Saturday night's alright for fighting

Pretty boy was just about to take his next shot, all the while wearing an expression that said he wasn't sure if he should be offended when, from out of the crowded bar, there came the bouncing embodiment of pep and pizzazz. A golden crowned girl in black leggings and a blue dress with a neckline she was very, very familiar with. Pretty boy followed Jackie's gaze, found the blonde girl drawing closer, and shared in the tall brunette's admiration of her bounding, bouncing strides.
"Evening ladies." Said the newcomer, just as though her progress hadn't been marked from the moment she'd detached from the crowd around the bar. Pretty boy let out a quiet whistle, like he hadn't heard or hadn't cared about the blonde's derisive greeting, and casually leaned aside to let her scoop up a cue of her own. Only coincidentally maneuvering into a position to better appreciate the cut of her dress. Not that Jackie blamed him, nor wouldn't have done the same in his position.

When she was sure they were both looking, after positioning herself to make sure they were, the blonde locked eyes with Jackie and, with an adorable little wink, quietly posed the question, "Fancy a three-way?"
Jackie liked her immediately.
"I am sure we could make room." Pretty boy answered. Jackie pursed her lips, golden eyes sliding off the newcomer for a brief glance at her erstwhile opponent. Perhaps it was her ego talking, but she was almost certain the question hadn't been directed at him. That being said, two pretty blondes were always better than one. Still, it pleased her to at least seem as though she were giving the question some thought.
"I think that depends on whose team she is going to be on." Jackie said. She directed the words at Pretty Boy, even though he had about much say in the matter as a leaf caught rapids. Stonewalled, Pretty Boy looked back at her with that adorable grin of his, eyes crinkling up all over again. He knew he was being teased, but the prospect of two lovely ladies was just too great a lure for him to deny.
"I don't mind taking on the both of ya." He told her, drawing a half step closer, displaying confidence and comfort in getting close enough to touch. Which made Jackie once again wonder about the sturdiness of the pool table. And the wall. Was there a way to test both before she got kicked out?
Drawing a deep breath through her nose, Jackie slipped her golden gaze free of Pretty Boy's sapphire eyes and peered instead into the emerald pools of the blonde across the table. Drawing herself up to her full height, about as tall as the girl in her four inch heels, and a couple inches above Pretty Boy, she let her head tip from side to side in lazy contemplation. She enjoyed the thought that she could tell either one of these two to leave right now, or that she could invite both to stay. She reveled in the power of the situation, soaking it in like a drug. She emptied the last of her whiskey into her mouth, then pressed the tumbler into pretty boy's hand and, without taking her eyes off of the newcomer, said "What if I want to take the two of you on instead?"
His breathing hitched ever so slightly, Jackie could almost feel the swoop his heart made, before he proffered, with a manful effort to keep his voice even, "We could do that too..."
"Mmm..." Jackie leaned a little closer, almost touching but not quiet, "I'll have another Lancaster. Get our guest one too."
Pretty Boy cleared his thread, swallowed, and smiled at them both. There was just the faintest flush in his face, which was strange because he'd barely touched his beer. He slipped reluctantly free of Jackie's orbit, swung around the table, proffered the newcomer a nod and a wink on the way past, and made for the bar once more.

Jackie watched him go, and decided she was going to put her hand in his back pocket when he got back. Her eyes lifted from the pocket in question and back to the newcomer, passing over her whole body in the process.
"Hope you like whiskey." She said. Squaring up her shoulders, she regarded the cute little blonde with undisguised interest. Dressed in a simple black tank top that showed the lines of a cobalt blue bra beneath, Jackie was as tall in flat soled biker boots as the blonde in her heels. Her shoulders were also broader, the muscles of which traced sleek lines beneath the flawless copper tan of her skin. It was an invitation, an offer of the things the newcomer could look at while Jackie wasn't paying attention.
She slipped on a cheeky little smile, not dissimilar from the one the blonde's pouty pink lips seemed so perfectly proportioned for, and offered out her hand.
"Got a name?"

