Marcus snarls when he gets dragged forwards, teeth gritted together. He looks like — not like a wolf, more like a city fox or a starving dog, something lean and hungry and only more dangerous for being a little desperate.
For a few seconds he just stares at John, watching: waiting for him to back down or blink.
When no surrender comes, he says, "Okay," quiet and final. Then his boots hit the floor as he slides off the barstool and he kicks out — not at John, but at the legs of his stool, trying to topple him to the ground. He's well aware that if he does, he'll go down with him. That's fine: if he falls right he'll still have the upper hand.
The swift kick takes John by surprise and he tumbles to to ground. After landing hard in a somewhat seated position John jerks his wrist, determined to bring them both on an even level. As Marcus too falls, John lunges forward and throws the full extent of his admittedly light body weight forward. He's hoping for a tackle, but being tied at the wrists has brought about an added wrinkle that John hadn't fully considered.
This wouldn't be the first time that John has instigated a fight. It is also not the first that he has instigated and expected to lose. In this instance every provocation stems from curiosity. Marcus is a wealth of contradictions: an ex priest who still has faith, someone itching for a fight when not too long before he was willing to give counsel. John is almost unsure of which of it a real, but he's certain that at least a bit of it will reveal itself through broken skin.
John's shoulder catches Marcus' in the sternum, knocks the breath out of him, but Marcus barely notices over the adrenaline already singing in his veins. There are more than a few startled gasps and stares from onlookers: those don't really sink in either.
Marcus tries to grapple him back down to the floor, twisting his right arm up so that John's left is yanked painfully across his body and trying to get his knee into John's stomach. Through gritted teeth, he hisses: "Fucking — arrogant prick. Snap it off, cos I don't want to have to break your arm."
Watching Marcus struggle with the object he can't control is almost gratifying enough in itself. John is a prick, and his own adrenaline surges through his body as he is reminded of such.
"Alright."
The single word is an echo of Marcus' earlier "okay." But where Marcus was final, John allows the word to linger. He stills, making no move other than to grin through the pain and show the entirety of his teeth.
Instantly the sinew snaps off both of their wrists and as it is in the air John catches it in his opposite hand. With his dominant arm free he reels back and strikes Marcus across the face at full force with the sinew.
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For a few seconds he just stares at John, watching: waiting for him to back down or blink.
When no surrender comes, he says, "Okay," quiet and final. Then his boots hit the floor as he slides off the barstool and he kicks out — not at John, but at the legs of his stool, trying to topple him to the ground. He's well aware that if he does, he'll go down with him. That's fine: if he falls right he'll still have the upper hand.
no subject
This wouldn't be the first time that John has instigated a fight. It is also not the first that he has instigated and expected to lose. In this instance every provocation stems from curiosity. Marcus is a wealth of contradictions: an ex priest who still has faith, someone itching for a fight when not too long before he was willing to give counsel. John is almost unsure of which of it a real, but he's certain that at least a bit of it will reveal itself through broken skin.
no subject
Marcus tries to grapple him back down to the floor, twisting his right arm up so that John's left is yanked painfully across his body and trying to get his knee into John's stomach. Through gritted teeth, he hisses: "Fucking — arrogant prick. Snap it off, cos I don't want to have to break your arm."
no subject
"Alright."
The single word is an echo of Marcus' earlier "okay." But where Marcus was final, John allows the word to linger. He stills, making no move other than to grin through the pain and show the entirety of his teeth.
Instantly the sinew snaps off both of their wrists and as it is in the air John catches it in his opposite hand. With his dominant arm free he reels back and strikes Marcus across the face at full force with the sinew.