Sitting at the end of the bar in an old-style pub, Dawson placed his cigarette between his lips and inhaled, trying to ignore the chatter of the grown men around him. They were very distracting; he'd never seen them around before. This bar was a go-to for him to come and relax, as it was never really loud. He'd order a nice glass of bourbon and wind down with a few chapters of Lord of the Rings. It was what he looked forward to after a long day of drug deals and violence. Sure, he was only 18, but the bar was so under the radar that the owner didn't mind. Dawson built a name for himself in Elysium, Oregon, the city he ended up fleeing to.
He needed this break, especially that day. It was around the two-year mark of him killing his father and losing his family. He was struggling. He was picking fights with his "clients" and being unreasonably aggressive. He preferred being the calm type, his mind simply wasn't allowing for it. The men in the bar that were yelling as he tried to read his favorite book series weren't helping his case. He felt himself become increasingly more irritated the more he tried.
He looked over his shoulder to see what was going on. He saw the men standing around and laughing with one another, being loud and bickering with each other. There were a few people that weren't being too obnoxious, some women minding their own business at the bar, some men visibly getting blackout drunk to ignore their problems, and a younger man at a table who was munching on chips and sipping a beer while scrolling on his phone. He seemed very content with where he was. He looked out of place compared to the cluster of messy people in the pub.
He noticed two of the men close to him starting to roughhouse, laughing and smiling, shoving each other back and forth throwing meaningless insults at one another. Dawson looked back down at his book and picked up his glass to take a sip. At that same moment, one of the men shoved the other a tad too hard, sending him tumbling into Dawson's back. The glass in his hand fell and the strong alcohol spilled over the pages of his book. Dawson felt a rush of anger and frustration towards the men that were ruining his night.
He turned to the men, about 5 of them all together, and snapped, "Are you fucking kidding me?" He scolded at the drunk men, no more patience left in his system.
The man that pushed the one that hit Dawson spoke up first, "Woah, buddy. This is a bar, you don't own the place." He laughed, helping his friend up off the floor.
Dawson hated being called buddy. Now, he was upset to the point of no return, "You're obviously new here," He spoke to the drunken man, who's other friends were now listening as they sensed the tension. "You clearly don't know who I am and I would suggest you and your little friends get out of here."
"Do you wanna start a problem, little boy?" One of his other friends stood up, the others following. "He spilled some shit on your book, it's not a big deal. Don't start something you can't finish."
Sure, it was just a book. But that on top of everything else that was soaring through Dawson's brain made it impossible to see it as a small inconvenience. As the men laughed once again to one another, not seeing the threat in front of them, Dawson stood from his own seat with the empty glass in his hand. Quickly approaching the man that made him spill the drink, he didn't hesitate to smash it on the back of his head, glass shards scattering the floor and the bar going silent for a moment.
Soon enough, all 5 men were on him at once. The one with the now-bloody scalp took a punch to the nose before backing away, already in pain from the glass. The men were all drunk, but they were strong. Though, strength isn't equal to technique.
The women in the bar have already ran away in fear of the violence and the blacked out men on the bar were practically asleep as they took zero notice to any of the events going on. Then, there was the man at the table. As Dawson slowly but surely began to take down the men, the brunette was half tempted to record it and post it online.
