Caffeinated Rage

[jess]

--open

Hell had descended upon Joe's Coffee.

"I asked for a low fat, low carb, double mocha-choco-mint, with two marshmallows and a handful of sprinkles," raged the tiny brunette. She held the cup out for the pimply barista, who could do nothing but stutter. "What is so difficult about that? It's a perfectly normal drink! But you managed to mess it up. Are you normally this incompetent?"

She snarled, slamming the cup of coffee onto the counter. The hot liquid splashed everywhere, managing to get all over the server's face as well as Jessica's hand. Of course, this only angered her further.

"D**mit!" she yelled, shaking her hand. "Now look what you did! I'll sue this place! Sue it for every little nickel it has! I'll own it, and then I'll fire you."

She snarled, slamming her hand down on the counter. "Get. Me. Your. Manager. Now."

The kid gulped, and darted into the back. Either to find Joe or to hide from Jessica.

A token number of her normal following was present as well. They were all sipping their drinks, not finding any problem with it. But apparently their leader had, and clearly only her drink had been messed up. They were just going to stand and nod, which is what they were good at, after all.

"AND HURRY UP!" screamed Jessica.

[Duke Bell.]

Duke was spectacularly hung-over. The story began 32 hours ago, some time in the day before yesterday, he was sure, if his math was correct. It involved some of his friends, the few he still kept, a stray red-head who turned to be his complete undoing, several trips to the city border and a stolen car, which turned out to be one of his he'd lost the month before. Joe's Coffee was somewhere in between last night and his bed, and in his trek back to the Academy, he had stumbled upon it like an oasis in the desert; anything black and sugarless was just enough not to make him nauseous.

The screeching scene in front of him had him wincing, his blood-shot eyes from behind his large, very Tiffany-esque sunglasses widened, rolled and then clenched shut. He lowered his tiny cup, which was all he could stomach currently, and clasped his fingers together, resting his hands underneath his chin as he regarded the bint before him. Upon inspection, he realized he wanted to beat her with an anvil. She was the devil, he was sure, to make the creaking inside of him louder and more painful a sensation.

"You're making a scene," he said, voice hoarse from all the burning he did to his throat and lungs; there was a small bit of contempt there too, but the glasses hid half his face, and he was mainly unreadable.
"Kindly shut up;" but not by much.

[jess]

Slowly, ever so slowly, Jessica turned. Smoldering eyes raked across Duke, and if looks could kill his heart would have stopped beating before she even fully turned.

"Of course I'm making a scene," she hissed. Her eyes narrowed. "They screwed up my order. And then I was scalded. Do you expect me to stand here and actually take that kind of garbage?"

Now her devoted followers chimed in, adding affirmative noises. In between sips of coffee, of course.

"I don't know who you are, and frankly," she scoffed, "I don't care. I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now. So just back the f**k off."

She turned back to the counter, walking forward and slamming her hands on it. "Where's the manager!?"

By now Duke wasn't the only one disturbed, but most of the other patrons were scared of the raging girl. Her dedicated cronies didn't help matters either.

Though one of them was checking Duke out, for some reason.

[Duke Bell.]

The little girl thought she had some bite, but Duke Bell was not unfamiliar to the bitch face; after all, he wore it best. He unclasped his hands, perhaps at the same pace as her movements, and slowly reached for his cup, lifting it again to take the tiniest of sips. He made sure to make as much noise as possible; slurping, but not really, and clanking, but barely.

If he felt obliged to be honest and acknowledge her, his opinion would be that she was ridiculous; completely and beyond all reason ludicrous, but he supposed the insane sort of eccentricity was like that, or rather just the self-indulging. Her remarks were amusing and a cruel little smirk began to etch itself onto his lips; he was always at his worst the morning after.

"Well," he started, ice and smoke in his tone, "burn bitch, burn."
The heat of his annoyance was capped by the dark lens', but his sneer was atrocious and an untapped ire was beginning to spiral to the top. In his country, England, the land of all things polite and demure as well as mad mobs, hicks who started disturbances like these in blameless coffee shops, were not put up with at all.
"But preferably outside, quietly and not in my face. I find you grating."

[jess]

Clearly someone did not know their place. Turning, Jessica seethed in Duke's direction.

"Listen, loser," she drawled, "I really don't care about you. In fact, I'm done talking to you. This conversation? It's over. So go outside and leave me alone."

Yes, Jessica finally employed her Gift. Under normal circumstances, she would at least hold back for a while. She preferred to toy with her opponent, work her will instead of her Gift. More satisfaction. But a win was a win, and she was certainly done with this self-important British jerk.

Her squad recognized the tone as well, and several of them shifted. One poor unfortunate started heading for the door, caught up in the order.

"Not you, you stay," clarified Jessica. Her burning eyes focused solely on Duke now. "You go."

