Everyone feels the air pulled from the room, from the force of the first blow. I feel every inch of my body reflectively launch itself towards the body with arm mid recoil. You fall back, eyes closed, jaw dislocating, but worry not; because vengeance is already being enacted by the eight pairs of fists that walked in the pub with you.
A lethal combination of alcohol and loyalty will irrupt in a fury of right hooks and rib shots. It doesn’t matter what words were exchanged, who was truly insulted or injured because these are irrelevant now. The only fact that concerns us now is that there be a physical representation of our allegiance to you.
Within moments my ears are ringing with the symphony of shattered glass, fractured ribs, and tables dismantled by the weight of human flesh. There is sweat already burning my eyes, and the strong taste of copper in my mouth. I can’t see whose winning but I’m certain none of us are losing; at least no more than the opposing muscle.
When they finally pull us apart, when we are thrown out of the establishment our middle fingers in the air, you’ll laugh, telling us it was a lousy drink anyway.
…and with that we’ll move on to the next place that will have us.