The pub was, Arthur noted for the first time since he got there, quite full. A young man, around his twenties, was seated to his right fervently cursing at the TV which showed some sort of sport that Arthur didn't know the name of, only that it was played in ice and that the players use some sort of stick to pass a small piece of (he wouldn't call it a ball) wood to their teammates. And that they were extremely violent, the players not the wood.
As one man dressed in blue and with the initials 'U.S.A' on the front of his equipment made, what he thought was considered, a goal, the man next to him began yelling even louder. Something Arthur didn't consider possible until that very moment, and this time in french, which managed to get even more stares from the people there present. Some looking in amusement while others were in shock by such a behavior.
'Come on, Mattie. We'll watch the rest at home, yeah?' The albino man (at least he assumed he was albino unless he dyed his hair white) on the stool next to the blonde (Matt or something was his name) spoke with an heavy German accent as he got aware of the stares they were receiving.
'Va te faire foutre!' The blonde yelled in an angry French before punching his, Arthur presumed, friend in the jaw and sending him flying off his stool and against the woman that had also been following the scene closely, before finally crashing onto the ground.
Arthur stared for awhile. In this period of time the albino managed to get up with the help of the girl he had crashed into and Matt resumed his shouting at the TV.
After blinking at least twice, Arthur slowly got a hold of his pint and with a last glance to his soon-to-be ex-stool-neighbors, moved from his spot at the bar. As he got up, he began searching for somewhere else. Somewhere safe. Where he could enjoy his drink.
He quickly found an empty table (well it was empty now) Arthur thought as he watched the previous users move away from it. He quickly sat down before someone else got the idea of doing so.
Has he did he thought something was slightly off about the object but only shrugged and drank a bit of his pint.
He stretched his legs trying to get more comfortable, but then he he felt something. Something… soft. He was using both feet now trying to figure out what it was without having to look under the table. Just as he was about to give up on it he felt his leg getting grabbed.
Before he got to time to even say 'what the hell' he was being pulled.
AN: I'm new at this so take care of me, yeah?
Also I'd like to thank my wife because without her I wouldn't have been able to publish this... Which I'm still not sure if it was a good idea.
Also flames are acceptable since I'm a believer that constructive criticism tends to back a little off reality not to hurt someone's feelings so I'd rather have the harsh truth other than a pretty lie.