All Nite

03 | Wrap Party

It's evening when the entirety of Bunny's dance company comes rallying in to the All Nite after the last performance of their latest run. It's evening, but not late evening, so Bunny should be safe from making an ass of himself in front of Lusine specifically, at least. His costars had already talked him into two rounds of shots from Marcelle's hidden bottle when they were still back behind the final curtain, long before they made their way here, and he can see Jules waggling his eyebrows as he taps another one in his coat pocket. Bunny knows he's a lightweight, and his cohort knows twice as well, and they don't particularly care about Bunny's potential hangover tomorrow. They mostly care about fun, and Bunny knows, full well, that he is a fun drunk if nothing else.

But. Right. No Lusine to worry about being ridiculous in front of. Not for a while, at least. He can nab a coffee, tip himself back towards reasonable before her shift starts, if she is on tonight. Bunny can't quite remember, at the moment, what her days off are this week.

Coming to the All Nite for their wrap party, such as it is, is half a matter of necessity (limited options this late at night!) and half a matter of familiarity, considering that his fellow dancers have taken to visiting him when they need a cheap bite to eat. Almost none of them are in any way magically touched (Tabby's girlfriend is a dryad or something, and Marcelle does some casual hedgewitching), but none of them are on the outs with magic, so they don't mind the All Nite weirdness any more than the All Nite minds their theater weirdness.

And they are all in the theater. They all need cheap bites to eat. As often as possible, preferably. And as greasy and as filling. Pancakes, waffles, and French toast fit the bill, not to mention cheap protein, considering the eggs. The All Nite still has old diner pricing, too, not fancy schmancy diner pricing. No bougie shit. No mimosas.

Which is good, because it means the waitstaff do not give a shit when half of Bunny's coworkers pour something extra into their coffees. Frankly, Bunny's coworkers are freaks and he likes them so much. Any by that he means the theater crew and the diner gang. Which he definitely has never called either group out loud, because he has some sense of self preservation. Some sense, even ill developed.

Bunny's theater friends are raucous, which is maybe to be expected from theater friends, but they've come to visit him and come for similar not-quite-parties like this enough times where the evening and overnight staff of the All Nite are more than used to their antics.

Jules calls for a toast, and Bunny watches Ariela grin wide over at the counter, turning to bustle off and, if Bunny had to guess, grab some sort of free treat for the group. Bunny decides preemptively not to even bother trying to wave her off. He's pretty dang good at not putting himself up for losing battles.

Bunny raises his mug, clinking and trying not to slosh coffee on the table with Marcelle on one side and Tabby on the other, and then he leans forward to tap the edge of the stoneware against Ayla's across the table, too. Ayla gives him a sly sort of smirk, winking, and Bunny-

Bunny has been dancing with Ayla for years, now, and their partnered performance tonight was fucking stellar, and Bunny is extremely amped up tonight and he is absolutely not above a little fun, so-

Bunny winks back, and then he keeps eye contact with Ayla as he takes a sip of his coffee over Jules calling out the toast to a rousing success of a performance. Her eyes are dark, either black or dark enough brown to pass for it, and Bunny isn't quite sure why they feel warm, tonight, but they do.

Bunny jumps in his seat very slightly when he feels Ariela's hand on one of his shoulders, and she leans down over him to place an entire mixed berry pie on the table with enough plates for the group, prompting yet another round of extremely loud cheers, which Bunny and Ayla both join in with.

"Sounds like you all had a fantastic showing tonight," Ariela says warmly, smiling so hard that her eyes squint nearly entirely shut. "I'm sorry I couldn't come, but-"

"Don't they ever let you take a day off, Ari?" Marcelle says, somewhere in the realm of lazy teasing, and Ariela gives them a playfully warning look, reaching to swat at their shoulder. "I'm gonna start thinking that you're cursed to never leave, darlin'."

"Someone has to keep this place from burning down or falling apart," Ariela says, more smug than put-upon, and Bunny gives a bemused laugh. He agrees, but also he's fairly certain that the whole staff loves Ariela enough that they would hold the place in immaculate stasis for a month if Ariela asked them to. Ariela turns back towards the counter, waving a hand over her shoulder as she goes. "Maybe next time I'll lock up and come for a little show, hm?"

