Carter's War - 26. Chapter 26

He downed the rye and coke and banged the glass on the bar for another.

"Are you sure you want another drink?" the caterer working the small bar asked with a concerned look in his eye. "Don't you think you've had enough?"

"More," he said simply, giving the bartender a hard glare. He wanted a drink, and he was going to get one anyway. Besides, he could still see straight.

"Alright, son. But I can't say I didn't warn you." The overweight caterer gave him another shot, and shook his head as he walked away to polish some more glasses.

He sat back in his chair, and throwing the rye into his throat, he coughed suddenly when he saw the two girls hanging off of a young guy. Smooth and slick, he looked like the epitome of everything Marc wasn't. The life of the party, the appropriate date. The rich kid that had everything he wanted, or more precisely everything Marc wanted.

Perhaps he was just drunk, but he was sure that he saw one of them kissing him softly in open public. Staring didn't make the vision go away, so perhaps it wasn't a drunken hallucination. There was a lot going on at that party beneath the surface, people playing corporate political games trying to show they were better at a social situation than they were at work, hoping that it would give them some kind of edge.

He looked away as he felt a tinge of envy, not because the other guy had girls around him, but because he was happy. He decided that going outside to watch the snow was more inviting than to try and find good conversations here. Perhaps out there, he'd see the stars, ones that could still offer some advice. The party was going badly for him anyway, and the air was stale.

The doorway to the front of the house was largely left unattended, save for a disgruntled hired doorman, and those lifeless lions. Not far from the door, though, sat a group of young men and women from Avery-Woods. Marc knew some of them from when he had dated Libbet the first time, young people who socialized with her, moved in her circles. They weren't invited, but were probably just part of the group that Libbet always brought with her. They mulled around in a circle, talking amongst themselves, and hardly noticed Marc making a beeline straight for the outside.

"Leaving so soon?" The doorman asked, apathy emanating from his soulless eyes, performing menial labour for people he resented for their affluence. Marc couldn't blame him. The young man walked outside without a reply, glad to be out where he could actually breathe.

The snow was welcome though, along with the cold. A pathway that Marc followed allowed him to glance out over the massive property line that seemed to stretch on forever. Snow whisked along beside him, underneath the old fire lit lanterns that offered some light to see with. He could enjoy being alone for a while, at least, and the cold could remind him of the freedom he had enjoyed on the road. Sadly, though, the dark sky was blanketed in unseen clouds, that blocked any attempt at seeing the stars. He frowned, and sat on a frozen rock.

"You're Marc Lawrence, aren't you?" a voice said from behind him, and it seemed familiar, but slightly slurred. "You don't belong here."

"Who the hell are you?" Marc asked, turning to 'greet' his new guest, with gritting teeth and a jealous glare. "Something I can help you with?" An image flashed before him of the guy laughing happily inside. He certainly didn't seem that way now, with that voice. His face couldn't be seen though, because it was partially shadowed under the weak light.

"Yeah, you can tell me why you were staring at my date in there," the rich kid demanded, his arrogance still so very prominent, if not a bit offset by the drunken tone he seemed to have. The young man managed to step right up to Marc, pushing his finger into Marc's chest. The shadow that danced across his face still hid his eyes, and so Marc couldn't make out what he was thinking.

'His' girl? Hadn't there been two of them? What happened to the other one? And he was most definitely not looking at them 'that' way! Marc had enough problems to deal with, and the ones that guy happened to have wrapped around his shoulders like that before, were worse than Libbet and her superficial tastes. He realized he was angry, and this arrogant bastard simply stared at him, ready for Marc to do something. Taunting, those eyes were, once the light showed him them.

"Look, just fuck off! I was not looking at your 'girl' that way at all!" He stood up, his hands coming up to push the guy away if he needed. For now, they rested defensively in front of him, trying to shield him from that rank alcoholic breath. "I don't even know who the hell you are."

"Lucas, Lucas Weippert," the guy replied. "I was Libbet's boyfriend until you decided to show up on her doorstep; you may have stolen Libbet from me, but I'm not about to let you do it again. What, Libbet not good enough for you now? Huh?"

Marc flushed, and than got visibly angry. Libbet, why did it always come back to her? Why wasn't he good enough for her, why didn't he love her? Why wasn't she enough? And with those thoughts, Marc swung at Lucas, landing a fist on the other man's nose, squarely. He really didn't have time to think about those things. He really didn't have time to think about anything. All he thought about was hurting Lucas for bringing that up. He wanted to hurt the son of a bitch for everything that had happened to him that night, and he wouldn't let go of that either. This guy, who'd had everything handed to him from day one. He was going to pay now.

Without waiting for Lucas to finish getting back up, he had looped his foot around Lucas's leg, and pushed, slamming him to the ground again. He went to punch again, as Lucas lashed out in return, kicking Marc's feet from under him. He fell, feeling pain in his right leg as he crashed into the snow.

"That's it!" Lucas said, getting to his feet and looming threateningly over Marc..

"Yeah? Try me!" And with that, Marc darted up with a strike that had Lucas clutching his stomach. Winded, Lucas staggered back a few steps.

But Marc had hesitated too long; Lucas wasn't as drunk as he had first seemed. He lunged in, swinging his arm around and landed a perfect elbow into his head, along with a kick that followed just shortly afterwards. Marc's parents had never been rich enough to send him for any martial arts training, he was suddenly out of his league fighting Lucas and all he could do was try to keep dodging the rain of blows Lucas was throwing at him..

They weren't alone anymore, though, Marc noticed, as he had ducked another punch from the now-wheezing Lucas. The whole group of young socialites from before, who had crashed the party, grouped around them, placing bets and cheering one or the other on. Occasionally, one yelled out a 'boo' or an 'aw', and proceeded to complain when the fight wasn't going to his or her liking. And they were enjoying it too, fights were probably fairly rare among them, but in the end feelings ran deep. And hatred sometimes would turn into fighting.

Thankful for his agility, Marc managed to outmanoeuvre another kick that was aimed for his face, and he quickly recalled the fights he had survived in juvenile hall. Stepping in, and then to the side, Marc had control over Lucas's waist, and threw him several feet into the air, using a trip that he had learned. But it hadn't been very successful, and Lucas was already back on his feet, whipping blood away from his face.