Grantaire was sitting at the bar with a glass of brandy. He was still hurt after what Enjolras had said to him earlier today, but the alcohol eased his pain a bit. It was late and already dark outside. He was absent-mindedly doodling something in his scrapbook, when someone snorted next to him. He looked up to see a huge man looking straight at him. He thought he knew his face from somewhere, but couldn't remember where.
"You were at the Musain last night." The stranger's voice was truculent, and - oh, yes, now he remembered - he had been thrown out of the Musain yesterday, for starting a fight.
"Yeah, so what?" Grantaire replied and the man laughed.
"This whiny bitch you all listen to's gonna end up locked in bedlam, you know" His twisted smile grew wider. Grantaire's blood boiled.
"And you will end up six feet under if you keep talking like that" he hissed and turned back to his drink. He's not gonna throw me off balance... I won't give him the satisfaction...
"Oh... did I touch a nerve?" The man's tone was mocking. "Man, chill, accept it - it's true, what I said - unless he's gonna get killed on one of these rallies of his, that he couldn't shut up about yesterday. I'd rather see him trampled to the ground, to be honest, his babbling made me want to throw up- "
Taire's fist didn't let him finish the sentence. The man put his hand up to his nose, which was starting to bleed, looked at Grantaire in drunken rage, and hit him, hard enough to knock him off his chair. Before he could get up, the man kicked him repeatedly, before he had a chance to stand up again.
When he realised he was spitting blood, he started wondering if it was really worth it. The next few minutes were a blur. Someone was shouting, then he was picked up and thrown out, along with the man he punched. Before the other one could get to him again, he somehow managed to get to his feet and run the hell outta there.
When he was sure he was not being chased, he collapsed and let everything be consumed by darkness. He wasn't sure how long he was lying on the ground, but as his wounds still bled, he assumed it wasn't too long.
He shakily got to his feet and looked around. He had to think hard - as his swimming brain was having trouble working properly - to work out where he was, but luckily, he realised he was just ten minutes from the Musain, so he limped towards the café.
Reviews and faves get cookies
R