Everyone laughs at that, Bunny included. The idea of the All Nite closing is downright insane. The lights stayed on even during the snowstorm last year that closed down the rest of the city. That was partially because there were customers still inside when they got snowed in, but- well, Faon still managed to come in like clockwork for his shift at ten pm, leaving a pretty impressive trench through the snow in his wake for other folks to use to leave and come as they wanted. Most stayed, anyway. The All Nite was warm, and the coffee was still on.

Bunny isn't sure the place has ever closed since it opened, and it opened before Bunny was born. Some things just stay, apparently. Some buildings are just stubborn. Bunny might not be magical, but that doesn't mean he isn't convinced that the All Nite hasn't developed a life of its own. He wouldn't dare try to guess where it keeps its brain, but- at this point, he wouldn't be surprised if Ariela turned out to be the heart.

Something nudges Bunny's foot under the table, and Bunny glances up to see Ayla eying him again, that smirk back in place as she sips at her (definitely spiked) coffee. He feels himself blush, almost instinctively, and then he plants a smirk of his own on his face. She reaches, scooting a slice of pie onto a plate, and holds it out for him. It takes Bunny perhaps an embarrassing half second to remember to set his own un-spiked coffee down long enough to accept the offered plate, but he thinks that he recovers well enough, inclining his head in a (he hopes) dashing sort of thank you. It's almost too loud again to thank her verbally, so. He'll make due. He'd go with sign, but Ayla doesn't know it. Which he's glad he remembers before too late.

Holy fuck, he needs to sober up more or he's going to just completely detonate, tonight. He sets the pie down long enough to take a large slug of his coffee, and then he- shiiiiit, either that was the wrong mug or someone decided that he needed to get more in on the action, regardless, because he can taste - well, alcohol, obviously, but- what is that? Cinnamon? Fucking heathens, his troupe.

He winds up swallowing the sip anyway, because like hell is he spitting up a drink like a toddler in front of anyone, let alone Ayla or his technical boss (Jules or Ariela), and he tries not to make too much of a face as the burn at the back of his throat tickles at him hard.

Okay. Alright. That's not going to help with the sobering up agenda. Fuck.

Bunny floats along the edges of the conversation for a few minutes, picking at the edges of his slice of (unsurprisingly decadent) pie, and when he manages to note someone else at the table running low coffee-wise, he shifts to stand, taking his own mug of no longer sobering coffee with him. A few questions follow him but he waves them off, moving between tables with a practiced ease, his body too well trained to waver, even like this. He leans over the counter to dump his mug into a sink before he reaches to grab the coffeepot.

"Doing my job for me?"

Bunny's stomach jumps, but he manages not to drop anything or startle enough to spill as he turns to the new voice. Lusine gives him a mild smile from by the front door, shifting her bomber jacket off of her broad shoulders (eyes on her face) to hook there.

"I- well. Just. Figure. Saving time?" Oh none of that was a sentence. Bunny shakes his head. "I can do it. You know. It's- fine."

She raises an eyebrow, and then she-

She steps forward? Oh. Bunny tries not to make it obvious the way he's leaning his body back against the counter as she closes the gap. He only realizes what she's doing when her hand closes around the handle of the coffeepot just above his own grip, easing it out of his hand. He blinks, feeling extremely pinned, but Lusine only steps slightly back out of his space, gives him a patient look, and then raises the coffeepot and waggles it in the general direction of-

The mug. His mug. The mug Bunny is still holding in his other hand. Right. Oh god. He lifts the mug obediently and she fills him up, leaving enough room at the top for the heavy portion of cream that Bunny prefers. Which. Bunny didn't know that Lusine knew that. Which is interesting.

"I think I can handle it just fine," Lusine says, voice wry and almost a drawl, and Bunny swallows. "Go back to your friends," she says with a gesture, "I'll bring this over as soon as I clock in."

"But." Bunny blinks, tries a laugh. "I can do it, it's not- I don't mind bringing over a-"

Lusine leans closer, and then mock whispers in Bunny's ear, "Not a chance I'm letting you swipe that tip out from under me, rabbit."

She smiles in a playful sort of way as she leans back out of his space, slipping past him without another word and towards the back office, and Bunny- stares, and-

She's never called him that before.

Did she pick that up from Faon? Is she teasing ? Making fun? It sounded like she was teasing, whatall with the joke about the tip- had to be a joke, right?

