Why the hell not. Johnny.inspnickangelApril 21 2009, 12:14:47 UTC
Nicholas knows he should be at home right now, but he isn't. Coming off of a double shift, home is really the last place he wants to be.
He doesn't particularly want to get drunk, either, but here he is, a glass of red held lightly in his hand as he steps up to the window next to the young man dressed in all black.
"Fascinating," he says, loudly enough to be heard, but quietly enough to be to himself.
[OOC: I'm not sure if you're familiar with this character, but if you are, he's an alternate reality version of him, where he never left London. If you're not, disregard.
Nicholas sighs and covers his face with his hand. Remember those breathing exercises.
Finally, he puts his wine down on a nearby surface and crosses his arms over his chest. He's trying very hard to look menacing (and with his fascist short crop of blond hair, and a few small scars on his face, it's not hard), but a very keen eye would notice that he's trying quite hard not to smile.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down," he says in his best policeman officer voice. "You're damaging private property, and the owner will be able to press charges."
Nicholas reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his spare pair of speedcuffs. Most officers these days are getting in the habit of carrying them off duty, but it's so rare you actually get to USE them when not in uniform.
"Turn around slowly and put your hands on the bar," he demands authoritatively. "Slowly!"
Johnny is quite clearly gleeing out, which may make the sudden appearance of meat hooks in his hands seem a little out of place.
...On the other hand, Nicholas probably knows that some people just enjoy this kind of thing.
At any rate, meat hooks are headed his way. (protip: once the meat hooks have been dodged, getting up close will probably be enough to subdue the Homicidal ManiacTM)
Nicholas is startled, like anybody with half a brain would be, but the reaction is just as smooth as it ever was. He dodges under Johnny's mad swinging and grabs him by the shirt collar, rolling the small man over his hip like a rag doll. With Johnny on his back on the sticky bar floor, Nicholas yanks the meat hooks from his hands and tosses them aside.
"NOW," he says, a hint of triumph in his voice. "You do not have to say anything, however it may harm your defence if you fail to mention something which you may later rely on in court."
"You know," Nicholas says as he ratchets the speedcuffs over Johnny's wrists. "That does mean that anything incriminating can also be entered into evidence."
He sits Johnny up and pulls the man's hands behind his back, struggling to secure them against the mad flailing that's happening.
"Consider yourself 'caught'," Nicholas says. He grabs hold of the cuffs and lifts Johnny to his feet, looking around the immediate area. "Right. Where's the security office?"
He doesn't particularly want to get drunk, either, but here he is, a glass of red held lightly in his hand as he steps up to the window next to the young man dressed in all black.
"Fascinating," he says, loudly enough to be heard, but quietly enough to be to himself.
[OOC: I'm not sure if you're familiar with this character, but if you are, he's an alternate reality version of him, where he never left London. If you're not, disregard.
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Finally, he puts his wine down on a nearby surface and crosses his arms over his chest. He's trying very hard to look menacing (and with his fascist short crop of blond hair, and a few small scars on his face, it's not hard), but a very keen eye would notice that he's trying quite hard not to smile.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down," he says in his best policeman officer voice. "You're damaging private property, and the owner will be able to press charges."
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...And smashes another chair, this time touchdown-victory style.
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Oh, how he's missed it.
"Sir," he repeats, taking a few steps closer. "This is your last warning. If I could ask you to just take a seat, please."
Yeah, that feels good.
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Also, there is cackling, and the table the chairs had been meant for is flipped over.
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"Turn around slowly and put your hands on the bar," he demands authoritatively. "Slowly!"
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...On the other hand, Nicholas probably knows that some people just enjoy this kind of thing.
At any rate, meat hooks are headed his way. (protip: once the meat hooks have been dodged, getting up close will probably be enough to subdue the Homicidal ManiacTM)
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"NOW," he says, a hint of triumph in his voice. "You do not have to say anything, however it may harm your defence if you fail to mention something which you may later rely on in court."
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...Oh, wait. It's just a stream of obscenities that the mun doesn't feel creative enough to type out.
There is also probably ineffective flailing.
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He sits Johnny up and pulls the man's hands behind his back, struggling to secure them against the mad flailing that's happening.
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"You're shitting me, man, you're fucking shitting me!! I can't get caught!"
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Then he bursts into laughter, just in case Nicholas wasn't aware yet that he's completely insane.
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"Ever been to London?" he asks, almost casually.
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