bakerstreet | (no subject)

In Paris, Ernest Hemingway and James Joyce were drinking buddies. Joyce was thin and bespectacled; Hemingway was tall and strapping. When they went out Joyce would get drunk, pick a fight with a bigger guy in the bar, then hide behind Hemingway and yell, "Deal with him, Hemingway. Deal with him!"

( source )

ANOTHER BARFIGHT MEME

Comment with your preferences in the header: would your character start the fight? are they stuck defending someone who absolutely does not deserve it? both? make it up and go bruise something.

PROMPTS
1. your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries! — look, if you're going to pick fights in seedy bars, maybe find some better insults. nobody wants to take your bait, and the only person listening to you is laughing.
2. all elbows and knees — one of you bumped the wrong hulk today, and they ain't taking no apologies. time to make a friend defend your incredibly clumsy honor!
3. thief, thief! — everybody knows that the best way to get away with looting someone's pocket is to make sure they're distracted with a swift punch to the nose.
4. but it wasn't me, officer. . . — you didn't pick this fight. you don't know what's going on. none of that matters: doom is coming after you with tattooed knuckles, and your only hope is convincing someone amazingly reluctant to help.
5. we roll high. — who cares how the fight started? one of you's got cash riding on the outcome of this brawl and they don't care what they have to do to get that payout.
6. there's a bear in the bar. — you might be thinking, "what the hell is even happening in this meme?" that's because your priorities are wrong. forget logic. fight the bear.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The bottle catches Guillam square in the forehead. Miraculously (and the better for his face) it doesn't break, but the blow is enough to make him see stars. Briefly stunned, he releases the other man and rolls away, trying to get some distance again while his head clears.

Smaug winces and yells as his shoulder snaps back into place. How could something so weak be so painful?? He doesn't think of retreating, just acts on instinct as he slinks back behind the now empty bar as if to collect himself for another attack.

He'll not be letting the human try that particular trick again. His arm still ached.

He completely disregards the fact there's a shotgun under the bar, mostly because he has no idea its a weapon. Instead, he has two more bottles of alcohol in hand. Coming over to see if he can get another shot in at the man's head.

Guillam staggers to his feet, his head aching like hell, and very loudly exclaims, "Oh, for fuck's sake!" as soon as he realises the man still hasn't given up.

Fine. He waits for his opponent to get closer, then dodges, actually seeming to run away—though in fact he's making for the bar, to get behind it and see if he can find anything that might make this idiot slow down properly.

The bottles fly towards Guillam, shattering when they just barely miss their mark. Smaug holds his throbbing arm close to himself, hissing in disgust before turning and running for the back of the bar. He would slink away to lick his wounds as it were, like the coward he was. That is, if there was a back door to this place. Since there wasn't, and he had no way of making a new one, he ascends the stairs to the roof. The soft sound of sirens in the distance saying the police were on their way.