He is... not thinking very well.

Tabby calls out from the table, and Bunny blinks and looks their way. Two of them gesture vaguely, and Bunny very deliberately doesn't try to figure out what they mean. He just shakes his head - clearing, not denial - and weaves his way back over with his fresh mug held extremely delicately in his hand. He'll have to be more careful about not letting his troupe try to get him even more sloshed, this time.

Especially not with cinnamon whiskey. Bunny shudders.

Marcelle and Tabby are caught up recounting a story about their other roommate and his current dating woes, so Bunny doesn't need to try to engage conversationally for at least a few minutes while he nurses his coffee, feeling the heat reddening his palms. Ayla seems distracted from him, by this point. He's not sure if he did something or if she's just not pushing her full focus towards bringing him home tonight, but either way he's fine with at least a bit of a reprieve. Fun? Yes. He wants all the fun, all the time, yes. But also he's physically exhausted, just barely shifting himself down from drunk into just tipsy, and feeling extremely off his axis socially. There's a persistent feeling in the back of his head that if he opens his mouth carelessly, tonight, he might just fully fumble. Face first. Into concrete.

Metaphorical concrete.

Hopefully.

He manages not to jump again when Lusine appears behind him with the promised coffeepot, but he does stiffen. Fight or flight or- goddamn inappropriate freeze response, he really is a fucking rabbit sometimes.

Lusine refills for the whole table, saving Bunny's mug for last, smiling almost fondly as the troupe makes zero secret about amending their drinks with various flasks and those tiny single-serving liquor bottles. She leans over his shoulder, then, topping him off even though he hasn't quite managed half his cup yet, and then she raises an eyebrow at him as if expecting him to follow suit with his crew.

He reaches for the cream, instead.

(Maybe she didn't know he takes his coffee that way? Maybe she just expected him to be drinking. Maybe she doesn't think about him at all and she just always leaves room for topping off when she pours a coffee. He shouldn't assume. Shouldn't assume anything. Oh he is so godawfully out of his depth.)

Tabby leans against his shoulder, grinning slyly and lifting a little bottle of cream liquor, tipping it back and forth. Bunny tries not to wince, giving a wrinkled-nose smile and shaking his head instead, curling almost protectively over his mug.

"Not enjoying your own party?" Lusine says, and for the life of him Bunny can't interpret her tone.

"I already- had more than enough party before we got here," Bunny admits in what he hopes is a playful trill, trying to emphasize the air quotes as effectively as he can.

Lusine tips her head, scans the rest of his troupe, and then gives a neutral smile. Without saying anything else, she very subtly reaches and taps the back of one of his shoulders, out of sight of most of everyone else, and when he meets her eye, it-

He can't figure out what she's saying with the look, with the touch, but he knows she's saying something.

And then she smiles more brightly at the others, turns, and walks back to the counter.

And Bunny tries to remember how to think like a normal person.

When he manages to refocus, half curled protectively over his coffee in case anyone gets any ideas, he catches Ayla watching him. He blinks, meeting her dark eyes, and-

Okay. Well. He doesn't know what that look means, either. She looks... flat? Reserved. What- what did he do ? She was trying to play footsie with him less than an hour ago, what, did going to grab more coffee bother her somehow? Did he manage to say something obnoxious without meaning to?

She looks away from him, her eyes trailing something over his shoulder, and he catches himself just before instinct makes him follow her eyes. Mostly because there are only two people she could be looking at, and one of them was over here offering them pie earlier and it didn't seem to bother Ayla.

Which. If Lusine is the problem, somehow. Does Ayla have some sort of problem with werewolves? Or-

Another hand on his shoulder, more of a firm clap this time. Marcelle. Bunny twitches his spine a little straighter, putting on a smile as he glances to the side.

"Seem distracted, honey," they say, and Bunny notices that they seem to be about as affected as Bunny is still, which means they've probably been drinking notably more than Bunny has. Considering the number of bottles and flasks Bunny has seen before and since they arrived... this is not particularly surprising, he decides. "Alright?"

"Just..." Bunny leans slightly back in his seat, shifting his smile to something a little more lazy. "Basking in it?"

Marcelle blinks. "Ah?"

