takes a small, menacing step forward. “Go ahead, call them, Whumpee. See what happens.”

Whumpee can’t help but flinch slightly at that, but he steels his resolve and shoves a hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Fine then, fuck you, I will! Then maybe finally they’ll get you off the streets, you absolute mutt–”

There was a sudden flash of movement that Whumpee’s mind didn’t quite catch up to in time. He dropped his phone. Then, the pain hit him all at once, hot and searing like a knife all along the bridge of his nose. He cries out and cups his hands over it, feeling the warm slick of blood streaming between them and down into his sleeves. Fuck! Shit, did he just punch my fucking– He jerks backwards as he notices Whumpers vague outline reaching towards him through the water in his eyes. He stumbles dizzily against the counter, rolling over slightly until he’s practically bent over it.

Whumpee doesn’t really know why he started reaching for something. Maybe some small part of his mind knew if he didn’t defend himself there was a real good chance the man would just kill him right here, right now, in his own club. Either way, he starts grappling blindly on the other side of the counter.

Just as he feels Whumper’s hand fist into his hair, rearing his head backwards, Whumpee’s hand locks around a handle, smooth and rubbery against his sweaty palm. He somehow manages to twist his body around in time before the other man can slam his face into the countertop, ignoring the burning sensation in his scalp. Better than having his nose broken anymore; He can still feel the blood running down his face… and neck. He blinks tears from his eyes and with a final burst of energy, he thrusts whatever was in his hand out blindly. It doesn’t make contact. Instead, he feels Whumper’s other hand lock around his wrist. A screwdriver. It was just a fucking screwdriver. Before he can even try to squirm out of the grip, he’s already being thrown backwards once more until he’s arched over the countertop, feeling it bruising into the small of his back.

“Wait!” He gasps out, scrambling frantically as Whumper wrenches the handle from his grip. “Wait– I’m sorry! I–”

The other man simply slammed his head against the counter one, two, three times until he started seeing stars and couldn’t get in enough air to scream. Distantly, he wondered why nobody else was trying to help him but deep down he knew why. Nobody would be able to fight off Whumper if they tried. He manages to work his eyes open once more, trying to ignore the low throbbing in his nose and now the back of his skull but then… he sees Whumper looming over him, screwdriver in hand, poised overhead, ready to come crashing down and pierce right through his fucking eye socket. He’s suddenly breathless.

“No, no, no– Stop! Please don’t–” His voice cuts off with a frantic cry and he feels that woosh of air and a sharp sound that must’ve been his world crashing around him… but the pain never came. It wasn’t delayed like before. It wasn’t there at all. Whumpee’s eyes slowly cracked open, breaths coming much too fast, and he met Whumper’s stony visage… those dark, intense eyes. Whumpee’s eyes shift to the side to the screwdriver, now lodged into the intricately carved cedar countertops… right next to his head. He gulps and doesn’t say a word.

The club is entirely silent now. The next words are whispered even quieter, but they come out crystal clear.

“Call me a mutt again.”

Whumpee’s eyes stay locked on the screwdriver, thoughts spiraling, mental images of that lodged in his skull and blood and agony and— There’s another sharp tug of his hair and his eyes shoot to Whumper’s once more. He’s closer now. A mere breath away.

“I said… call me a mutt again, Whumpee.”

It was hard to shake his head with that hand still gripping him by the hair, but he did anyway, managing only a small whimper that sounded vaguely like ‘I’m sorry’. A few moments pass of this neverending standoff. And just when Whumpee was half convinced it would never break and that those eyes would eventually leave two burning holes in his head, Whumper tilts his head.

And he smiles.

And he murmurs, low and charismatic like it had been when he first walked in, “Well… I’m glad we got that settled then. I would hate to not be able to support my favorite club.” His fingers loosened and slid from the tangled hair, giving him a condescending pat. “And my favorite club owner… Right?” Again at a loss for words, Whumpee just nods. Finally, mercifully, Whumper recedes and lets Whumpee crumple bonelessly to the floor.

For the next two weeks, the Harpoons stopped by and visited every night. Whumpee never said a word about it. Not a single peep.

#the merry whump of may #mwm2024 #mwm #merry whump of may #whump #whumpblr #my writing #whump writing

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