Lightning Sword

Being drunk was an interesting sensation, thought Sean. Not that he was particularly drunk yet of course, if he were seriously intoxicated he would not be in a state to consider how drunk he was, let alone how it felt. He was, however, well on his way to being that far gone, and to aid in this he decided he would make the acquaintance of some more alcohol.

He stood and made his way towards the bar to secure another round of drinks for himself, noticing as he went how uneven the floor felt. Unfortunately, this was not due to the drink, but rather to the slender man who appeared to be lying on said floor looking up at the ceiling. Sean apologised profusely, or would have, only he was drunk, so in fact he slurred profusely, but in a very humble and heartfelt manner; which might have counted for something, if he had first removed himself from the man's chest.

Quickly stepping sideways, Sean made the mistake of catching his heel on his victim's arm, which had the direct consequence of sending himself crashing to the ground, taking an adjoining table and a significant quantity of drink along for the ride. The slender man sat up at Sean's feet and, as if to balance him out, though it would be a rather peculiar job of balancing, two heavyset men made an appearance looming above his head.

'Those were our drinks.' rumbled one of the heavy set men, the slightly shorter of the two, in a tone which suggested to Sean the sound of thunder when it's preceding lightning has just struck three foot to your left and it wants to let you know, in no uncertain terms, that what you just got was a warning shot across the bows and if it feel's like it, which it may or may not in the near future, then it could very easily turn you into a remarkably good impression of crispy fried duck fresh from the blast furnace just like mother used to incinerate.

'Um, sorry,' mumbled Sean. 'uh, I fell you see.' Realising this sounded a bit lame, he paused and put on what he hoped was a cheerful and harmless expression.

'Are you laughing at us?' demanded the taller of the newcomers: you have been warned, the emphasises pointed out, not so subtly.

Sean dropped the expression and shook his head. 'No, sorry, um, would you like me to pay for the drinks?' he enquired hoping the situation could be easily resolved. However, his two tormentors merely exchanged glances, their collective demeanour becoming, if it were possible, slightly grimmer.

One wallet and a wristwatch later, Sean let out a sigh of great relief and allowed himself to relax a little. He sat up and it was then he remembered the slender man, who was still sitting, simply staring as if at a rather interesting specimen of beetle. Sean was out of money, out of jewellery and right out of ideas. So, he stood up, held out his hand to the slender man and when the stranger was on his feet promptly knocked him back off them and ran as fast as he could out of the pub and away down the road..

He stumbled into the ground floor level of a multi-storey car-park, reasoning that he would be safe there, as the average late night, London pub crawler would be unlikely to make the intellectual leap required to understand that bringing a car was not, in fact, pre-requisite for entering this Mecca of the light-fingered.

As luck would have it, at this late hour, there were few cars and fewer, to be precise no, people, apart from Sean obviously. Quickly, half-jogging, between the rows of cars, Sean made his way towards the exit opposite. Suddenly, the morgue-like silence was broken by a cry of startled rage and what sounded, surprisingly enough, precisely unlike someone getting their window smashed in by an experienced thief, and more like a 1940's B feature concerning the humorous antics of two men and a pane of glass. Normally, he would have ignored the noise and carried on his way at a suitably cautious speed (commonly referred to as 'legging it'). However, at that exact moment, something spectacular and mind blowing totally failed to occur.