Revolutionary

Hold My Beer

On a typical Sunday night the Crescent wolves would be doing their thing, bonfire blazing, smokers and grills loaded with fresh slaughtered meat and beer a plenty. It was the last Sunday leading up to the full moon and the next week they’d be on lockdown to keep the pack safe from themselves. Needless to say, atypical. This scenario would place Oliver at Stumpy’s Hatchet House, an axe throwing joint, with Jackson in tow as nothing more than a babysitter to keep him out of trouble.

Out of all the places in New Orleans, of course Freya Mikaelson would be there, scoping out a new Brody to piss off Klaus, no doubt. It was a rowdy bar, mixing alcohol and axe throwing in all of its beautiful brilliance. Jackson came to stand next to Freya, ordering a long neck or two, then four and before he knew it six as he observed how bad Oliver was aiming. And the more Oliver drank, the worse he got. Jack wasn’t planning on partaking, just unwinding with a few drinks, until an axe ricocheted off the missed target and hurled its way toward his face. His extraordinary senses and reflexes allowed him to catch it by the handle before splitting his skull. With an annoyed sigh, he looked at Freya and handed her his bottle. “Well sh*t. Hold my beer.”

With the axe in his hand, Jack playfully shoved Ollie aside. He had a slight advantage being that he was a hybrid and it took a lot more to get him drunk. He simply wasn’t that impaired. Checking his aim, he threw the axe with precision, nailing it to the bullseye before smirking at Oliver. “And that, Pup, is how it’s done.”