"The victory," Bunny says, nodding. "The day. We seized it! We kicked ass and now I just want to... revel in it." A few of the others besides Marcelle have started to tune in to this conversation, and at that, Tabby and her girlfriend both raise their cups with a cheer of agreement. Marcelle, for their part, has a look on their face like they do get it, in fact. Bunny nods, partly to himself, and continues. "Hard work over, at least for a few hours," another brief, laughing cheer, "and we can just- live in the success. Know that we did our job and we did it spectacularly."

"And that's why you ain't drinking," Tabby says, wry, and Bunny narrows his eyes, haughty and hopefully above it.

"I'm not drinking beyond my capacity because I," he pauses, "don't want to."

"Trying to impress someone," Ayla murmurs, having apparently given up any pretense of not drinking, and holding the lip of her flask less than an inch below her mouth.

Bunny feels himself flush, inexplicably ashamed, and then he raises his nose, playing up the haughty again. "Trying not to end a very nice night face down in pavement." He flutters a hand in the air, shrugging. "Been there, done that, not interested in a repeat performance on that one."

"You are such a lightweight," Marcelle says, with no small degree of fondness.

Bunny huffs. "This willowy figure o' mine doesn't leave a lot of room for alcohol storage," he sing-songs, and then he grins. "But that means I get fun a lot quicker than all you lot of dwarven constitution."

Jules snorts, and Tabby manages a giggle. Ayla doesn't... actually make a sound, or move, except to lift the flask and take another sip.

Bunny slips below the social radar - or at least he hopes he does - for a few minutes after that, until Lusine carries over the food for their table with Ariela following and helping, the both of them weaving around the table with a practiced ease and settling the various dishes in front of Bunny and his friends lickety split.

Lusine meets his eye again when she puts his blueberry topped waffles down in front of him, quirking one side of her mouth into a smile, and then she nods and slips back to take another table that just sat down.

Instinctively, or maybe just because of his previous suspicions, Bunny's eyes flit almost against his will to check Ayla's face after that half-interaction, and-

Ayla glares after Lusine's back, and then she - of course - catches him watching. Her dark eyes flash with- something Bunny doesn't quite get, her lip almost curling, and then she proceeds to ignore him and focus on her own food for a little while.

Pretty much everyone focuses on their own food for a little while, which is a fucking relief as far as Bunny is concerned. He is... tired? It might be that he's tired. Or stressed. He usually doesn't find these post-performance parties stressful, but-

He finishes as much of the waffles as he knows will let him stay comfortable and not vaguely ill from eating too much too quickly, then shoves the rest of his plate out of the way to box up for an extra meal later. He figures now is as good a time as any to escape to the bathroom for a couple minutes to just do some of those box breaths and assess his level of drunk and settle himself in his skin before rejoining the social group, no one is going to question him washing his hands after that sticky mess of blueberries and syrup and whipped cream.

The box breathing helps, even if it feels a little odd to be using the customer bathroom instead of the staff one he's used to in the back. And according to past-midnight bathroom assessment, Bunny's level of drunk is not inconsiderable, but not the worst he's ever been, not by a long shot. That last mouthful of mostly cinnamon whiskey and partly coffee hasn't done him any favors, that's for goddamn sure.

Bunny scowls at himself in the mirror after he splashes some water on his face, and is reminded unpleasantly that even when he tries his best to look angry or intimidating, he mostly winds up looking cute. It's not the most helpful, actually. Cute is useful in extremely limited circumstances.

He sighs, dries his hands on some paper towels, squares himself up for noise and conversation again before he exits the bathroom.

There's a maybe four foot long hallway to the bathrooms off the main room, with a little storage closet on the opposite wall and a very limited angle of view back to the dining area, currently lit like a fucking crypt because both bulbs in the wall sconce burnt out last week and no one has apparently gotten around to replacing them yet.

Bunny stops short there when he almost bumps face first into Ayla, leaning on the wall in the cramped space.

"Oh, sorry," he manages, his tongue feeling garbled in his mouth as he stumbles a step back.

Ayla moves forward, lifting a hand as if to steady him, but-

She grabs his elbow, and then keeps moving forward, pressing Bunny back up against the wall. When his back bounces against the wallpaper, she grabs his shoulder instead, pressing to keep him there as she raises her other hand to grab his jaw, forcing his face up so that their eyes meet.