And as far as she was considered, that was that. Again.

She turned back to the counter, where Joe had finally appeared, looking more wary than terrified.

[Duke Bell.]

There was a strange compulsion in him even as he raised one haughty eyebrow in her direction, his thoughts malicious. She was like this bug, with a huge body and a small head; he wanted to put his foot down on her but he was reluctant because of the vast amounts of yuck she contained. She was nuclear, contaminated and vile, perhaps even more than him and he was debauched as it was. This girl, whoever she was, made his stomach contract something nasty; he was sure there was only one person he loathed more than the brunette before him.

He set his cup down at a taught pace and some patrons looked at him curiously and in confusion. Duke wasn't sure himself, what he was doing, all he knew was of the unusual need to extract himself from the scene and out the door. His hand went for the neatly folded serviette, but recoiled before he could touch it. Leaving seemed more of a priority than wiping his mouth and he found that fact to be disconcerting; he was pedantic enough to realize that it was habit. When he pushed out of his chair, his limbs felt heavy; a puzzling tingle traveling all along him, the same one that made his feet move ahead of each other. Duke was aware that this wasn't what he wanted to do. He wanted to hit the girl in the face, throw his coffee on her and watch to see if she melted like the Witch from The Wizard of Oz. Leaving and letting her terrorize the poor establishment and its patrons wasn't something he had in mind; she needed to be put in her place, which was definitely on the side of a curb.

His hand caught the end of the counter top and he held himself in place. Oh, how he hated.
The turning of his heel was difficult, but with each step back toward his table for two, with him occupying only one chair, it felt easier, like he was breaking a particular hold, which he was. His coat was thrown over the back of his chair, sunglasses removed to land loudly on the table, and he promptly decided that he didn't care if he got kicked out too, or got denied service. He was sure the next time he came around, they wouldn't care about his one indiscretion in their store.

"You manipulative, hideous twit," he snarled, expression tight and blackening, one hand wrapping around her arm and roughly turning her around. Stupid bitch, he'd have no qualms in pushing her face down into her perfectly fine order.

[jess]

Honestly, Jessica didn't even spare Duke any attention. After giving her order to the poor young man, she'd focused her ire on Joe. The easy-going proprietor had little trouble dealing with the brat-queen. You didn't get as far as he had in life by rolling over at everyone who yelled at you. He weathered her remarks, apologized, then went into the back.

Thus situated, Jessica turned again, just as Duke started reeling through the cafe. The knave was supposed to be outside, not fumbling about in here like the drunken moron that he was. She sneered, indignant at having her order ignored. Yes, he was struggling, but that hardly mattered to her. What mattered was that he wasn't outside, where he belonged.

If Duke hadn't touched her, he might have had better luck. But in doing so, he finally compelled the giggle squad into action. Just because they were mostly mindless lemmings didn't mean they were incapable. Now they swarmed around him, tucking and yelling.

Jessica snarled, attempting to wrest her arm from his grasp. "Let go of me!"

She was throwing her full force behind her Gift now, not feeling any need to hold back. He'd touched her.

"Get out of here!" she practically screamed. Again, her undirected command went wild. Several patrons and at least two members of her entourage made hasty retreats. Things were quickly turning chaotic.

[Duke Bell.]

There was a terrible ringing in his ears and he felt like the inside of his mind was shaking under an unseen pressure. This girl was on a massive ego-trip, but it wasn't even her overbearing ways that drove him to frustration, it was the fact that she had the gall to manipulate others, him, Duke freaking Vaughn-Bell. He'd be the first before any other to admit that he had issues, one of which being his absolutely obsessive need to be in control. Telling him what to do was one thing, but to force him to do something was going too far.

Her peons were like annoying flies and he ignored them all. Duke wasted several seconds of his life standing completely motionless, fingers hard around her arm, the strange mixture of red lines and hazel staring intently into the gaze of the wretched one in his grasp. Disgusted with what he saw, he scoffed and inched closer, wearing his patented snerk, which was the successful cross of a smirk and a sneer.

"Gladly," he jeered, the look in his eyes derisive, sane and wholly Duke, "because I want to, darling."
He shoved her away from him, falling back into a familiar gait and his expression turned decidedly appalling and mocking as he walked in reverse to collect his coat and glasses.
"I doubt I'd ever want to be anywhere near you again, but keep smiling sweetheart, you'll be fine without me."

[jess]

"F**king waste of space," snarled Jessica. She began massaging her bruised arm, glaring daggers at the retreating Duke. That attitude was familar, and thoroughly disliked. "Some people don't deserve to breathe."

Don't deserve to breathe...

A cruel, vindictive thought crossed Jessica's mind. She'd never tried to do something like that before. Would it work? It would certainly show this upstart who was in charge here, and force him to respect her. But would it actually work?

