ofscots | (no subject)

Moira's a friendly sort. Even as someone who doesn't party the way most people in uni do, people invite her anyways to come out to their various celebrations.

She's having fun at a birthday party when she's cornered by the young man who's been trying unsuccessfully to get her to go on a date with him for a while now. He's drunk a fair amount, and it shows in the way he leers and won't stop asking her if she'd like a drink no matter how much she refuses.

(She's almost tempted to get one, just to have the strength to deal with him, but she knows she doesn't have that much self-control.)

It only gets worse, as the night goes on. He starts getting pushier. He starts touching her hand and arm with something a touch possessive to him.She manages to get away from him while he's off searching for another drink. She finds a room in the house to lock herself away in.

Mac has a project keeping him busy tonight. Under any other circumstances, she'd not have bothered him. Under these circumstances, he'll know it's an emergency that she calls.

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It's fine. It's fine, because Moira is going to go get in the cab and be safe.

The rest is easy.

"Sorry, have you confused a human person with the last piece of pie?"

Mac knows how to behave himself. He knows they can start with him just pointing at the scarf.

"That hers?"

"Huh?"

Bothwell is not a particularly clever man. He doesn't understand Mac's initial question any more than he understands Moira's lack of interest.

"And-- yeah. She left it when she went to-- grab a drink or whatever and I was trying t'give it to her so she knows 'm interested, y'know?"

"I'll be sure to let her know."

Mac deserves credit for being this good. He deserves loads and loads of credit for making this a conversation rather than an attack.

"Give it here, hm? And go get yourself a drink."

A derisive snort and a jealous hint at a scowl.

"As if y'will, when you're the one going home with her. I thought folks were saying you were interested in some other tail? Y've got to leave some for the rest of us, mate."

No one will fault him for this. No one, in the next decade, will be able to fully spin this in a direction he can't control.

His cuff links have to be extracted first, calm and precise.

"I've been-- very polite, hm? But you keep talking about women like this and we're going to have a problem."

That gets both of Bothwell's brows lifting, bemused.

"Like what?"

This is how a man talks about women, isn't it?

"Like objects. Like-- tasks."

The links are settled easily into his pocket. The buttons of his cuffs are popped easily open.

"Just hand it over, Bothwell, and we'll be square."

"God, you're one of those feminazi types, aren't you?"

That's unfortunate, isn't it.

"Did she do that? Maybe she's not such a catch after all. No use in having legs like that if she's just gonna lecture me about-- 'equality'-- after I get her in bed."

It used to be such a hair-trigger thing. When he was a child, he wouldn't have taken so much as a breath before lashing out against stupidity.

Mac's older now. He can take a full heartbeat of studying the other man's face before throwing a punch.

It's improved his aim immensely.

"Jesus fuck."

It's a very good blow. It quite nearly knocks Bothwell off his feet. It certainly has him dropping Moira's scarf as both hands lift to his face to assess the damage.

"What-- the hell, Macintyre?"

It's a good blow. It would be incredibly satisfying to land another.

It's just that the scarf catches his attention, and he's reminded abruptly that Moira is waiting in the cab.

"Just fuck off."

Mac catches up the scarf lightly. He doesn't bother paying much attention to the other young man as he turns.

This is part of being older too, for better or worse.

There's a very complicated and honestly impressive set of swears that follow him out, but blessedly, Bothwell doesn't. People give him a wide enough berth so that he can leave without any further hindrance.

Moira is in the cab once he exits the house, but her face is pressed against the glass of the window watchfully. There's obvious relief when she spots him, and she slides over to let him sit next to her incredibly easily.

Once he's inside, it's easy enough to fuss.

"All right?"

"All right."

Her scarf is handed back first. Settling himself in is a secondary matter.

"/We're going home, okay?/"

Where it's quiet. Where it's safe. Where they can both breathe easy while the adrenaline wears off.

Her scarf is taken back gratefully. Scooting in closer to him is necessary as well. She has to rest her head on his shoulder, after all.

"/Okay./" And a quick peck to her brother's cheek, "/Thank you./"

She can let it lie there, while she tells the cab driver to head on out.

They can both leave it there. They can both absolutely focus instead on finding her spot to settle in, his spot to carefully rest an arm around her. They can both find their breathing again.

Anything else can come at Moira's pace--or not.

(no subject)

listen: he can suck it

ye Ye Ye

no subject

rng decrees bothwell is a dumb who doesn't know they're basically sibs

the least observant

rip that guy honestly

no subject

RIP this guy

not even a little sorry

u right. also, amazingly, for the first time the npc doesn't punch back :o

the first smart thing

i guess rng wanted to cut him some slack

unlike the rest of us

u right

no subject