Bunny stills. He should know better. He really should know better. He's fit and he's dexterous and slippery, he knows he could get out of this, fighting or running but-

Freeze. Bunny goes still, and he hopes, somewhere deep in the rabbit heart of him, that she'll forget that he's prey and let him go.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Briar?" Ayla hisses, the hand on his jaw squeezing painfully tight and prompting a small noise of protest from Bunny without his say so. "I'm not someone to fuck with."

"I don't know what you mean," he whispers, all one breath. "Wh-"

"I'm not here," she says in a harsh whisper, thunking Bunny's head back against the wall for emphasis, "to make some other bitch jealous for you. Either you want me or you don't but I will not be used, Briar."

No one calls him Briar unless they're bullying him, historically. He doesn't know why that's the thought that sticks in his head while his heart rate spikes.

He tries to look sideways, at least a glimpse of the front of the diner, Stray's booth should be in sight, but-

The ghost isn't in his usual spot. Of course. Why would he be there the one time Bunny actually wants to see him?

She tips his face a little further up by the chin, craning his neck in a less than comfortable way. "Briar. Fucking look at me."

"I- I- I don't-"

She leans closer, teeth bared, and Bunny just- watches her, her hands holding him against the wall. He can feel his hands trembling.

"No more fucking games," she says, so slowly. "Do you want me, or not?"

She sneers as she says this, but-

Bunny is stock still and trembling and she's holding his fucking face so he can't look at anything besides her, so he sees the flash of insecurity in her dark, dark eyes.

And it makes him angry.

... he's still fucking terrified and he can't seem to control his limbs, but. The anger is there, too, and it gives him back his tongue, at least.

"Well Ayla you know," he hisses, quick and sharp, "the thing about that is that I did want you! Past tense, now, is the thing. But I thought it might be fun! Thought you were a fun time and dancing next to you was a romp and I thought you were the kind of friend I might be able to have a good time with, who might want to have a good time with me, but the thing about that is that you've fully thrown all that into the toilet, which is conveniently through that door right there. Why the fuck do you think you have the right to put your hands on me when we aren't on stage?"

Ayla blinks, pulling her head back, but then her eyes narrow and she leans closer again, teeth bared. "You are such a bratty little shit. You don't just get to play with people and then have no fucking consequences, Briar."

"God you sound like a middle schooler trying to intimidate me with my own fucking surname," Bunny drawls, proud of himself when he manages to roll his eyes in a passable imitation of exasperation. "And what the fuck consequences ?" he snaps. "What's your plan ? Gonna hit me? Force yourself on me? Try to coerce or guilt me into fucking you? God you're pathetic if you think you need to do this just because you thought I might change my mind about wanting to sleep with you-"

Bunny registers the crack noise of skin on skin before the pain of Ayla slapping him across the face, the shock of it stunning him back to silence. He instinctively looks towards her again, sees her raise her hand back for a second go, and-

Another hand intercepts, wrapping none too gently around Ayla's wrist, and then she yelps as she's hauled physically back off of Bunny and shoved away to shoulder into the wall a couple feet down.

Bunny pants, heart still running rapid in his chest as he lifts a hand to his stinging cheek, not entirely certain what just happened until he fully registers the third person to join them.

"I don't think you're going to be putting your hand on him again," Lusine says, her tone remarkably mild for the way it seems to chill the air in the entire hallway.

"What the f-" Ayla cuts herself off with a hiss, straightening. "Oh of fucking course it's you. So it worked, then." She gestures towards Bunny with a hand, and he can't help the flinch. "He's playing you exactly the same as he played me, you know. As a courtesy."

Lusine narrows her eyes, then gives Bunny a slow, considering look. In the blown-bulb darkness, her eyes- they reflect two animal circles of witchlight. Bunny knows that Ayla can see it too, because when Lusine looks towards her again, she blanches.

"He doesn't look like he's playing," she says, deliberate and slow. "And neither am I."

Lusine shifts her stance, then, an implicit warning. If Ayla takes another step towards Bunny, something bad will happen to her. Which-

"I'm fine," Bunny hears himself say, breathless and utterly unconvincing, and Lusine looks even more like she's ready to bite. "It isn't-"

"She hit you."

Bunny's jaw tightens. He can still feel the sting on his cheek. He wonders if there's going to be a mark.

"He fucking deserved it," Ayla hisses, and then she blanches again when Lusine takes a step towards her.