The blonde's eyes seemed to light up as she took Jackie's outstretched hand, two emerald coals smoldering which might burn the unwary as easily as warm the worthy. And they weren't the only thing eye catching. Not by a long shot. It was impossible for Jackie not to imagine tearing fabric, the weight of dozens of eyes. The gasps, the shouts.
"Mae," said the blonde. Jackie almost didn't let go of her hand. Then she said something that nearly made Jackie crush her hand instead, "Nice to meet you... both?"
How?
Something quailed inside of Jackie, something on the very edge of feeling, something that was not her. Then she followed Mae's gaze towards the bar, towards the golden hair Pretty Boy she'd sent after drinks, and her heart resumed something of a normal pace.
The blonde, Mae, leaned against her panted cue and, with a smile that went some fair ways to mollifying the sudden anger pounding in Jackie's ears, added, "It's not nice to take advantage of those less fortunate than you, you know,"
Jackie's golden gaze raked its way back from the bar, and plunged into Mae's emerald eyes like a spear into warm flesh.
"And it seems to me that most are less fortunate than you."
Jackie's smile returned, dragging itself into place on the ebbing tide of her recent fury. She ran a hand back through her loose, long, lustrous brown hair, just so happening to hold her shoulders back and her back arched at the same time. The naked praise went the rest of the way to settling her heart back into a rhythm she much preferred, though perhaps not a pace much slower than before.
"It's only taking advantage if I don't give them what they want." She said openly, eyes glittering like the golden cores of two distant stars. She looked lazily back to Pretty Boy, already making his way back, and the hard lines of her smile softened into something more hungry than masterful. That insatiable appetite didn't go anywhere as her eyes moved back to Mae. She wasn't thinking what anyone with a pulse wouldn't be thinking, looking at someone dressed the way the blonde was, someone as good looking as the blonde was. Jackie merely didn't hide it.
"Two drinks for two lovely ladies..." Pretty Boy slipped back in to their midst with presumptuous ease. Though he reached Mae first, it was Jackie who was first to be offered a refreshed drink. That propriety would have deserved a reward, even if Jackie hadn't already decided she was done playing coy with his personal space. She took the glass in one hand, then, as he was turning to offer the other to the blonde, Jackie slipped that arm around his shoulder and stepped casually close. So close, in fact, that he had to stop halfway. His blue eyes, shocked, looked up into hers as Jackie pressed him gently but irresistibly back, only to be stopped by the edge of the pool table. Her knee pressed between his, staking him in place as surely as a steel bar through the heart.
He almost spilled Mae's drink, and managed only barely to keep from dropping it, not that Jackie would have cared if he had, though all thoughts of giving it over to the blonde had evaporated as dew in the light of the sun. Jackie pressed closer still, thigh to thighs, chest to chest, nose to nose. She felt him tense, no doubt as he dealt with the unfamiliar circumstance of being slave to someone else's discretion. Not that he didn't deeply enjoy having her pressed so close to him. She could feel exactly how much he liked it. Wordlessly, Jackie slipped her mouth down over his, a comparatively chaste kiss for the level of contact that accompanied it. He liked that too, though it took him a moment to start actually kissing back. As soon as he did, Jackie pulled away, golden eyes dancing.
"It's too bad," She said to his uncertain smile, "That I haven't got a free hand."
Swallowing, Pretty Boy flicked a glance at both Jackie's hands, one full of a tumbler and the other still holding her cue, and deeply regretted that they weren't empty instead. Jackie pulled away, flicking a gilded glance at Mae as she did so, and tucked into her whiskey with a satisfied shiver that had nothing to do with the smoky taste on her tongue. Pretty Boy meanwhile, after taking a moment to remember how his legs work, slipped off the pool table and offered out the blonde's drink. A little bit of embarrassment showed in the crinkling around his eyes and the gentle curve of his smile, like he was sorry Mae had seen what Jackie had done.
"Feel free to put down the cue first, eh?" He said to her. Jackie masked a broad and not terribly innocent smile, and moved in just behind Pretty Boy, whose sapphire eyes were taking Mae in as they waited for her to take the tumbler.
"Still your shot, Pretty Boy." She whispered to him, making him tense ever so slightly, though she was looking at Mae as she said it, "You two have some catching up to do."

