I believe in the guy's conviction. I do. I believe that he thinks himself capable of putting me down, and— well, right now, I wouldn't put it past him. The barrel staring me down grates at my nerves. Years later, and it still calls to the forefront of my mind all of the small details, the sound of a siren too far in the distance, of the orchestra muted by a sprawling brick wall, the deep bass thrumming in my chest. The situations aren't one and the same, but the shadows slip over everything else just enough. Just enough that I'm finding it hard to focus on the words that slip through his mouth, presumptuous, as though I now rest calmly in the palm of his hand, to do with as he may.
Ridiculous.
But I listen, regardless; what a person claims can come to pass may prove just as insightful as watching every action they take.
"So talk," I tell him, unwilling to back down by even a step. I know what stands behind me, and I know that I have more to gain by keeping away from the wall than I do by the marginal benefit of another foot or two away from the barrel of his gun. A couple steps in, and I start moving to the side, wondering if that'll be enough to trigger him. Wondering if that's my goal.
Then again, if he's any friend of Jason's, and if I still know even half of what there is to know about Jason these days, he won't take that final step. Sound travels too well in pathways that echo like these.
"And stop wasting our time with idle threats." Through the words, my hand quickly slips by my belt, a batarang now nestled safely in my palm. Blunt.
Won't do me any good in a chase, but it's enough to knock a gun readily out of most men's hands when wielded correctly.
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Date: 2011-11-17 07:46 am (UTC)Ridiculous.
But I listen, regardless; what a person claims can come to pass may prove just as insightful as watching every action they take.
"So talk," I tell him, unwilling to back down by even a step. I know what stands behind me, and I know that I have more to gain by keeping away from the wall than I do by the marginal benefit of another foot or two away from the barrel of his gun. A couple steps in, and I start moving to the side, wondering if that'll be enough to trigger him. Wondering if that's my goal.
Then again, if he's any friend of Jason's, and if I still know even half of what there is to know about Jason these days, he won't take that final step. Sound travels too well in pathways that echo like these.
"And stop wasting our time with idle threats." Through the words, my hand quickly slips by my belt, a batarang now nestled safely in my palm. Blunt.
Won't do me any good in a chase, but it's enough to knock a gun readily out of most men's hands when wielded correctly.