Do you suppose one of the greatest bar fights of all time would be started over a batch of scones?
Beth had to admit that taking scones to a club would appear, at least to most, strange. “They don’t match,” Some would shout over the bass. “Scones and clubs? Who ever heard of such a preposterous thing?” Well Beth had obviously. She found it quite appropriate. So appropriate in fact that she bakes up a tray every Friday for a night out on the town.
The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Beth took this saying to heart. Truth be told, her recent baking habits were all on account of a little crush she held on a bartender at the Local. Ralf he was called. She wasn’t terribly fond of the title. But he was cute enough, with his shaved head and tattoos, to overlook the borderline atrocious name. Seeing him made Beth happy. As she passed the bouncers, who she each gifted a scone, she could hardly wait.
Now, another man existed in this scenario. Robert, you see, is not a jealous man; he never has been. But rather a spiteful man who hated others fortunes; to put it so plainly. Seeing Beth, so cheerily out of place silhouetted in her sun dress against flashing strobe lights, he knew he could not let this opportunity pass him by unexploited. He knew what he had to do.
But back to Ralf. Ralf of course knew of Beth and the favors she held towards him. He had favors of his own for her and never unwelcomed a chance to see her or her baked goods. Together they made a rather cute old school pair of sweethearts.
Speaking of which, the two had just spotted each other. Waving brightly, Beth’s heart skipped a beat. Ralf was just finishing up a mixed drink for a birthday girl at the bar. He smiled his gigantic grin full of white teeth as Beth neared.
Beth’s feet, encased in red bowtie flats, were suddenly tripped out from under her. Squeaking helplessly, she fell forward through the crowd, hitting the ground elbows first. She watched in slow horror as all her hard work, flour, and raspberries bounced up and over the lip of her plate, gracefully falling all over the floor. Hands found and pulled her up. “You alright there miss?” Beth found the voice’s face and knew instantly it belonged to the culprit behind the moments old tragedy.
Robert felt quite happy in this moment. The look of furry on the little girl’s face was surprising, but priceless. He couldn’t wait to see what she would do.
What Beth next did was amazing to say the least. Simply looking at her, one would assume her to be harmless. But one would assume wrong. Beth was far from harmless, least when hassled. And one could hardly incite Beth more than to ruin something she’d spent time and energy making. “You!” She yelled with a shockingly booming voice. Everyone around turned their heads in buzzed interest. “Why did you do that?” She demanded in Robert’s face.
Innocently, he smiled back. “I’m sorry lady, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You ruined my scones jackass!”
“No one ruins my love’s scones!” A few yards away Ralf had heard and seen everything. Almost like a comic book super hero, he slammed his hands down on the counter and vaulted over it. Gasps parted the people like a sea as he barreled down on Robert.
“Whoa big guy,” Robert had not thought about this very carefully. He hadn’t counted on Ralf being so protective over his little baker. Ah well, too late now. Ralf stormed up and popped Ralf right in the jaw. In turn, without much warning, Beth pulled up her skirt and Spartan-Kicked Robert in the chest, sending him flailing back, tumbling into another girl. This girl happened to be the birthday darling previously at the bar ordering a drink. Now she was covered head to foot in said drink.
She blinked once, twice, then flared her eyes. “No one ruins my party dress!” She gripped her glass and threw it. Luckily for Robert he was now unconscious on the ground. The girl’s glass instead hit another man, completely unrelated to this incident until now, square in the back of the head.
“No one hits my best mate!” Another man cried out. As you can well imagine this did nothing to defuse the situation. Like a school brawl, a voice in the back of the room, without origin, shouted “Bar fight!” and society broke loose. Chairs, bottles, and even bodies flew through the air with the greatest of ease in what some would come to call The Great Battle of Pastries.
Somehow the only damages Robert incurred were his original punch to the face and kick to the chest, which he told no one of. No further actions were taken against him as he lamely limped out of the back door never to be seen again.
An hour later, after the fight had largely died down, Beth and Ralf found each other and left shortly after. I am happy to report they traveled back to Beth’s apartment where she promptly mixed up a fresh batch of scones to share with her crush. The couple sat happily together and ate the night away.