War Journal Entry number 190
"Have I ever told you how I met Rachel?"
“Have I ever told you how I met Rachel?” Peter asked, just as he would ask whenever he found out that someone knew Rachel. It didn’t matter that it was the first time he had met the person and therefore couldn’t possibly have told them the story. The question was part of the tale, a tale he told almost word for word every time. So much so that he could continue to do his job while he told it.
Peter was a big guy, tall and massive. The bar he tended behind was only slightly higher than his waist and his arms were wide enough that he could fill up glasses at two different sets of taps at the same time. Without actually listening to the person’s response he continued, “I used to be a bouncer, you can tell how I qualified for that job.” (He was wearing a t-shirt that unnecessarily said ‘I’m not a little fucker.’) “So this one night I’m walking home ‘cuz I only lived a few blocks from the place I was workin’ and some bastard that’d I’d kicked out earlier comes lookin’ for payback. Now, this fuckwit deserved to be bounced. He was a rude, crude, annoyingly belligerent little fuck that didn’t know how to hold his alcohol or to take ‘no’ for an answer. Unfortunately, he also happened to have some fuckin’ friends.
“They got me cornered, surrounded, backed into an alley. Five of ‘em. One had a knife, one had a bat, and one even had a pipe. Really, a fuckin’ lead pipe. Too many movies for these bastards, I’m tellin’ ya. Anyway, they got me surrounded and are talkin’ some shit and though I coulda takin’ any one of ‘em there was no way I coulda takin’ ‘em all. See, I never really learned how to fight for real, I always just depended on the fact that I was bigger and stronger. But when you’re outnumbered you gotta know what yer doin’.
“And that’s where Rachel came in. Here’s this tiny girl, sorry, woman, all dressed like a high school goth/punk slut, and even the smallest o’ these bastards was twice her size and she steps up and says ‘What’s all this, then?’
“Really, like a fuckin’ bobby on the BBC.
“And they tell her to get lost in very ungentle terms… pretty much a ‘Beat it, bitch.’
“Yeah, you know how she’d take that. She grabs the lid off a garbage can and flung it like a Frisbee at the back of the head of Head Fuckwit. BAM! Funniest thing I’d ever seen. I thought his eyes were gonna pop out.
“And so then he tells them to get her. Knife Boy was closest so he made the first move. Wrong move. She had the knife out of his hand and her elbow smashin’ his nose, which she had to jump up into the air to do owin’ to how short she is, in nothin’ flat. Lightnin’ quick. And so now he’s sprawled out on his ass and she’s just standin’ there. Everybody’s frozen. She tosses the knife from her left hand to her right, catchin’ it upside down to hold it like a dagger. Then she steps to her right, eyes still locked with Head Fuckwit, and plunges the blade of the knife into the brick wall. Straight into it. Then she took a half step away and did a kick that snapped the handle off, with her eyes still constantly locked onto Head Fuckwit.
“And then this, I love this, she asked ‘em, ’Who’s the bitches now?’
“So they all rush her. Well, all except Head Fuckwit who I got in a full nelson while he was distracted. In the time it takes me to clock his head against the wall hard enough for him to quit strugglin’ with me she’s taken the other three down and is standin’ there, pipe in hand, like Buffy the goddamn asshole slayer.
“She steps up and tells me to let him go. He’s still standin’ but a little groggy. She rests the pipe on her shoulder so cutely and asks him what he’s gonna do the next time he sees either of us. ‘Run away?’ he asks for his answer. ‘Exactly,’ she says. Then she smiles sweetly. Then she kicks him in the jimmy. Oh, yeah.”
Rachel leaned forward on the bar, having arrived while he was towards the end of his tale, and watched as her potential playmate for the night beat a hasty retreat. “You know,” she said to Peter, “It’s not really helpful when I’m trolling for someone to beat my ass and you’re letting everyone know how thoroughly I can kick theirs.”
“Why not?” Peter asked.
“Most tops don’t want to think that their bottom could easily wipe the floor with them.”
“Hey,” he shrugged, “I think it would be extra hot if a woman that could beat the crap out of me was letting me do whatever I wanted to her.”
“Well, you… you’re special,” she explained
“Not special enough, evidently,” he moped jokingly.