There was also a chance it would be unchecked, damaging yet more of the people around them. Normally Jessica wouldn't care, but her retinue was nearby, and humiliation was a good way to lose them.

So, for now, the girl just sneered at Duke.

"Worm," she spat. She turned for her recently delivered drink, and frankly didn't care whether or not it was decent. This time she didn't think about her action. Whirling, she flung the cup of scalding coffee drink at Duke, smiling all the while.

[Duke Bell.]

She was like, twelve. Her words were complete water off his back, an idiom that he would find completely amusing in the next minute. Her little brat tantrum wasn't anywhere near as spectacular as his usually was, and he almost found it insulting that she could even say such things about him; she was kidding right? Though Duke wouldn't put it past her to be so stupid as to really think she was the most important person alive.

His back was burning. Armani wasn't well known for their durability against hot coffee, and he supposed that he couldn't really fault them* for not keeping all situations in consideration when designing their dress shirts. The stain would be tragic, he knew from unfortunate experience, and it was that particular thought that he was most concerned about. His skin was melting, but the pain was only momentary, though real enough that his grimace was deeper than any he'd made in the past week.

His coat was slung over his arm and had remained unscathed, thank God, and the sunglasses that were held loosely from his fingers, continued to linger in mid-air as he turned around slowly to face his assailant. Oh, if only he had a gun.
"That was," came Duke's usual slow talk, and he even looked a little incredulous, as if he couldn't believe the* idiocy of her. On his face was polite surprise, but the hazel of his eyes had darkened considerably; he really would have shot her.

"Completely pointless," he finished commenting. His collar hung freely around his neck, the first three buttons undone, and the actual lapels wide across his shoulders. Visible coffee trails dripped down his neck, and those parts of the pure, white skin were a welting red; undoubtedly, his back was worse. And then, they began to disappear, the burns receding and new skin forming over the damaged areas; he was perfect, and he'd remain that way for quite a while. The silly little girl before him though, was a different story.

"You're dead, slut wannabe," he said to her, tone entirely level and rage blatant but checked behind his gaze. He was above her, above retaliating right then, but he would find out where she slept, and he would find out her whole routine, and he would destroy her.

[jess]

As Duke's skin reknit itself, Jessica's satisfaction faded. Each bit of skin restored shifted her emotion. From satisfaction to rage, to almost panic. Clearly she'd just made someone with a fairly powerful Gift quite angry with her. There was no going back now, no way she could wiggle her way out of this situation.

So she'd have to outplay and outpower him. Railroad over him as he would doubtless try to do with her.

Jessica sneered, crossing her arms. "That was hardly worthless."

The silence was palpable, as was the tension. Many were expecting an outright fight at this point, and no sane person would place their money on Jessica. Even a brazen girl couldn't very well handle someone who apparently regenerated.

Of course, Duke would have to deal with the Agents. He'd shown himself in public, and that was a major no-no.

"It ruined that hideous shirt," Jessica finished. She smiled triumphantly at Duke, arching her brows. Yes, she could just lay down a few orders, and she'd be untouchable.

"Should have just walked away, bast**d," sneered Jessica. "In fact, that's a brilliant idea. Walk away, and forget your little plans for revenge."

She took a few steps toward the door, eyes looking down at Duke. "Come on girls, we're done here."

A few murmured assents came from her following as they fell in line behind her. All spared Duke nervous glances, except for one, who looked on with something resembling admiration.

Not everyone in that group liked Jessica, after all.

[Duke Bell.]

Urgh, he felt like retching. Duke wondered why he was wasting his time on her, especially when all she had to say to him was an insult to his shirt. His shirt; nothing like, 'too bad I didn't get your face, crackhead,' or even, 'I'll kill you.' He really had to consider the creativity of someone of her caliber, though he wasn't really surprised; this was a girl who needed her power to gather a following, and he found that pretty pathetic.

A nerve twitched inside his brain, and it became indiscernible, whether his want to leave was his own, or if it was borne of her order. It mattered little though; he was sick of her breathing his space. Shifting somewhat so that he was barring the front exit, he gave her his most careless look.

"I don't like you," he enunciated clearly, talking in the same deep-rooted tone as she did, except his was lined with immovable truth.
"That's not going to change, tweenwhore;" self-high-five, seriously. Until he learned her name, she was going to be everything his imagination came up with.

His attention drifted to the girl with the most sense, the one that had checked him out before, and the one that wasn't looking like a mindless idiot then. She was kind of cute, and he could easily ignore her company given the right amounts of incentive, he supposed.

"Duke Bell," he addressed to her, that slow, half-meant grin forming for her, "you should call me."
His look of almost-civility ended when his eyes passed over the girl with the annoying voice; nothing less than utter loathing reserved for her, before he turned on his heel and exited the shop.