Romeo & Juliet (of the 20th century)

Part 10: The Bar Brawl

I know this is a shorter one, and it was originally part of what I'm going to make Part 11 but this seemed like a perfect ending for it. 

Any guessed as to what Aiyden's house/life is like??

Votes and comments are appreciated!

--Mallory

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He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun

When I was nine, I broke my brother’s favorite glass cup. It had the picture of a bull on the front with steam pouring out it’s nose as if ready to charge at anyone who dared drink from the glass.

There were multiple things that I shouldn’t have been doing that lead to the glass shattering on the hard tile floor. For one, I should have moved the chair I was using as a ladder closer to the cupboard so I didn’t wobble around, unsteady.  It probably also didn’t help that I had been playing dress up and still hadn’t taken off my mother’s high heeled shoes.

When the glass did fall, as a result of me reaching behind it to get my favorite cup, it broke into roughly six semi-large pieces and a few smaller ones, scattering all over.

I could easily collect the six large pieces, but the smaller ones were lodged in almost every direction of the kitchen. I had been thankful then that no one was around me at that time to have risked getting pelted in the face with such tiny pieces of glass.

This had been an accident, though, and even though the cup had an 8 foot fall it didn’t have much momentum behind it, other than gravity, when it hit the floor.

This is how I knew that the glass mug that hit the floor, was no accident. When the sound of it colliding with the wooden floor caught my attention, I noticed that it had split into fragment so small, I doubt anyone would be able to pick them all up without sweeping the entire room two or three times.

This mug wasn’t dropped on the ground in a drunken stupor, this mug had the momentum of force behind it, creating the microscopic shards of glass.

It took me all of three seconds to confirm my beliefs by trailing my vision from the lingering hand that remained, balled into a tight fist, over the spot of commotion.

A large man with a pronounced noise, harsh cheek bones, and a quickening breath stared at a man standing opposite him with enough intensity to strike a match.

“What did you just say to me, Tuggy?” The man’s voiced boomed over the entire bar.

The other man, who I could only see from the back, let go out of his pool stick causing it to fall on the floor around them.

“You heard what I said Mario.”

“No, I don’t think I did. Because if I heard what you said, I’d have to pound your face until it looked like the meat I had in my sandwich this afternoon.”

The faceless man responded to this threat with no hesitation.

“Lois is with me now. So leave her alone!”

In a majority of stories and movies, this would be about the time where a selfless heroine emerges and either gives an impressive speech to keep them from fighting, or physically halts their altercation, usually by throwing herself in the middle of them. I, however, cannot understand why someone would purposefully place themselves in between two raging men who obviously have one too many issues and definitely too much testosterone.