Mae surprised them both. Instead of taking the proffered glass, the smaller girl slipped in close to sandwich Pretty Boy between her and Jackie, an experience which the trapped blond clearly had no idea what to do with. Jackie, unable to help herself, lightly pressed into him as he tried vainly to press back from Mae's unexpected invasion of his personal space, with little sympathy for the aggrieved sound he made when the shorter blonde was done biting his throat. Then the electric touch of a hand much smaller than his crept across Jackie's back, then down over the denim curve of her jeans, and back off into the aether as Mae pulled away, leaving Pretty Boy breathlessly rested back against her. A slow repressive grinding of her teeth later, and Jackie was also disengaging from the impromptu embrace.
"Right." Pretty Boy croaked, left deeply out of sorts by this considerable reversal in both his fortunes and the dominant position he usually enjoyed in such exchanges. Jackie could well imagine the thoughts going through his head. The growing hunger their combined efforts might have stoked to life, warring against uncertainty as to just how bold he was allowed to be. Jackie enjoyed testing that boldness almost as much as she enjoyed feeling his body against her's, almost as much as she might relish giving in to her own powerful desires, consequences be damned. This was at least as fun as the actual consummation the whole dance was leading toward, and it made her feel both powerful and wanted, as was only right.

Pretty Boy, looking back at Jackie as he moved around the table, a bit more stiff legged than a moment before, was smiling again. His smile was more wary now though. He sensed he was not in control of the situation, that he was outnumbered, whatever the actual arrangement of the teams might be, and was not yet sure how to feel about it. There was no mistaking the want in his eyes however, growing ever more undisguised. That want moved over to Mae next, as he slipped in beside her to examine the shot he meant to make. He regarded her a little less boldly than Jackie, though not for lack of invitation on her part. Had he noticed how Jackie was looking at her, the tall brunette wondered. Was he threatened by her, as well as longing after her?

Masking her smile behind a sip of whiskey, it's warm fingers dragging their way through her body with delightful swiftness, she watched Pretty Boy line up his shot. He was no slouch where this game was concerned, and made short work of two balls on the crowded table in a single stroke. That put the score at three to four, with Jackie in the lead.
"Feel like takin' the next shot?" Pretty Boy asked in his adorable drawl, eyes sliding over to Mae who was less than a hands breadth away. Jackie could tell just from the way he stood that he was wondering how close he could get. How close she might let him get. It galled some to see those eyes on someone other than herself, but the thought of the two blonds pressed close was an exciting one. Maybe, if this night saw its inevitable conclusion, she could be patient enough to see that fantasy become a reality.
"Why don't we make it interesting?" Jackie asked, before Mae could take up position for her shot. "A little wager, perhaps?"
Pretty Boy, who had been making space for his teammate, looked up with a mixture of excitement and suspicion on his faintly flushed face.
"What're the stakes?" He asked, a bit more guardedly than Jackie might have expected. No doubt he was regretting giving over his next shot to Mae.
"I'm not interested in your Lien, if that's what you're worried about." Jackie soothed, golden eyes glinting. Her gaze slowly descended his button up shirt, the unremarkable silver buckle of his belt, and lower still. She gave Mae a similar examination, from her soft and pouty lips, to her slender shoulders, to the dark leggings beneath her skirt.

