The Drunk
by Alpesco
Trouble in a local barroom.


"How old are you?" I asked, as the girl leant on my bar.

"Nineteen. Old enough to drink if I want."

She was tall, around six foot, and slim, wearing a white sleeveless top and
blue jeans. I could see she'd been drinking. And more than was good for her.
She ordered a strong beer.

She drank it down in less than twenty seconds, then she ordered another.

I was a little worried about her, sitting there all alone. She was young and
pretty, her hair long and dull blonde, her jeans and top separated by a six
inch gap that exposed a slim waist, and a rippling river of abs.

There was a whistle. It seemed that someone else was admiring her abdominals.
He was a forty year old guy, about five-ten.

"What are you looking at?" she said, seeing him stare. Her voice was slightly
slurring.

"You got a good-looking six-pack there," He said, "..for a girl."

"For anyone," the girl insisted. "My abs are rock-hard. If you don't believe
it, just hit me in the stomach. Tell you what, I'll bet you twenty bucks you
don't make an impression."

"Twenty bucks? That's easy money."

"Go ahead then," she challenged, standing and rolling up her top to expose
even more of her washboard stomach. My five other customers gathered round to
watch the unexpected entertainment on what had been a quiet night. There were
more low whistles of appreciation at the girl's solid six-pack. Her stomach
looked really impressive now, as she tensed her muscles, producing a
brick-wall effect from the top of her jeans to the base of her rib-cage.
Physically she seemed sparse and slender, but the thickness and definition of
her stomach muscles was impressive.

Warily, the guy drew back his arm, and drove his fist into her exposed
midriff. He looked surprised as it came to a sudden and definite halt against
the wall of her stomach. Two of the watchers gave an ironic cheer.

"Was that it?" the girl said, with a sneer. She was clearly drunk now. "That
was the easiest twenty bucks I ever made."

"That was just a test," the guy said hurriedly. "I was just measuring up. The
next go will be the real one. But are you sure you want me to hit you real
hard."

"Give it your best shot," the girl slurred. "I can take it."

This time, he drew his fist back with more determination, and I could see that
he launched it forward with real effort. The blow hit with a loud smack. He
wasn't a little guy, and the sound echoed round the barroom. But to my
surprise, the girl didn't even wince, nor did she take a backward step. Again
his fist just came to a dead halt against the pale wall of muscle at her
waist.

"Want to try again?" she drawled. Someone at the back of the bar laughed.

Angry now, the guy drew back his fist, and really hit her with all his effort.
I saw the girl take a quarter step back as the blow landed, but again his fist
left no mark. His arm shuddered to an abrupt halt as it cracked into the wall
of cubed muscle at the girl's waist. His fist just stopped dead, as if he had
just tried to punch through a truck tire. As he withdrew his hand, he shook it
as if it was hurting. There was an impressed intake of breath from the
audience.

"Okay. You lost your bet," the girl held out her hand. "Now pay up, sucker!"

"It's a scam!" her antagonist objected. "You set this up on purpose. It's some
kind of a trick!"

"You lost the bet, fair and square." The girl repeated menacingly, "I need my
twenty."

"Pay her, Art," one of the men next to the girl said.

"No!" Art snapped. "I'm not going to be ripped off by this con-artist." He
poked at her with his forefinger.

"Get your finger out of my face, you loser!" the girl said, her mood changing
quickly - as it so often did with drunks. Her long fingers clenched ino a
surprisingly large fist as she drew her right arm backward. Then Art made the
mistake of clenching his fist again.

In the space of a heartbeat, her right arm powered forward, striking straight
into the side of Art's jaw. It was all done in an instant, and as she
unleashed that punch, she didn't look slow or tipsy at all. My jaw dropped
open, for the effect of her blow was devastating. Art's head crashed round
through 120 degrees as the girl's fist struck home. And his whole body
followed, spinning away from the tall girl's punch as the fierce crack of the
blow echoed back from the walls. Everyone in the room gasped at the sheer
power of the kid's punch as it sent Art crashing backward into the line of
tables and chairs behind him.

The girl took two long strides forward, and before her opponent could recover,
she unleashed two more big punches, even harder than the first, which impacted
into either side of his head, driving it first left, then right. Losing his
balance, altogether among the upturned chairs, he fell backward to the floor.

I watched in astonishment as Art twisted around and tried to prop himself up,
to clamber back to his feet. But then his remaining strength seemed to drain
away, and he slumped back to the floorboards, unconscious.

For a few seconds everyone in the bar stood transfixed, hardly able to believe
that this tall, slim, drunken teenager had just knocked the 180 pound Art out
stone cold with just three powerful punches. Now she knelt down beside her
unconscious victim, felt for his wallet, opened it, and took out twenty
dollars, dropping the wallet on his chest as she stood and turned back to the
bar.

"Give me another beer," she said.

"I think you've had enough, Miss," I said.

"The name's Brionn, and I need another beer."

"I can't serve you."

"You'd better do as I say," the girl's voice was still slurred "- or else I
may just decide to give you some of what I just gave that guy." She indicated
Art, still unconscious on the floor.