"You're done," Lusine says, in the voice of a disappointed manager, though her body language is distinctly predatory as she looms over Ayla, crowding her towards the end of the hallway away from Bunny. "You can leave this diner now without a word of trouble, cash on the table for your part of the meal, or I can physically remove you from the premises."

"You can't fucking touch me," Ayla hisses, but the way her eyes dart to the side and the way she twitches back belie any confidence that she might have felt in the words. "Don't you dare."

"You touched him," Lusine says, and for the first time, Bunny can hear the cold anger in the words, unburied from that typical flatness. "You didn't seem to have a problem with that."

Ayla gapes, a wordless indignant noise managing to escape without any actual articulate thought, and then when Lusine takes another step towards her, she turns and scrambles out of the hallway and around the corner, out of sight.

Bunny's shoulders slump, though the rest of the tension in his body seems stubborn to stick around. Lusine glares after Ayla for a long moment before turning towards him again.

"You alright?" she asks. She doesn't reach for him, not really, but something about her stance makes him think that she's considering it. Trying to figure out if he needs it, maybe.

And Bunny wants to cry, just a little. Because he's a moron who forgets how to defend himself the instant he needs it. And he doesn't know what he wants, if he would try to jump away if she touched him, or if he needs the sort of hug that makes him feel crushed, or if he's going to scream. He's embarrassed, that this happened to him, that Lusine of all people saw it and had to save him from it. His face hurts. He couldn't be much further from alright unless he were bleeding.

He nods.

"I'm going to make sure that she actually leaves." Lusine pauses. "And pays, preferably. Will you be alright here?"

Like he's fragile. Bunny swallows, then shoves himself off the wall, shoving a hand through his hair before it becomes obvious that he's still shaking. "I think I'll live," he says dryly. "Chase that wallet. Though I don't think you'll manage to squeeze a tip out of her."

Lusine's brow furrows, but she snorts a breath of a laugh and nods. "Back soon," she says, and then she slips from the hallway as well, leaving Bunny to... sit tight. Or whatever.

He wraps his arms across his torso and squeezes his own ribs, then tries to shift himself into box breathing again, tries to focus on something simple. He can't quite manage- can't quite keep the breaths calm and even. He can't seem to get enough air like that. He winds up gasping.

He glances up, and jolts when he sees Stray back at his usual booth in the corner, his face upturned and very much watching Bunny. Stray seems to notice that he's been noticed, and he tilts his head, raises an eyebrow, and gives a questioning sort of thumbs up.

And Bunny realizes, of course, that the reason why Stray wasn't at his booth earlier when Bunny looked for him, was because he had already seen what was going on, and had gone to find someone to help. And he picked Lusine.

Even though Bunny knows that his hands are still trembling, his fingers are starting to feel vaguely numb. His lips, too. He shakes his head, shakes it again. He's decided what he wants. In the short term, at least.

The rest of his table is staring at the door when he comes out of the hallway, neither Ayla or Lusine anywhere in sight, and Bunny knows that it won't work but he makes the attempt to slip back into his seat unnoticed anyway. Marcelle eyes him with some alarm, their mouth half open for a moment or two before they seem to remember how to speak.

"Uh. What- happened?" they say, inflection tipping the words into a strangled sort of question.

"What happened to your face?" Jules asks, and, well, that answers the question about whether or not that slap left a mark.

Bunny shrugs. "Ayla apparently thought I was leading her on," he says, his tone stunningly casual. "Does anyone have anything not flavored with artificial cinnamon?"

Three different people blink at the non sequitur, and Bunny raises an eyebrow above a mocking sort of smile.

"What, are we done with the game of try to get Bunny drunk ? You all usually have so much fun with that one. Come on, what do we still got?"

Bunny is bizarrely grateful that the majority of his troupe are still rather sloshed, too. Tabby barely seems to know what's going on as she grins and reaches to rummage in her jacket until she pulls out a single serve bottle of coconut rum, which is about as perfect as Bunny could ask for. He grins and takes it from her hands with a deft sort of swiftness, uncapping and then helping himself to maybe half the bottle in one mouthful. The coconut, the sweetness, it really helps with the burn. Not that Bunny minds the burn at this particular moment.

