You won't believe this [Sol/Alastor]

Sol had been in more than his fair share of brawls in the past, but even in his tipsy state he knew to pull his punches. It would be life ruining if he killed some bloke in a bar fight. But none the less there was a certain rush that came from things like this, a freedom that he didn’t get to experience all that much. And with his lad Alastor here, well, they definitely had to teach these assholes a lesson.

“Watch out!”

He’d call out to Alastor as some guy raised a chair behind him, seeking to smash it over the head of the red head. Meanwhile Sol was dealing with some way too large goon. He sidestepped a wide strike aimed for his head, Sol’s fist curling into a tight ball launched straight for the guys nose. A satisfying crack was heard as he sent the massive orge of a man flying backwards, straight through a table.

However, he felt what could only be described as hammer of a fist smash into the side of his head sending him flying. Sol’s senses briefly rocked as he hit the bar, grasping it for a moment before falling onto his back. Whoever the fuck just clocked him, had some serious power behind that strike.

Fuckin’ hell.

Alastor would find the strike intended for the guy’s face to be true, but by sheer stubborn drunkenness or raw durability, the man didn’t fall down. More than likely a particularly strong spirit or shinigami, the man would let out a grunt more akin to an angry boar as he stumbled backwards gripping his nose. It did indeed give Sol a moment of reprieve allowing the long hair’d male to get to his feet.

“Thanks.”

Sol would comment as he rubbed his nose with his forearm, placing a hand on the table to steady himself. His sharp tooth grin hidden behind said arm, as he lowered it rotating his neck loosening the stiff bones up. Perhaps with a bit more force than needed, Sol would cross the bar in the blink of an eye. His callous hand curled into a fist aimed squarely for the man’s ribs, the shinigami sending rapid fire punches into the exposed torso of the drunken brawler with pinpoint accuracy of a boxer.

Before finally sending a sharp uppercut to the man’s jaw, raising his chin high as his eyes rolled into his head. A heavy thud being heard as the guy slumped to his knees, then fell over out for the count. The brief moment of silence that followed would allow the two of them to catch their breath and survey the practically destroyed bar filled with passed out men.

“I think, we should go.”