Watching the pair with hungry eyes, Jackie mused on how much different watching was when she knew she could step in any time she wanted, when she knew no one would stop her if she interfered.
"You'll have to show me how to line it up, I don't play this much." Mae said, looking up at Pretty Boy with those wide green eyes. The wood of Jackie's pool cue creaked quietly beneath her fingers as the two blonds got close, imaginings ill suited to polite conversation filling her racing mind. She watched Mae, recognized the game she was playing with Pretty Boy, and thought about all the ways she might have played it in the blond's position. One thing Jackie knew for certain was that she had no interest in teaching anyone how to play pool.
The pool cue creaked again, and Jackie imagined it was warm flesh against her palm, its pulse quickening as her fingers drew ever tighter, snaring the captive within. She soothed herself with another sip of whiskey, though it had the opposite of the intended effect. The warmth if liquor and the sight of the two pretty people pressed provocatively against one other only made it more difficult for Jackie to keep her thoughts to herself.

Moving around the table, not sure if she was preparing to take her next shot or simply getting a closer look, Jackie watched Mae's shot ineffectually nuzzle into its target, then roll back to what was practically its starting point. Pretty Boy disengaged, all his instruction evidently for naught, and blew out a disappointed breath.
"Well," He said, eyes lifting to Jackie's as she drew closer, "It wasn't a scratch at least."
Jackie leaned back against the table, all but sitting on the edge, and arched an eyebrow enquiringly.
"You had a good shot lined up there," Pretty Boy told Mae, smiling a slightly chagrined version of that cute smile of his, "And by the look of it"—Jackie winked, Pretty Boy cleared his throat and, faint color creeping into his cheeks, looked to the table—"she's got nothin' goin', so we should get another whack at it."
Mae bounced back to standing, all bubbly eagerness, "Oh, we've got this then~"
She didn't seem all that bothered by her failed shot. In fact, she almost seemed proud of it. Their eyes met, emeralds tumbling into pools of molten gold, sparks on dry rushes. Jackie liked Pretty Boy; He was charming enough, clever enough, confident enough, and, of course, pretty in all the best ways. She wanted to do all sorts of things to him, most of which he'd definitely enjoy, some of which he certainly wouldn't. He wasn't a challenge however. He was a steak, cut and cooked, served to her on a silver platter.
Mae was something else, and she knew it. She was the dangerous sort of clever that played at being dumb. Pretty Boy had yet to notice, but Jackie had played that roll too many times herself to overlook the tells. Pretty Boy was a gazelle, waiting to be brought down and tagged, helpless against a determined hunter. Mae was a mountain lion. Confident and dangerous, and happy to play with her food. Jackie wondered how much she weighed, wondered how it would feel to lift her off her feet. With both hands or one, beneath her dress or around her throat. She wondered if Mae could guess at the thoughts racing through her head.
What is wrong with me?
"Ye of little faith." Jackie said, smile twitching only slightly as she stood from her seat on the tables edge. Pretty Boy, sensing that Jackie wasn't going to give him any space to get by, took a chance. His hand found her stomach as she moved past, his long, strong fingers dragging their way across her toned midrift. She was glad he had gotten the hint and was taking a bit more initiative; She was too old to be playing with dolls.

Deciding she was done playing coy with her skills at the table, Jackie stretched over the felt and examined her options from closer up. Having suggested a wager of ill-defined stakes, she had no intention of sandbagging. She was going to beat the blonds if she could. Pretty Boy was the true threat, more skilled and taking the game more seriously than Mae. He would also have the table once Jackie was done. She needed to make her next few shots count.

