Post by kf5aqx on Apr 30, 2014 16:04:36 GMT -5
Simon sat near the corner of the club and watched. He'd let his squad drag him out for another night 'On town,' and was only now beginning to regret it. John had already tried to pick two fights, Matt had received three slaps from getting too frisky on the dance floor, and Sam was god knows where. Probably in the back room, knowing him. Chris and Foley had stayed back at the barracks, saying they needed more range time or sleep. Simon slumped further into the bench and sighed.
Still, he had to admit, the atmospheric was better than back in the barracks. If he was going to sit somewhere and be bored, may as well do it where there's music and something to drink. Not that he liked alcohol, but this particular club usually had a good sized stock of soft drinks on hand. Beat lukewarm water from his canteen at least.
He leaned back and kicked his feet up on the corner of the table, stretching across the entire bench. The only ones stupid enough to try to get him to move were his friends. Desert camo was effective on sand, but it stood easily in the club. You could spot the Rangers from a mile away in here.
Simon tilted the can of knock off Mountain Dew back, draining the rest of it. He was considering flagging down one of the waitresses for another when a sharp whistle pierced the sound of the music. He craned his neck looking for it and couldn't resist grinning. John, of course. Between the two men holding him and the three lining up for a crack at him, he looked like he'd bitten off more than he could chew. Simon dropped his feet, rose to his full height, and started forward.
Matt fell into pace alongside him, seeming to melt out of the crowd. Simon merely nodded. They'd done this dance too many times to have to speak about it. The pair approached the scuffle from behind, splitting up and circling around the group. John looked like he was in trouble. Two men had him in an arm lock, holding him steady for the third to hit him. Judging from the wounds on the man's face, John hadn't been caught easily. Two more stood behind the one doing the beating, apparently waiting their turn.
Simon took the one on the right, Matt grabbed the one on the left. In almost perfect synchronization, they looped arms around necks, jerked upward and back, and stomped on the back of the knees. The two men crumpled, barely able to scream past the arms locked against their throats.
The man administrating the beating barely had time to realize he was in trouble before John hit him. Flying forward like an angry bull, he slammed him into a table hard enough to crack the top almost completely in half. Simon finished the choke hold, then let the unconscious weight in his arms drop forward. Matt threw his backwards, and the two advanced.
The man on the left started screaming at them in what was probably Pashto. He fumbled on his belt and pulled a knife, holding it in front of him and shouting. Simon raised his hands slowly, trying to trick him into relaxing as he approached. The knife lowered an inch, and he moved. His hands clapped on the man's wrist and twisted. Something popped, and Simon shoved downward, forcing him to drop the knife.
The man staggered forward, caught off balance, and Simon slammed his knee up. The nose crunched with a spurt of blood beneath it. He dropped back and snapped his opposite leg up. The kick impacted the man's forehead hard enough to send him sprawling. Simon chuckled, turning to check on Matt. Judging from the straight ankle lock and the look of pain on the attacker's face, he had it well in hand.
Simon turned back to John and his opponent just in time to see John stand up from the crumpled heap beneath a table. He growled ferally as he wiped the blood from his nose. Simon clapped him on the back, then turned and started back to his booth. He ignored the five beaten men on the floor behind him. After a show like that they'd either get kicked out, or not have to worry about being bothered in this club again for a while. Simon slid into the booth and settled in to see which would happen tonight.
Matt went back to the dance floor, but John sat in the booth opposite Simon. He'd really taken a beating. His nose was almost flat, and one eye had a large cut over it. He had to keep wiping it to stop the blood blinding him. Simon shoved the napkin holder towards him, and he nodded his thanks.
“So how'd this one start?” Simon asked. John dabbed at his face before responding.
“Caught the ugly one slapping a woman. Figured you guys would approve,” he said.
“Well, Sam might not, but I sure do. Tempted to go back and finish the job now...” Simon said, swiveling in his seat to peer across the room. Two of the men had picked themselves up and appeared to be trying to shake the others awake.
“Leave them. They learned their lesson. And if they didn't, we can teach them again.” John winced as he wiped his face, adding to the growing pile of bloodied napkins on the table.
“You wanna get that checked out? Looks like they got a pretty good hit,” Simon asked. John shrugged, then winced again and held his stomach.
“The guy had buddies. You saw them. They knew how to apply a grip, felt like they were trained,” John said. Simon grinned, unable to resist.
“You gotta stop biting off more than you can chew. If we weren't around, who knows what would have happened?” John reached across the table to swat him, and Simon blocked it casually.
“I'd have gotten out and kicked their asses anyhow. This way was just quicker. Besides, we're a squad. The only time we shouldn't be around to help each other is if one or both of us are dead.”
