Tony's knees hit the floor and the rest of him basically follows. Look, sense of balance was out the window hours before he ran into Jack. As such it's not hard for Jack to get a chokehold at all, Tony laid out kind of like a beached fish. His eyes widen as his brain registers the whole breathing isn't happening thing and his hand slaps the floor, blindly searching for Jack.
It's pathetic. It's...not him. This is not him. Does Jack even realize what they're doing? His hand finally finds the other man's face and his nails dig in, dragging at flesh and that old scar as he gasps and sputters trying to breathe. Everything's going dark, starting at the edges and creeping in. He can definitely feel himself slipping off to beddy-bye when strong hands rip Jack's grip from his throat. Someone helps him up and he drunkenly tries to wave them off. Stumbles, falls, gets caught again and held more securely this time. Other hands are rolling Jack over, forcibly pushing his face into the floor as they cuff him. Tonight on COPS...
"Tony. Are you going to let me have a quiet night any week this month?"
"I know. That's why you're my favorite one." Something, something words. It's kind of all a slur, but he does distinctly feel the cold bite of metal as an handcuff is slapped around his wrist. "I'm glad you feel that way. Because I have eye witness accounts that you threw the first blow this time. You're coming down to the station."
Tony's mouth gaps open like he can't comprehend what's going on. Because, you know, he sort of can't. It takes a moment. Two. He holds up an hand in the international signal for wait. Three. "Okay, just first—"
He turns and hurls on the floor. It's a good thing he's drunk or the excruciating pain of vomiting with a throat someone was minutes ago just trying to collapse would have him screaming. "...Now we can go."
And that's how Jack and Tony end up in two separate cells in the district jail. Wild night.
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It's pathetic. It's...not him. This is not him. Does Jack even realize what they're doing? His hand finally finds the other man's face and his nails dig in, dragging at flesh and that old scar as he gasps and sputters trying to breathe. Everything's going dark, starting at the edges and creeping in. He can definitely feel himself slipping off to beddy-bye when strong hands rip Jack's grip from his throat. Someone helps him up and he drunkenly tries to wave them off. Stumbles, falls, gets caught again and held more securely this time. Other hands are rolling Jack over, forcibly pushing his face into the floor as they cuff him. Tonight on COPS...
"Tony. Are you going to let me have a quiet night any week this month?"
Oh. Hey. He knows this voice. Turning blindly towards it he lets his arm be slung around a shoulder clothed in the sensible blue of the Recollé PD. "Officer Jody." Except it's more of a garbled frog voice. He tries again, makes more of an effort. What he gets is a thin rasp. "My favorite Jody on the force."
"I'm the only Jody on the force."
"I know. That's why you're my favorite one." Something, something words. It's kind of all a slur, but he does distinctly feel the cold bite of metal as an handcuff is slapped around his wrist. "I'm glad you feel that way. Because I have eye witness accounts that you threw the first blow this time. You're coming down to the station."
Tony's mouth gaps open like he can't comprehend what's going on. Because, you know, he sort of can't. It takes a moment. Two. He holds up an hand in the international signal for wait. Three. "Okay, just first—"
He turns and hurls on the floor. It's a good thing he's drunk or the excruciating pain of vomiting with a throat someone was minutes ago just trying to collapse would have him screaming. "...Now we can go."
And that's how Jack and Tony end up in two separate cells in the district jail. Wild night.