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It was still early enough in the evening that Ever could keep his balance -- which meant it was only around nine PM, the crowd in the club behind him still building in volume and frenzy, the huddled group outside the front door growing to a decent size.

However, that didn't mean he was sober by any stretch of the imagination. Two hours milling through the crowd had meant acquiring several drinks, and with his slight body mass, it left him...wavering, a bit. Wavering and weaving and warm and overwhelmed by the press of people for once.

So he snuck out the back door, into the alley behind the club, with a cigarette between two fingers and his cheeks gone flushed. Black eyes glossy. The bag, as ever, over his shoulder, but for the time being his jacket was tossed over one shoulder. He was too hot to wear it.

Engrossed in the difficult, attention-consuming act of striking his battered lighter and cupping hands around the flickering flame, Ever entirely missed the sounds of senshi-and-youma approaching from the south.

He'd just gotten the tip of his cigarette lit when Gianfar called out his warning. Ever's head came up but...slowly, his reflexes gone dulled and fuzzy with the vodka that thrummed its way through his system.

And then his eyes landed on the pair, senshi and youma alike, and he went deer-in-headlights. Instead of trying to dodge, or bravely grabbing a weapon, or even just responding in some manner, he stood there and stared at the thing flying toward him in a totally and entirely baffled sort of way. Hearing about terrorists and actually seeing them were entirely different things.

Before he even had time to sort out the mess, the youma was on top of him in a tangle of long limbs, his bag catching on one of the monster's long spike to keep him trapped there -- but also, conveniently, tangling it up and pulling long claws aside from Ever's skin.

The only sense he had was to grab for his cigarette before he lost the precious nicotine. It had taken him a while to hunt someone down inside who was willing to give one up.

"...the hell!" It came out of him in a startled gasp, Ever finally [apparently] recovered enough to find his voice, still clinging to his cigarette valiantly. Gianfar would reach for him and then he'd start thrashing to get out of his grasp, wriggling and shifting with another startled noise.

If he hadn't been quite so drunk, maybe this would have been easier.

At some point in his fumbling, though, he brought the butt of the cigarette around onto the youma's arm with a sizzling-hiss of burning flesh that probably would only infuriate the thing. But hey, at least it was something, and the senshi might respect that?

"Gerroff man!" His words slurred together, holding less panic than they should have. "Nothing t'steal!"

It certainly opened an opportunity for Ever to get to his feet and run. The opportunity. One he didn't take. Instead, for about ten seconds, he just stayed exactly where he was in a baffled sort of way, staring at his hand. Then his eyes lifted onto the pair of them and, in a blurry sort of way, things seemed to click into focus.

Finally, he found his feet, a hand fumbling out for his dropped bag, swaying ever more. Add shock and surprise on top of all the drinks he'd acquired and Ever wasn't at his sharpest. He got about three feet before youma started to stir again, with a low growl and a grind of claws against brick and stone, and the sound made him halfway turn.

It hurt. His back hurt, as did his side, and on top of that now he was filthy. Something about that lit up annoyance in his expression as he swung the bag over his shoulder.

He was not a senshi. He wasn't a fighter, either, nor a terrorist. He was a drunk civilian, but now he was a pissed off one who had really, really needed that cigarette. He reached for the nearest hard object he could find and flung it at the creature.

Empty can. It bounced off.

That was sobering. Startlingly sobering. This time, Ever yelped and dropped like a stone to the dirty ground [damnit, and where was he going to find a shower now?] and dodged under the can. Mostly. Instead of striking him full-force in the face, it bounced off of one of his shoulders and left his arm mostly numb.

It was an effort, but he kept scrabbling toward the safety of a dumpster. Damned if he was diving into the thing, but he could at least duck behind it to keep himself safe from questing claws or back spines.

No more cans. Definitely no more cans.

Ever wasn't quick on his feet. He wasn't much good in a fight, either, unless he got the jump on someone. So his reaction wasn't to stand and do battle but to go hide in a hole.

Or behind a dumpster, at least.

Fortunately, he was rather skinny, which made it easy for him to wriggle into the small gap created by the bend in the back of the dumpster and the filthy, grimy alley wall. A little bit of slithering and shifting and he was dirty himself, but he was hopefully out of the reach of grabbing arms, and could focus instead on the rapid-fire hammering of his heart.

Holy s**t, it was a monster. It was a demon and it was coming after him and for a very long moment every rule of righteous living that he had broken slammed him in the face. He dug frantically in his bag as the creature approached, fishing for a big heavy book with gold-edged pages and his name embossed onto the first page.

People became pious in times of high stress.

Oh, yes. Ever was very much between the dumpster and the wall, biting down on a yelp as the creature ignored his pious moment and kept coming.

The crazy terrorist's shout made him twitch and realize his precarious positioning, but he started to slip out of the way again a moment too late. Spikes squealed against metal and the dumpster moved faster than he expected, knocking the wind out of him and leaving him dazed before he managed to slither out into the alley, bag dragging behind him.

His side ached, a dull and throbbing sort of pain, one of his shoulders badly wrenched, and he still clutched the book in both of his hands as he paused to stare at the thing. Then he ran, finally. Except it was more of a stumble, wincing and sucking in breath. s**t.

Civilians should have been appreciative of the help. Ever should have swooned elegantly into Gianfar's arms, let himself be dragged away to safety, offered more thanks than were necessary and offered undying love [or, at least, sexual favors].

Sadly, Gianfar had ended up one of the most contrary people in the city to rescue. Instead of being grateful, or slumping with relief, or quietly consenting to the mostly-gentle ministrations of his hero -- he freaked out.

"The ******** man!" And, of course, he was also still tipsy, which made him just a touch belligerent tonight. Senshi-strong arms wrapped around him and one of Ever's elbows came up almost immediately. He wasn't much in a fight, but he was pretty good at a sucker punch. Pointy elbow met Gianfar's face neatly, with a good solid crack....

...and Ever, naturally, took the hit solidly himself. A Senshi [or hell, even a Negaverse agent] might have been able to absorb the blow, but Ever was neither, nor was he well fed, nor was he in his best shape. He was left baffled: his head rocked back with the force of his own hit, a new bruise forming across his cheek and one eye blackening even as he neatly went limp in Gianfar's arms.