[ Charlie may not resist, but Peter sure as fuck does. Because he's still itching for a fight, and he needs an outlet for all this fucking frustration that's been building up and up and up, and he's bursting like a fucking volcano. He turns on the bouncer once they're out of the bar and gets in a couple of good hits before the second bouncer grabs Peter from behind, traps Peter's arms behind him. The first bouncer gets him square in the gut, and the air flies out of Peter's lungs. Another hit across the face, and Peter tastes blood. Another hit, then another, and another, and another, and the last sends Peter spinning to the ground. The bouncers laugh quietly and head back inside.
He's too dazed to do anything but stay down, forehead pressed against the ground and blood dripping from his nose; eventually his brains stop ricocheting around enough to coalesce into one thought: Maybe attacking the big, burly bouncer with giant fists wasn't his brightest idea.
His second thought is this: Today is a bad fucking day. ]
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He's too dazed to do anything but stay down, forehead pressed against the ground and blood dripping from his nose; eventually his brains stop ricocheting around enough to coalesce into one thought: Maybe attacking the big, burly bouncer with giant fists wasn't his brightest idea.
His second thought is this: Today is a bad fucking day. ]