The Firewhisky was not quite as palatable as it was in Satan’s but it did the job well enough. Alistair felt the warmth attributed to alcohol entering his blood stream spread through his body and he relaxed a little on the bar stool, sliding his suit jacket off of his shoulders and undoing the shirt buttons at his wrists so as to roll up the sleeves. His fingers thumbed through his hair and he leaned heavily on the bar, smiling a little at the pretty little barmaid that was pulling pints of beer that was of a questionable colour. Alistair tipped his glass to her a little and her smile widened a little, nodding before flashing a wink at him. Alistair’s smile morphed into a small smirk and he sat up a little, catching the eye of the bartender as he did so. The bartender nodded behind him and Alistair turned, raising an eyebrow, to see a dispute between a woman and some shady looking guy Alistair didn’t honestly like the look of, despite the irony of the situation. He was the shadiest bloke in the pub!
“No one’s helpin’ ‘er you notice.” The bartender grunted. Alistair’s eyes flicked to him. “This ain’t no Pureblood pub, Alistair. We don’t protect our women ‘ere. They can look after themselves.” The bartender shook his head and shuffled away. It was only then that Alistair looked around the room, realising that the man was right. No one was getting up to help her. Alistair sighed heavily and slid off of the bar stool, pressing the sleeves of his shirt up a little higher as he weaved through the tables towards the woman. He eyed the people sat playing cards or drinking solemnly in their seats with obvious distaste.
Alistair’s hands landed heavily on the man’s shoulders and with a show of strength that was not obvious from his appearance, Alistair heaved the man away, shoving him roughly away from the girl, Alistair now the barrier between them. “Get your things,” He told the girl calmly. “We’re leaving.”