He hisses and gives a playful little woo after he swallows, prompting cheers from a few of the others. Which is good. Because he can't fucking stand the possibility of them stopping him from turning his brain off at this point.

"Did you- wait." Jules frowns, either more sober than Bunny thought or just sobering at certain points of new information. "Did Ayla hit you? Is that what you said?"

"I didn't say anything," Bunny singsongs, and then he downs the other half of the little bottle, and sets it down in front of his place upside down, balancing on the cap. "Score. Anybody else want to share?"

Tabby laughs again, and her girlfriend passes him a flask of something that turns out to conveniently taste like coffee, maybe a vodka. It's a bit more harsh on his tongue, but Bunny slugs down a healthy mouthful before he reluctantly passes the flask back over the sound of more cheering.

"Maybe you should slow down a little, kid," Jules warns, sounding distant already. Or- the rush in Bunny's ears might be the ventilation of the restaurant, he's not sure. "Seriously. What the hell did Ayla do? That tall chick was on her tail out the door, what the hell happened?"

"Nothing happened," Bunny insists, ignoring the lingering strange pulsing in his cheek. "What the hell could she do to me? You've seen me throw that woman around my waist and halfway across a stage."

"With her playing along," Jules says slowly. "With both of you on the same page."

"If she did anything to me," Bunny says, air quoting aggressively and putting the most mocking spin he can manage into his voice, "it was because I didn't do a goddamn thing to stop it. Clearly."

Ohhh, that made his eyes feel hot. Weirdly. He reaches across the table to snag another little bottle, some sort of cream liqueur maybe. Marcelle, their own face starting to turn uncertain, worried, moves like they mean to intercept, but Bunny is quicker. He tries a disarming wink, but Marcelle just frowns a little harder as Bunny pulls down the entire bottle of sweet stuff in a single go.

The bell above the door jangles somewhere behind Bunny's back, and he feels his muscles tense instinctively with the irrational idea that Ayla came back. Which is unlikely, unless she wants to get her head bitten off by Bunny's coworkers (diner flavor), possibly literally. More likely-

"Hey," Lusine appears at his elbow, her eyes flicking from him to his troupe in an appraising sort of way and then back to him. "You alright?"

Bunny's jaw tightens, something he recognizes as embarrassment stinging in his stomach. "Peachy keen, sweetheart," he hums, saccharine and oh, way too false. Lusine pulls her head back slightly, looking almost sad.

Jules pushes himself out of his seat, and Bunny flinches without really knowing why. And- the part of the table closest to him goes very quiet, because how on earth would they not notice that?

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Jules says seriously, meeting Lusine's eye and lifting a hand to gesture towards the door. "If they can spare you."

That could have been a joke, considering that their party is one of two tables not currently occupied by either no one or a ghost, but Lusine can clearly tell that he means it. She glances to Bunny again - his cheeks heat, he can feel it, even as he raises his chin in vague defiance - and then she gives Jules a nod, motioning for him to follow as she turns away again.

"You- it's fine," Bunny calls after them, but Lusine just flashes him a reassuring, serious smile, and Jules just ignores him completely, his frown aimed firmly at the door. "You don't need to-"

The bell above the door jangles again, and they disappear.

And the annoying part, currently, is that the trembling is back. Bunny squeezes his hands together and traps them between his knees, trying not to feel trapped again, pinned again. Marcelle says something, their voice low and sympathetic, and Bunny cringes from the tone even though he can't seem to focus on the actual words.

As if from underwater, he hears someone else at the table whispering, catches Ayla's name, catches the words trouble and then can Jules fire and then ohhh drama-

And oh god oh god oh god if that's what's happening out there between Lusine and Jules, that just- it just can't happen, he can't-

Bunny stands, too quickly maybe, his chair skidding noisily on the linoleum floor, and Marcelle reaches to steady him as he wobbles. Bunny is used to wobbling, though. He knows his body, even when his brain is starting to feel like a bowl of soup, and he balances bouncily on the balls of his feet, spinning out of Marcelle's grip with a choking sort of laugh.

Marcelle and Tabby both call after him, and Ariela by the counter gives him a frowning pleading sort of look, but Bunny ignores literally everyone and bolts for the door.

Oh. Of course. Now he can manage flight over freeze. When it doesn't fucking matter.

The door chimes jaggedly as he wrenches the door open, bolting into the cool night.