As Jackie lined up her next shot, moving with awareness of every muscle along her long legged frame, Pretty Boy collected his beer and returned to Mae's side. He got close, as comfortable with the smaller blonde as he evidently was with the taller brunette. More-so even; Mae wasn't near so intimidating. He looped the hand holding his cue around the small of her back, and shared in admiring Jackie's form and technique.
"Leon," He proffered, touching his pint down on her glass, where it was resting on the table edge. "Never got your name."
The faint clack of billiards drew his eyes off of Jackie and back to the felt, just in time to watch a very improbable bank shot split the clustered solids and send one rolling smoothly into the corner pocket.
Jackie swung upright, back arching, and shone a grin their way. There was a triumphant twist to her smile, and a bit too much teeth, a predators smile. She flicked her hair back over her shoulder and strutted around to where the cue ball had come to rest. Bending over the table again, she took only a moment to line up her next shot before sending a second solid home.
"Well, if I had to be hustled," Leon murmured to Mae, no longer holding any illusions about Jackie's familiarity with the game, "At least I have a gorgeous view."

Jackie, meanwhile, was completing her circuit around the table to where the cue had come to rest behind the 2-ball, lining her up for a shot on the center pocket that a blind woman could have made.
"I must be a natural." She said to Pretty Boy, Leon, with a playful wink that was more than a little teasing.
Pretty Boy grinned, chagrined, and brought his beer up for a sip, "Must be."
He fell still however, mug only half tipped. His eyes, which had been on Jackie, were now looking past her in the direction of the bar.
Jackie, wondering what could possibly be more interesting than herself, followed Leon's gaze. A figure with a face like a battleaxe had detached itself from knot at the bar. He wasn't as tall as Jackie, or even Leon for that matter, but he made up for it in bulk. Arms as thick as Jackie's thigh strained the sleeves of a white shirt that had definitely seen better days.
"Not again." Leon sighed in a voice he thought too quiet to be heard over the din of the bar. Jackie didn't much care for the sound of that, and quickly concluded that her next shot might have to wait. Straightening up, she watched the over stuffed shirt get closer.
"Allo, again Goldie. Saw ya from the bar and figured to drop by for a quick hello."
"Hey there, Walt." Leon greeted back with an unenthusiastic smile, then adding, with a wave to the table, "We're just in the middle of a game."
"A game is it?" The man called Walt asked, moving one narrowed eye between the brunette and the blonds, "Y'aint hustlin' these two lovelies, now are ya?"
"Wouldn't dream of it, Walt." Leon answered with a good humored lilt that had a bit too much edge to it, like he was holding a razor blade under his tongue. Annoyance was creeping in now, as Jackie regarded Walt a bit more closely. Between his stubbly chin, the wiry and unkempt coarseness of his hair, and the slight paunch beneath his too tight shirt, she thought he looked a lot like a rustic from out of Sanus. His accent was wrong though; Definitely not Valanese. What was more, he was in his late forties, if not his early fifties. If Pretty Boy's reaction to him hadn't been indication enough, their difference in age made any reasonable association with Walt extremely unlikely.
Not that it was really any of Jackie's business, or she even had much reason to care, beyond the fact that she liked Leon better when it was her putting him a little on edge.

Walt, eyes following Jackie as she leaned down to begin lining up her next shot, drew nearer to the blonds, a bottle dangling from his right hand, a hand missing three of its fingers.
"Ain'tcha gonna introduce me to your friends then, Goldie?" He asked, taking his eyes off of Jackie only to slap them down on Mae instead. There was nothing of the playful or coy about the way he looked at her. None of Leon's respectful reluctance to be too obvious is leering. Rather, Walt's gaze ran across Mae like oily fingers, soaking through every crease and curve.

