Let's Keep it Simple, [Flick]

[Jaro Hawke]

His eyes were burning.

He stumbled through the main street, his fingers rubbing his eyes as he tried to adjust to all this light around him. She'd maced him—right in the goddamn face. What the fuck even.

The problem with being maced was that it forced your eyes shut. The burning made it hard to see anything and the instinct to keep your eyes closed was strong. Jaro fought it the best he could, forcing his lids open. It was tough and it caused tears to gush forth, but he managed.

He managed it all the way into Joe's.

There he stumbled some more, his legs leading him to a booth where he collapsed and began to rub at his eyes again. They were going to turn raw this way and he was going to probably have burn marks for a few days. It was all so awesome he could cry—which he was.

“Water,” he shouted, leaning into the cushion of the booth and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

[Ursula Hatter]

The hostess jumped out of his way and let him seat himself, right in Flick's section. She looked helplessly at him, and then ran to find her.

"Um, someone sat in your section and-- he's yelling for water."

Flick glanced up, and sighed. She'd heard the yell, but she'd hoped against all hope that it wasn't in her section. Since Joe's was only divided into three that night, though, chances of avoiding the guy hadn't been high. "Alright. Thanks. It's okay, really."

The girl offered a shaky smile -- she was new -- and ran back to her stand.

Grabbing a glass of water, she walked through her section, finally finding a newcomer and approaching him from behind. "One wat--holy crap." Flick stared down at him. "Jesus. Let me get you a towel or something. One second. Just... sit there and don't rub at it," she ordered, grabbing his wrists and forcing his hands down.

She was back in a few minutes with a washcloth and a different glass of water, not iced but still cold. Dunking it in there, she urged his head back and dabbed at his eyes. "What the heck happened?"

[Jaro Hawke]

Don't rub at it.

She might as well asked him not to Fuck Christopher Dannings' daughter.

Oh wait.

He kept his hands at his sides though, right where she left them. His fingers curled into fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palms. He counted down the seconds—starting at like 500 or something. He was down to 212 when she appeared again. He didn't see her—what with his eyes wired shut thanks to Dusty St. Mace—but he did feel her fingers reach for his face. He definitely felt the cold towel that seeped moisture into his eyes.

He wasn't going to lie—that right there was the best feeling the world. Better than sex. Better than flying. Better than dancing his triumph on the ashes of his enemy. That. The towel, and the water, and her goddamn fingers.

She asked him a question.

“Maced,” he muttered, his mouth twisting into a hard smile. “I think she likes me.”

[Ursula Hatter]

Maced?

What was he, some sort of rapist?

More likely he'd asked someone a question about his little investigation who did not like his tone. Or his question. Or his face. "You sure know how to pick your friends," she said, softly, trying to gently replace the mace chemicals with good old-fashioned water.

[Jaro Hawke]

“Clearly.”

He sniffed back some of the chemical residue from the mace, his throat now constricting with the breaths he took. This was even better. Why hadn't be been maced sooner? A moment this magical had to be experienced multiple times.

He hadn't even seen her yet, but the voice was familiar.

Ish.

“Are you Flick Hatter?”

[Ursula Hatter]

"Yeah," she said, with a slight snort. "Nice to see you again."

[Jaro Hawke]

He grinned.

Through everything—the pain, the burning, the fact that Dusty had practically fucked him then maced him—he managed to churn out the kind of smile that was his special. It was a good thing too, because he'd finished his quote of being angry a while ago.

“Oh yeah, pleasure's all mine and stuff. How long to do think this'll last?”

Not that he wasn't enjoying this. Perish the thought.

[Ursula Hatter]

"No idea. Never been maced before," she said, frankly. "Who did this? I figured everyone around here carried guns. Although maybe you weren't annoying enough to warrant being killed."

[Jaro Hawke]

This was going to sound about as bad as his face probably looked.

And man his face looked bad.

“A stripper,” he admitted.

[Ursula Hatter]

There was a long pause, although she didn't stop wiping gently at his eyes. Then, her voice flat with something bordering on disgust, she asked, "What, did you get grabby with her or something?"

[Jaro Hawke]

He made a noise. Dismissive. “No.” This was after that.

[Ursula Hatter]

"Well, I hope you found what you were looking for," she muttered, not sounding half as sympathetic, now.

[Jaro Hawke]

He grinned again.

“Is that...judgement I hear in your voice?”

[Ursula Hatter]

Flick pursed her lips. "Pretty sure that's judgment you feel on your face."

[Jaro Hawke]

Jaro laughed a little. It hurt and the water dribbled down everywhere, but he had to. “Pretty sure you are jumping to conclusions. Maybe she maced me because she likes me. Have you ever considered that, Urso?”