"I think someone better get him some help," I suggested.

"He'll be all right," the girl said. "I didn't hit him too hard. Just tend to
your paying customers."

"You better go home." I said.

"Hey, bartender. I asked for a beer!" Suddenly Brionn's arms swept forward
across the bar, grasping me beneath my armpits. Then, to my amazement, her
arms flexed, lifting me right up off the floor! I was suddenly hanging a foot
above the floorboards, held up by her long and amazingly strong arms! Then she
pulled forward, dragging me physically across the top of the bar to where she
was standing. My legs slid across the bar to hang down beneath me on the other
side, my whole bodyweight still supported by her, now flex-braced, arms.

As she held me there, one of the customers came up beside us. It was Nick, a
truck driver from Des Moines.

"Hey, kid," he said. "I think it's time you calmed down."

"Oh yeah?" the girl turned, hurling me casually sideways. "Who's gonna make
me?"

Her arms were so strong, they just hurled me across the room like a straw
doll. I came to a hard stop against one of the heavy oak tables, its edge
driving deep into my side. Glancing painfully off this unyielding obstacle, I
fell painfully to the floor between the chairs.

"Hold her!" Nick shouted, "and call the police." The rest of my customers
crowded round her, but Brionn was suddenly moving with lightning speed once
more. Evading several grasping hands, her right arm lanced forward and upward,
straight into the face of an insurance salesman named Sol. The jab didn't look
hard at all. It struck home so quickly I hardly saw it. But the effect was
astonishing. Sol staggered back about four feet, his nose and lip spurting
blood. His hands went to his face to try to staunch the flow, and came away
again holding one of his two front teeth. He looked shocked, as much by the
damage as by the unexpected speed and power of the girl's blow.

Now the smell of blood was in the air. Sol was a regular guy, and the four
other men were mad as hell. At that moment I was more worried by what they
would do to the girl than anything else. But as Brionn got involved in the
fight, her inebriation seemed to fall away from her. Her hand-eye
co-ordination just switched right on - as if she hadn't touched a drop. And
her speed was unbelievable.

Ralph, the electrician, took a swing at her. She ducked expertly under his
blow, drove her right shoulder into his midriff, straightened to lift his
bodyweight up onto her shoulder, then dumped him down her back, head-first,
onto the wooden floor.

As she let go of Ralph, she turned to sent a scything left crashing into the
side of Mitch's face. Again the loudness of the impact as her heavy punch
connected was startling. The dull, hollow crack echoed sullenly back off the
walls, combining with the yelp of pain and astonishment from Mitch. You just
didn't expect a girl to hit that hard - any girl, let alone a slender nineteen
year old beauty like this.

She'd put so much power into her fearsome blow that Mitch's body was hurled
heavily into the nearby wall, dislodging several framed pictures and sending
them crashing to the floor. And Brionn continued to wreak havoc with her bony
fists. Sol was next to take one of her fast, powerful punches, receiving it
directly on his chin. His head flew backward as he hit the bar hard, his jaw
looking suddenly misshapen and hanging strangely out of place. The girl moved
toward the others, just out of my field of vision. But I soon heard the crack,
crack, crack of big punches hitting home, and sharp cries of shock and pain.

Some, at least, of that pain had to be coming from the girl. There were five
guys here, and that meant the kid hadn't a chance. There was the sound of
another heavy blow, a groan, and suddenly Nick had fallen down beside me on
the floor, his face bleeding fiercely from a smashed nose, his cheekbone caved
in, and another deep cut below his eye. He tried to get back up, to rejoin the
fight, but he fell back to the floor, confused and disorientated. Behind me, I
could hear more heavy punches continuing to land. The guys sure were taking a
long time to finish this girl off.

I rolled painfully onto my side to see what was happening.

I was surprised to see that the girl was still standing, facing only three of
my other customers. Her eyes were narrowed to a squint, her heavy fists
tight-clenched. In front of her, I saw Ralph and Rick looking somewhat wary.
Both had dark bruises on their faces. Rick also had a badly-cut lip which was
streaming blood. I couldn't see any marks on Brionn.

Rick struck out with a big right, but the girl avoided it with a swaying,
twist of her body that set her right up for the return blow. Her right fist
speared in like a javelin, followed by her left, and another right. I heard
the now-familiar sound of three heavy blows connecting with their target, and
three heavy groans of pain. The girl may have been drunk, but her fighting
instincts were fiercely alive, and her punches were alarmingly powerful.

Two of the blows slammed into Rick. The other veered to the right to smash
into Ralph's temple. Despite the tall girl's slenderness, all three blows
struck with such power that both men were thrown backward across the room.
Rick knocked over three chairs and a small table, before falling to the floor
several feet from me.

I was appalled. Now only Sol was standing, and he was still bleeding heavily
from his nose and the gap where he'd just lost his tooth. The girl took a step
back, seeming to relish the violence she was handing out.