Jackie sank the 2-ball with little fanfare, as golden eyes followed Walt. She did not like this man. She did not like the fact that he had made himself the center of attention, and that all the fun they had been having had been snuffed out so easily by his arrival. She imagined what his screams might sound like, as she broke his bones one by one.
You can't kill people.
"Not planning on killing him, am I?" Jackie muttered to herself, as she slowly straightened back up. Her posture had changed. Where before she had been acutely conscious of every muscle and curve, the was now a tightness to her stance. A readiness. Her impatience was one thing, but it paled in comparison to the anger that drew every muscle taut as a bow string.
"Mae," the pretty blonde offered from the other side of the table, watching Walt with near as much open contempt as Jackie was, "Aeenmae Fontine, nice to meet you."
Fontine!?
Jackie squashed the little voice at the back of her mind, and the incomplete recognition which had come with it. She didn't care what the mouse had to contribute to the conversation.
"Mae, this is Walt," Leon said, the only one of the four who still looked committed to civility, "He's here to watch the tournament."
Walt had begun moving closer to Jackie, who was alone on his side of the pool table.
"Oh aye, oh aye, like the charity, is it?" He graveled, making Jackie wish he would clear his throat, making her want to punch him in it and clear it for him. His eyes, done taking in Mae's exceptional figure, raked over to Jackie in turn. She met his gaze with something a bit more hostile than the vacant doll's eyes that Mae had given him. Her face was blank as fresh fallen snow, but the smoldering gold of her eyes promised violence.
"And who's this lovely article?" He pawed at her with his eyes. Flint flecked pig's eyes, set deep into the weatherworn flesh of his cinderblock skull. He offered her his hand, and hand Jackie had no doubt was as clammy and unsettling as his undisguised leer, and smiled at her like he thought she might smile back.
This sort of man had always mystified Jackie. How he could be so confident and so repellent, simultaneously, beggared belief. For her, with confidence being equivalent to power, she'd never understood how such ugly, weak people as Walt could have so much of it. It described a man who, though he was rarely ever told no, was not often told yes. Maybe his aggressive straightforwardness would have charmed some damaged girl without any self respect, but it didn't impress her. It only made her want to hurt him.
"I, er..." Leon said, still trying to play the part of a mediator, unaware his efforts were unwelcome. Jackie had not given him a name, leaving him with no name to offer the overstuffed shirt. It was only the reminder that Leon was there that kept Jackie from breaking her pool cue over Walt's face, repaying his unwelcome leer with the two black eyes it deserved.
People weren't supposed to do things like that and, while her defiance of the social contract might be charming and exciting for him when it came to the more sensual taboos, outright violence was sure to turn him off entirely. Jackie was not done playing with him yet; The last thing she wanted was to turn him off.
So Jackie determined to ignore Walt instead, as a creature wholly beneath her notice. She stepped right past him, ignoring his outstretched hand, his grasping, clawing eyes, and took up position behind the cue ball once again. Her focus was on the eight, wondering which pocket it would be most easily sunk in.

Leon winced again, seeing the brief anger that flashed across Walt's face and the non-too subtle snub. It was quickly replaced by a good natured smile that did not touch his piggy little eyes.
"Corner pocket." Jackie called, indicating which pocket she meant with the tip of her cue, just as if she hadn't noticed Walt's progressing invasion of her personal space.
"More n' a pretty face, I see." Walt said, regarding the felt's conspicuous absence of solid colored balls. Jackie continued to ignore him, and bent casually forward to begin lining up her shot. Unlike Mae, she didn't hide her body as she did it. She did not deign to acknowledge Walt's gaze even that much. The continued snubbing made the pig eyed man's smile broaden. Leon, watching things from his side of the table, took a deeper than normal draw from his pint and made his around to Jackie's side. It was sweet of him, undoubtedly, to not want her to be alone with Walt, but the gesture was unnecessary.

Jackie feathered the cue back and forth, not about to spoil an almost perfect game by sending the cue ball in after the eight. Walt was leaning over her, the smell of beer coming with him, so close she could feel the warmth of his body against her bare arm. She ignored him. Until a hand slipped up the inside of her thigh and cupped the seat of her jeans, giving her a rough squeeze.
Something deep inside Jackie quailed, utterly and completely mortified, disgusted and repulsed. It gibbered incoherent protestations as the fingers kneaded her, the tight denim of her jeans not near thick enough to keep the fetid feeling from making it through.
Jackie did not flinch, but she did not repress the mouse's voice this time. Not when she shared its outrage. The cue ball clacked lightly off the eight, the eight rolled serenely across the felt and then disappeared into the very pocket Jackie had indicated, the cue ball coming to rest an inch before the same hole.

