Game on, please feel free to post first.

No preference

Andrew wasn’t upset. He got upset when he got caught in the rain without an umbrella. He got upset when Brock Lesnar won. And he really got upset reading whiny facebook status updates, especially ones that used the word “of” in place of the word “have” because some morons are too fucking illiterate to understand the difference between the contraction “would’ve” and the word “would” followed by “of”.

Finding out his best female friend had spent last night at her friend’s house and refused to go to the hospital because “he doesn’t know what he’s doing when he’s drunk” was something else. He didn’t know what he was, but he was far beyond upset. She wouldn’t tell him where her boyfriend was that night. She wouldn’t tell anyone. But it wouldn’t be that hard to figure out in a town with only six bars.

He’d been driving in the rain since eight o’clock and had already been to three bars, sitting down in a corner and simply watching the room to wait for him to show up. After waiting a half an hour at each, he’d given up and moved on to the next. He’d forced himself to nurse one beer at each establishment, not wanting to have his coordination upset when the time came.

Finally somewhere after half-past nine he opened the door to a pub downtown and glanced around the room. Sitting at a table was Michael, head down, burying himself in the booze again. Andrew walked past him and took a seat in the corner at this bar too. He ordered a bottle of Guiness from a waitress and watched the man he was here for.

This was the first time he’d ever done anything like this, his criminal record was spotless. He’d only ever been in a few fights in his life that weren’t within the confines of a cage or a ring, and all of them had been in self-defense. As upset as he was, as violent as his thoughts were, however, it took very little for him to get over the concept of starting a fight in a bar. His plan would be to take it outside as soon as he could, but he also didn’t want to bother arguing with the fuck about where this was going to take place. No, as he’d been told countless times by dimwitted bar brawlers envious of his success and skill in the ring, there were no rules in the street. He wasn’t going to provide Michael with the courtesy of an honorable challenge. He lost that when he broke Jenna’s bathroom mirror with her face.

Michael and he had never socialized before. He might recognize him on sight, or then again he might not. They’d met on a couple of occasions over the past three years, but never really shared words. Andrew decided he wouldn’t even give Michael the chance to speak if he did recognize him. It was with this resolve that he emptied his fourth beer of the night and got up to cross the room.

He’d taken out a significant amount of cash that evening, just in case he’d be able to bribe the bar owner from pressing charges over anything that he broke tonight. He reached back and patted his back pocket through his jeans, making sure it was there. In addition he made sure to dress for the occasion, wearing a pair of jeans he’d bought several years ago out of  Century martial arts catalog fashioned from those worn by Billy Jack in his famous movies. They had a very loose thigh, which allowed him freedom to lift his leg up and plant it alongside someone’s neck, as well as launch a flying knee to someone’s face without worrying about the pants catching him. Beneath them he’d put on a cup, in preparation for the “no rules” fighting technique he could expect.

Taking his leather jacket off revealed skin tight underarmor that would he wore for the same reason he kept his red hair buzzed close to his head; it would be difficult to grab and manipulate him by. It also didn’t do a bad job of accenting his broad shoulders, thick arm muscles, and rippling abs. When he was more modestly dressed, Andrew actually looked like an easy target, being 6’ and only 180 pounds, he usually had a nerdy air about him that bullies who never grew past high school were able to sniff out, though confronting him hadn’t been a good idea since seventh grade.

Taking off his glasses, he folded them up and placed them inside the inner pocket of his leather jacket. Ready now, he walked towards the table, approaching from Michael’s blind spot. This place was such a dive it didn’t even have a mirror against the back of the bar. The piece of shit had his legs propped up on a chair next to him in the middle of the bar as he sipped at his drink. His shoulders slightly tensed as he felt Andrew stroll up behind him, but it wouldn’t do him any good.

With his right foot, Andrew slipped his steel toed boot underneath the seat of the chair and lifted up and out to the side as hard as he could, popping his target up into the air and then crashing down to the ground on his side, cracking his head against the edge of the table on the way down. Taking care to step back out of his prone foe’s reach, Andrew couldn’t help but let a snarky smirk cross his lips. He’d spilled his drink all down the front of his suit with his tumble and was obviously surprised by the sudden attack.

Stepping around behind him, Andrew grabbed the loosened tie from around his foe’s neck and tugged, tightening it as he dragged him across the beer- and liquor-slickened floor towards the door of the establishment. All around him the crowd parted, giving him room to pass with the understanding that this conflict was between the two gentlemen and he intended to take it outside so as not to disturb the rest of the patrons.