"Have you had enough?" she said, the effect of the alcohol she'd drunk now
seeming to impose itself again the moment she stopped fighting. Her words and
her movements both seemed to slow. She stretched out her long right arm and
slowly flexed it, revealing, for the first time the impressive set of muscles
its length had previously concealed. Out of nowhere this big rounded bicep
suddenly took shape, hardening as it swelled and grew, into a dense and solid
ball that looked steel-hard. Now I could see how she could hit so appallingly
hard. The bicep was huge, bigger and more solid than all but the best trained
men possessed. Yet it belonged to this tall, slender blonde teenager.

The flex seemed to enrage Sol, who lurched angrily toward her. I realised now
that this was a bad mistake.

Brionn's fist drew smoothly back, like a big gun preparing to fire. Her eyes
squinted, and she emitted a low grunt, as the blocky fist shot forward,
blurring as it hurtled toward its target with amazing speed and force.

The noise as the fearsome blow connected was the harshest I'd yet heard. I was
sure the impact must have been heard in the street outside. This time the girl
had really excelled herself. Sol was literally sent flying, clear across the
room, as his legs struggled to keep their footing. He was only brought to a
halt when his body crashed heavily into the far wall. His head rattled against
the brickwork, rebounding six inches forward, before he fell heavily to the
ground.

I gasped. This girl was just so strong! I'd never seen anyone hit a punch like
that. And this nineteen-year-old had just done it. Sol was lying, stretched
out on the boards, completely motionless. She had put him out cold with just
that one huge punch. I could see that his cheekbone looked broken, and that a
fresh stream of blood now ran down the left side of his face. And Brionn was
still standing tall. She just drew a deep breath and seemed ready for more.

She looked round, her glance fixing on Mitch, the largest of the customers at
six feet two, and 300 pounds. He was propped up against a pool table, nursing
a broken nose which had already spilled a significant pool of blood onto the
green baize. She strode purposefully toward him. He tried to push himself to
his feet as he saw her coming. But once again, her speed and physical
co-ordination kicked back in the moment she faced any kind of threat. She
ducked under his unsteady lurch toward her, wrapped her left arm beneath his
shoulder, and sent her right curling beneath his hip.

With a soft grunt, she straightened, lifting this huge man completely off the
ground in her arms. I gasped. If I hadn't seen it I wouldn't have believed it!
This tall, slim teenager was actually holding a man more than twice her
bodyweight in her long arms! And long as they were, her arms could barely
stretch round his huge frame. Yet not only were they taking his entire weight,
but her right arm was continuing to lift even higher! His hips were already
higher than his head and her arm was lifting them higher still as she turned
and began to walk toward the four of us lying in the center of the room.

More and more of my field of vision was taken up by the bulk of the
approaching Mitch, now almost upside-down in the girl's powerful arms, his
legs waving uselessly in the air above his enormous backside. He was groaning
loudly as the girl halted just four feet away. I could see Brionn's long,
jean-clad legs and her exposed and rippling midriff underneath Mitch's
weakly-struggling bulk. Then Mitch came hurtling down toward us.

I cried out in alarm as the huge body crashed into the tables above me, hoping
that they would take his weight. But with a cataclysmic cracking, crashing and
splitting of timbers, both tables tore themselves apart beneath the enormous
force of the impact. The whole mass of Mitch and the torn and shattered
timbers crashed into the three of us who lay directly beneath the tables.

All was suddenly noise, pain and confusion. I felt three of my ribs break as
wooden struts drove into me. I heard the two other guys cry out in surprise
and pain. Mitch's huge weight held the wreckage down on top of me, pinning me
flat. Through a gap between one of the table tops and Mitch's heavy,
outstretched arm, I could see our assilant looking down at the havoc she'd
produced. She shook out her hank of blonde hair with a triumphant, leery grin,
raising her long arms triumphantly above her head as she turned back toward
the bar.

I heard her order Gary, the trainee barman to get her another beer.

"Yes, ma'am," his voice came obediently back as she pulled herself unsteadily
onto a stool where she could watch us.

"Take that as a leshon," she said to no-one in particular. "Don't messhh with
me..."

Five of us were down, laid out across the floor of the bar. Only Ralph was
standing, and he looked a mess. Blood ran down his face. His jaw was broken,
and he was moving unsteadily.

Brionn, on the other hand, still looked as misleadingly fragile and unscarred
as when she'd walked in off the street.

Suddenly the barroom door opened and a man and woman came in.

"Brionn!" the woman rushed toward her, ignoring the scene of mayhem across the
bar. "We've been looking for you all over town!"

"Oh, Deena," Brionn slurred. "Go away. I'm busy."

"No. You have to come home now. You've had too much to drink - and I can see
you've been making trouble! Come on." The two took her by the arms, and made
to lead her out.

"Hey!" I tried to stand. "Where are you taking her? Do you know what damage
she's done?"

"I can guess," the man said. "She could be a national level kickboxer if she
really went for it. But if she has too much to drink, and someone provokes
her, she can get mean."

"So who's gonna pay for all this?" I demanded.

"She'd already had too much to drink before we lost her," the woman said.
"It's your fault for letting her have any more. Or would you prefer we left
her here for you to deal with?"

"Just get her out of here," I said. "Take her away!"

And that was the end of one of my less good days in the liquor business.