Simon merely nodded and settled back in his chair. Nights at the club with John were never boring, he'd give him that. He waved down a waitress and ordered another can, then kicked back in the chair again. John rose and headed back onto the floor, and Simon returned to watching and waiting. He was sure they'd be needed again before the night was over.
Still, he had to admit, the atmospheric was better than back in the barracks. If he was going to sit somewhere and be bored, may as well do it where there's music and something to drink. Not that he liked alcohol, but this particular club usually had a good sized stock of soft drinks on hand. Beat lukewarm water from his canteen at least.
He leaned back and kicked his feet up on the corner of the table, stretching across the entire bench. The only ones stupid enough to try to get him to move were his friends. Desert camo was effective on sand, but it stood easily in the club. You could spot the Rangers from a mile away in here.
Simon tilted the can of knock off Mountain Dew back, draining the rest of it. He was considering flagging down one of the waitresses for another when a sharp whistle pierced the sound of the music. He craned his neck looking for it and couldn't resist grinning. John, of course. Between the two men holding him and the three lining up for a crack at him, he looked like he'd bitten off more than he could chew. Simon dropped his feet, rose to his full height, and started forward.
Matt fell into pace alongside him, seeming to melt out of the crowd. Simon merely nodded. They'd done this dance too many times to have to speak about it. The pair approached the scuffle from behind, splitting up and circling around the group. John looked like he was in trouble. Two men had him in an arm lock, holding him steady for the third to hit him. Judging from the wounds on the man's face, John hadn't been caught easily. Two more stood behind the one doing the beating, apparently waiting their turn.
Simon took the one on the right, Matt grabbed the one on the left. In almost perfect synchronization, they looped arms around necks, jerked upward and back, and stomped on the back of the knees. The two men crumpled, barely able to scream past the arms locked against their throats.
The man administrating the beating barely had time to realize he was in trouble before John hit him. Flying forward like an angry bull, he slammed him into a table hard enough to crack the top almost completely in half. Simon finished the choke hold, then let the unconscious weight in his arms drop forward. Matt threw his backwards, and the two advanced.
The man on the left started screaming at them in what was probably Pashto. He fumbled on his belt and pulled a knife, holding it in front of him and shouting. Simon raised his hands slowly, trying to trick him into relaxing as he approached. The knife lowered an inch, and he moved. His hands clapped on the man's wrist and twisted. Something popped, and Simon shoved downward, forcing him to drop the knife.
The man staggered forward, caught off balance, and Simon slammed his knee up. The nose crunched with a spurt of blood beneath it. He dropped back and snapped his opposite leg up. The kick impacted the man's forehead hard enough to send him sprawling. Simon chuckled, turning to check on Matt. Judging from the straight ankle lock and the look of pain on the attacker's face, he had it well in hand.
Simon turned back to John and his opponent just in time to see John stand up from the crumpled heap beneath a table. He growled ferally as he wiped the blood from his nose. Simon clapped him on the back, then turned and started back to his booth. He ignored the five beaten men on the floor behind him. After a show like that they'd either get kicked out, or not have to worry about being bothered in this club again for a while. Simon slid into the booth and settled in to see which would happen tonight.
Matt went back to the dance floor, but John sat in the booth opposite Simon. He'd really taken a beating. His nose was almost flat, and one eye had a large cut over it. He had to keep wiping it to stop the blood blinding him. Simon shoved the napkin holder towards him, and he nodded his thanks.
“So how'd this one start?” Simon asked. John dabbed at his face before responding.
“Caught the ugly one slapping a woman. Figured you guys would approve,” he said.
“Well, Sam might not, but I sure do. Tempted to go back and finish the job now...” Simon said, swiveling in his seat to peer across the room. Two of the men had picked themselves up and appeared to be trying to shake the others awake.
“Leave them. They learned their lesson. And if they didn't, we can teach them again.” John winced as he wiped his face, adding to the growing pile of bloodied napkins on the table.
“You wanna get that checked out? Looks like they got a pretty good hit,” Simon asked. John shrugged, then winced again and held his stomach.
“The guy had buddies. You saw them. They knew how to apply a grip, felt like they were trained,” John said. Simon grinned, unable to resist.
“You gotta stop biting off more than you can chew. If we weren't around, who knows what would have happened?” John reached across the table to swat him, and Simon blocked it casually.
“I'd have gotten out and kicked their asses anyhow. This way was just quicker. Besides, we're a squad. The only time we shouldn't be around to help each other is if one or both of us are dead.”
Simon merely nodded and settled back in his chair. Nights at the club with John were never boring, he'd give him that. He waved down a waitress and ordered another can, then kicked back in the chair again. John rose and headed back onto the floor, and Simon returned to watching and waiting. He was sure they'd be needed again before the night was over.