Straightening up slowly, Jackie drew in a deep breath through her nose. Leon had made it over to them now, his sapphire eyes full of concern. That concern blossomed into outright shock as his approach revealed to him the placement of Walt's hand.
The voice in the back of her mind moaned pitiably, ashamed that Leon had seen them like this, as though it were somehow Jackie's fault the pig couldn't keep his hands to himself.
Look at how you dress, how you act. How is it not your fault?
"Quiet, little mouse." Jackie muttered.
Leon, thinking she must be talking to him, gave Jackie a quizzical look, some of his growing outrage briefly assuaged by surprise and confusion as he tried to decode what was expected of him.
Shifting her pool cue to her other hand, Jackie reached back and took a hold of Walt's wrist. He resisted her, but only enough to show he could, and then let her remove his hand from the back of her jeans. Her heart was hammering in her ears as she flicked his wrist aside, like she was shaking something distasteful from her fingers. She looked into Leon's eyes, reminded of how much work she'd put into him that night, of how much fun she still wanted to have with him, and stopped herself from doing more.
The little part in the back of her mind, still quavering at what had been done to them, was just as ashamed that they weren't going to do anything as it was relieved.
"Looks like I win." Jackie said sweetly, slipping into Leon's bubble with all the ease of a scalpel. One hand took hold of his beer, moving it aside while the other held her cue out of the way as she pressed herself against him. She kissed him gently, then bit his lower lip just barely hard enough to make him grunt in surprise and pain, and all the while held herself close.
"Yeah..." The blonde wheezed, caught between his pure physical delight at the way Jackie had pressed herself into all the right places, and his soul deep misgivings at the way she had treated and been treated by Walt.
Outright condemnation could not have possibly made Walt any more angry, or determined, to make Jackie acknowledge him.

"Ah, now yer just bein' greedy Goldie, so I'll take this one off yer hands."
It was hard to say what was more infuriating. What Walt said, or that he had the temerity to come between Jackie and Mae. He probably could have gotten away with one or the other and Jackie would have paid him no further mind, an insect beneath her heel, but that he did both lit a fuse in her that even the sexual assault from moments prior had not. Because he wasn't just making unwanted advances. He wasn't just getting handsy. He wasn't just being a disgusting pig in man's clothing. He was interfering, and for no other reason than to do so. He would have needed to be delusional to think his advance would be reciprocated, so the only reason he did it was to get a rise out of her. To finally be acknowledged. To finally get Jackie's attention.

Though the touch was quickly rebuffed, his cloying hand struck down as if by a hammer blow, Jackie was left practically trembling with anger.
Don't kill him.
Why not? It would be so easy. She could wrap her hands around his neck and just never stop squeezing. She could crack his head on the pool table like a rotten egg. She could tear his arms off so that he never touched anything ever again. Why shouldn't she make him suffer, if he wasn't strong enough to stop her. Her revulsion, her fury, had turned her face pale. They blinded her, till all she could see was the boiling red at the corners of her vision. A quiet snap sounded, and the pool cue fell out of her hand in two distinct pieces.

Walt stepped back, hurt and surprise briefly wiping that mean and spiteful smile from his sun-scarred face. He gave Mae an appraising look, unaware of and distracted from the volatile reaction he'd just set off.
"Strong one, innit ya?" He cooed at the blonde, rubbing his his forearm, as his smile slid back into place.
"Come on, Walt." Leon said, stunned out of his own stupor by the dangerous softness in the older man's voice. He carefully disentangled himself from Jackie, who had her head slightly bowed and her eyes squeezed closed, interpreting her trembling being born from some place else than a well of absolutely bottomless fury.
"Y'know what? I reckon you really are more my type after all." Walt didn't even look at Leon, but instead leered into Mae's emerald eyes.
"Just relax, alright," Leon said, hands up raised in a placatory manner, still trying to play the mediator, "No need to go makin' a scene, surely."
"I'm just lookin' for a bit of respect, is all." Walt's hand, the same one he'd tried to put around Jackie, toyed with the hem of Mae's skirt.

