lets get one thing straight: damon hasn't been in a fight since the yesteryears. younger, freshly out of high school damon ... boy did they have a mouth. as much as they could swindle something to go their way, get a discount at a local business they could also say the wrong shit at the wrong time. nowadays, they don't really bother with the adrenaline of saying the wrong thing. however, they'd been put in the wrong place at the wrong fucking time. tension in the room, tension on the streets. the cord was bound to snap eventually. unfortunately, it's on the pop idol taking a damn vacation. " the fuck is wrong with me? the fuck is wrong with you?! " spat after the punch to the cheek — that's gonna bruise later, great — hands frantic to get some sort of leverage. their hands twist into the shirt, but find there's nothing they could do to get the underhand. great, now i have to pretend to be some scrappy street kid, they think. arms flail and lift to press wrists into the elbows, attempt to weaken the grasp and get hajun into a grapple. " aaaaaaallll these fuckin' people in here, and you're pushing around? wrong fucking place, wrong guy. " at this point they're attempting to shove him towards the bar. legs knocking, knees uncomfortably bend. doesn't help that hajun's got the height on damon nonetheless the build. " least you could do is apologize, but you look like you wanna keep this going, huh? " needling ... proooobbbbably not their finest look.
who thought drinking so much was a good idea? him apparently. he's never lost his footing several times and with the amount of intoxication, closeness, and the lack of being able to breathe... it feels like he's being crushed. the loud chatter fades out into screams of fans and the constant grinding of bodies feels like hands grabbing, pawing at him. he hears vague sounds of his name ( or, at least, he thinks ) and the sounds bleeding all into one. it merges into obnoxious, screeching voices trying to get his attention or inappropriate grabbing. the lack of conscience doesn't help at all in this situation, actually feeling helpless and hopeless in this situation. the breath is getting trapped in his lungs and he's getting light - headed, so much that when he finally goes to leave, no one will move the fuck out of the way. move, move, move! apologies could come later but what mattered was him and him alone, even if he does unconsciously shove shove someone. better than getting crushed in his bar.
except that wasn't a good idea and being crushed to death actually sounded a lot better because then the next thing he knew, he's getting socked right in the jaw. the voice sounded far, but it was hard to register when this man was right in front of him. " what the hell— " living in visions or not, that brought him out of his stupor for sure. that's right, he's not performing or getting off a flight with ravaging fans waiting by with paparazzi, he's just in the bar... no where else. however, his ears ring loudly, feeling the aching pain settling in, and he knows there's going to be a blossoming bruise to appear later— and as far as he sees it, he's not the problem. he may be completely unaware of his actions prior but well, he's aware now. " what the fuck is wrong with you?! " clammy hands reach forward to grab at his shirt and pulls to land his own solid punch right into damon's cheek.
FOR : ha - jun ! @redcreekfm / @newwayin . LOCATION : REDSTONE BAR . TIMESTAMP : aprox 2:00am .
it's a goddamn disaster everwhere damon turns. its only been an hour since a fucking body was found ( ah, redcreek ! word travels as fast as lightning here ! ) and everyone is up in arms. there's whispers about the resurgence of the boogeyman, eyes of fear and anger all around as the celebration ends. people are rushing home, gathering into groups to thwart any other attempts within the night. however — like anyone else who couldn't stomach the thought of going home — damon finds themselves at the bar.
three drinks down, each one burning their throat harder than the rest. a prick of regret settles in the churning pit of their stomach. if it was going to be this packed, maybe he should have just went home. too late to decide now. the crowd at the door makes it impossible to sneak through without irritation. god damon is so irritated. they're sitting at the bar with the chatter around them growing by the seconds. they're trying their best to steel it, bite their tongue not to involve themselves. such is their knack, their nature. involve themselves, get to know everything and nothing all at once. damon just couldn't tonight. they decide they have to go. with a fourth drink emptied the second it met their fingertips, they jump to leave. ( here we fucking go ! the path towards nirvana awaits ! )
practically shoves through the crowd to get a single inch to his mile. shoulder - to - shoulder. sorrys here and sorrys there. at least people are aware of their panic, the tension they're pouring into the already thick air. they make it to the middle and feel confident in their escape — but their thin cord of patience snaps with a shove. single hand with force to the back which nearly sends damon to topple over another anxious patron. this ... this is what finally involves them. a hot flash of anger, adrenaline and the night's tension balling up their fists. " what the fuck, man ! " not a question. demanding, aggressive. they whip around and make the connection of hands, to body, to face. if they knew hajun, it doesn't register. it doesn't matter. what registers first is the arched swing to a jaw. " i get it's a sardine cane in here, but you're messin' with the wrong fucker right now. "