Evan stepped back and slammed the heel of his foot into Bentley's toe.
It was too late, however. The man was turning a vivid color that was putting Bentley's rosy pink drink on his face to shame. The mechanical eye whizzed in its socket, trying to focus to no avail, its glowing iris buzzing erratically from ceiling to floor as it no doubt continued to short-circuit thanks to one very excitable doctor and his very exciting story about his less-than-exciting conversation with a She who used to be a He. His friends didn't look all too excited either, indignant for the sake of their companion and maybe just a little too ready for a fight, given the almost comical display of pent-up aggression behind the initiator.
One of them was even pounding his fist into his other hand.
"What didya say?" snapped the man, advancing a step.
In return, Evan shoved Bentley back a step. There was space for it - the crowd was spreading around them, forming a little circle (or a little cage, depending on how you looked at it) for them to maneuver. Perhaps they sensed the imminent violence or source of entertainment in the air. The drunken crowd was always surprisingly attuned to such small shifts in the air. In fact, they might have drawn a breath even before the mechanical-eyed man shot a hand forward, the butt of his palm forcing Evan to stumble back, right into Bentley.
He didn't even mean to step on his feet that time.
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It was too late, however. The man was turning a vivid color that was putting Bentley's rosy pink drink on his face to shame. The mechanical eye whizzed in its socket, trying to focus to no avail, its glowing iris buzzing erratically from ceiling to floor as it no doubt continued to short-circuit thanks to one very excitable doctor and his very exciting story about his less-than-exciting conversation with a She who used to be a He. His friends didn't look all too excited either, indignant for the sake of their companion and maybe just a little too ready for a fight, given the almost comical display of pent-up aggression behind the initiator.
One of them was even pounding his fist into his other hand.
"What didya say?" snapped the man, advancing a step.
In return, Evan shoved Bentley back a step. There was space for it - the crowd was spreading around them, forming a little circle (or a little cage, depending on how you looked at it) for them to maneuver. Perhaps they sensed the imminent violence or source of entertainment in the air. The drunken crowd was always surprisingly attuned to such small shifts in the air. In fact, they might have drawn a breath even before the mechanical-eyed man shot a hand forward, the butt of his palm forcing Evan to stumble back, right into Bentley.
He didn't even mean to step on his feet that time.