“Don’t go all Xander on me now. Just get me drunk.”
“Have I ever told you how I met Rachel?” Peter asked, just as he would ask whenever he found out that someone knew Rachel. It didn’t matter that it was the first time he had met the person and therefore couldn’t possibly have told them the story. The question was part of the tale, a tale he told almost word for word every time. So much so that he could continue to do his job while he told it.
Peter was a big guy, tall and massive. The bar he tended behind was only slightly higher than his waist and his arms were wide enough that he could fill up glasses at two different sets of taps at the same time. Without actually listening to the person’s response he continued, “I used to be a bouncer, you can tell how I qualified for that job.” (He was wearing a t-shirt that unnecessarily said ‘I’m not a little fucker.’) “So this one night I’m walking home ‘cuz I only lived a few blocks from the place I was workin’ and some bastard that’d I’d kicked out earlier comes lookin’ for payback. Now, this fuckwit deserved to be bounced. He was a rude, crude, annoyingly belligerent little fuck that didn’t know how to hold his alcohol or to take ‘no’ for an answer. Unfortunately, he also happened to have some fuckin’ friends.
“They got me cornered, surrounded, backed into an alley. Five of ‘em. One had a knife, one had a bat, and one even had a pipe. Really, a fuckin’ lead pipe. Too many movies for these bastards, I’m tellin’ ya. Anyway, they got me surrounded and are talkin’ some shit and though I coulda takin’ any one of ‘em there was no way I coulda takin’ ‘em all. See, I never really learned how to fight for real, I always just depended on the fact that I was bigger and stronger. But when you’re outnumbered you gotta know what yer doin’.
“And that’s where Rachel came in. Here’s this tiny girl, sorry, woman, all dressed like a high school goth/punk slut, and even the smallest o’ these bastards was twice her size and she steps up and says ‘What’s all this, then?’
“Really, like a fuckin’ bobby on the BBC.
“And they tell her to get lost in very ungentle terms… pretty much a ‘Beat it, bitch.’
“Yeah, you know how she’d take that. She grabs the lid off a garbage can and flung it like a Frisbee at the back of the head of Head Fuckwit. BAM! Funniest thing I’d ever seen. I thought his eyes were gonna pop out.
“And so then he tells them to get her. Knife Boy was closest so he made the first move. Wrong move. She had the knife out of his hand and her elbow smashin’ his nose, which she had to jump up into the air to do owin’ to how short she is, in nothin’ flat. Lightnin’ quick. And so now he’s sprawled out on his ass and she’s just standin’ there. Everybody’s frozen. She tosses the knife from her left hand to her right, catchin’ it upside down to hold it like a dagger. Then she steps to her right, eyes still locked with Head Fuckwit, and plunges the blade of the knife into the brick wall. Straight into it. Then she took a half step away and did a kick that snapped the handle off, with her eyes still constantly locked onto Head Fuckwit.
“And then this, I love this, she asked ‘em, ’Who’s the bitches now?’
“So they all rush her. Well, all except Head Fuckwit who I got in a full nelson while he was distracted. In the time it takes me to clock his head against the wall hard enough for him to quit strugglin’ with me she’s taken the other three down and is standin’ there, pipe in hand, like Buffy the goddamn asshole slayer.
“She steps up and tells me to let him go. He’s still standin’ but a little groggy. She rests the pipe on her shoulder so cutely and asks him what he’s gonna do the next time he sees either of us. ‘Run away?’ he asks for his answer. ‘Exactly,’ she says. Then she smiles sweetly. Then she kicks him in the jimmy. Oh, yeah.”
Rachel leaned forward on the bar, having arrived while he was towards the end of his tale, and watched as her potential playmate for the night beat a hasty retreat. “You know,” she said to Peter, “It’s not really helpful when I’m trolling for someone to beat my ass and you’re letting everyone know how thoroughly I can kick theirs.”
“Why not?” Peter asked.
“Most tops don’t want to think that their bottom could easily wipe the floor with them.”
“Hey,” he shrugged, “I think it would be extra hot if a woman that could beat the crap out of me was letting me do whatever I wanted to her.”
“Well, you… you’re special,” she explained
“Not special enough, evidently,” he moped jokingly.
“Don’t go all Xander on me now. Just get me drunk.”