Jackie's eyes opened and settled on the mug of beer on pool table's edge. She wasn't entirely sure what she was going to do until her fingers closed around the cool glass stem. In one smooth motion, she turned and swung. Before Walt could get another step closer to her or Mae, she was driving the corner of the pint glass into the side of his head. The force of the blow whipped his head around and sent him staggering back, while also sending a thin geyser of beer straight up into the air. Jackie frowned when he didn't fall over entirely, when the mug didn't break, but there was genuine shock on Walt's face now and that was almost as good.
"Insect." She hissed, grabbing hold of the front of his shirt before he could find his balance, and shoving him back another step, "Pig." she shoved him back another step. "Vermin."
"Keep your filthy," Shove, "Little," Shove, "Hands," She grabbed hold of his collar, hauled him up until the threads of his shirt creaked in her palm. She kept on lifting until he was standing on his tip toes, until he was eye level with her, and glared deep into his soul.
"To yourself!" She emptied the last of the mug into his face, and then threw him back and into the gaping crowd, catching a few incautious onlookers in the crossfire. She immediately regretted it. Not because she had made a scene, nor because she had knocked four ostensibly innocent people over in the process, but because she hadn't hurt him badly enough yet. So, for good measure, she wound back and hurled the empty pint glass, catching Walt in the head as he was struggling back to his feet.
He flopped over like a fish, dragging a squawking man in a dark blue hoodie down with him. Jackie seethed. Seeing Walt struggling to stand, dazed as a newborn deer, did nothing to sooth her anger. In fact, it only made her even more furious.
She growled, a deep and resonant sound, more animal than human, and rushed forward. Her foot found Walt's ribs, her kick spilled him onto his side, and her stomp cracked his head off the floor.
The bar patrons made space for her, most of them shocked by the sudden and severe outburst of violence. Jackie, aware that she was only getting angrier the more she hit Walt, gave into her rage utterly. She reached down and seized a hold of the writhing man by his hair and his belt, and half dragged half carried him towards the exit. He tried to grab hold of her, but his hands were dazed, his efforts clumsy, and he managed only to slap at her forearm before she heaved him off the ground and threw him down bodily down the entry stairs, to roll down half a dozen steps and slap hard against the double doors at the bottom.

Breathing heavily, though not for any exertion on her part, Jackie's fury-wide golden eyes watched the shape at the foot of the stairs. He let out a reedy wheeze, a quiet cough, and she realized she had not in fact killed him. Snarling, she began her way down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Some primitive part of Walt must still have been conscious, because he noticed her approach. His lips, split and bloody, peeled back around a terrified wail, as he clawed open the door and scrambled out into the street. By the time she made it outside, he was gone.

All throughout the display, Leon had done little more than watch, growing ever more pale with each passing moment. He, like everyone else in the bar, did nothing to intervene as Jackie chased Walt into the street. He, like everyone else in the bar, had been struck dumb and lame by the savagery of the beating visited upon the handsy cretin. He trembled faintly, not for any fury of his own, but for simple incomprehension.
"Was she tryin' to kill him?" He asked weakly, giving voice to a question no few others had been wondering after. That she hadn't was little short of a miracle. That Walt had even been hale enough to flee after all she'd done to him was a testament to the man's endurance. He flinched at the sound of the front doors being slammed and watched as Jackie ascended back into the bar. One look at her face was enough to tell that her bloodlust was not wholly satisfied. The crowd made space for her as she crossed back to the pool tables, no one wanting to get within arms reach. Leon too took a small step back as she moved past and took up her whiskey, downing the last of it in a single gulp.
There was blood on her hand, blood on her boots, and blood on her cheek, none of it her's.