Johan exhaled, the smell of liquor strong on his breath as Shane polished off his final drink. Johan's face was flushed, and he slowly slid his glasses off, passing it to the bartender with a knowing look and a cocky grin. He knew what Shane was gonna ask before he was gonna ask it - he knew his disciple quite well. Johan answered the Norwegian man wordlessly, hopping off the bar stool and giving him a chance to do the same before spinning around and throwing a quick straight aimed right at his face. "A fight is the next logical step, of course! Komme hir, let us roughhouse like school boys!" Johan laughed aloud, seeming to be having fun.

Smiling like a diabetic kind locked in a candy store overnight without parental supervision, Shane hopped off his chair and blocked the right straight, throwing a haymaker back as the bar erupted into cheers and chaos. While the Norwegian wasn't the best at regimented hand-to-hand, a bar fight?...Well, that wasn't necessarily the same thing. Slumping back, he settled in a stupidly-relaxed stance, going all Drunken Master on this shit.

He's got this...probably.

Johan's head smacked to the side, his glasses clattering onto the bar. The bartender slowly took them, setting them aside with a depressingly practiced motion. Oh yeah, they did this a lot. Johan chuckled, a ring of spectators forming around them as his head bobbed with what may have been a nod of approval. "Sehr gut... Ja, Sehr gut!" Johan let out a bellow that was part happy yell, part laugh as his stance slid and widened a little before rushing forward with a feint to the chin then following up with a quick punch to the gut. Johan enjoyed having these barfights. Just a classic drunken brawl - no fancy tricks, no weird zoomy Reishi bullshit. "Show me your moves, Shane!"

Bringing his guard up only to get slammed in the gut, Shane felt the wind leave his lungs, and the smile on his face widen. Swinging high with his left, he moved his body around Johan's own and swung a right hook from behind his defenses, moving his right leg behind the Inquisitor's left. After that was done, he'd drop his arm and attempt to get the man's arm in a bind, bringing him into a grapple.

Classy shit, that.

Johan stumbled a bit after the feint move, for someone as drunk as he was it was a bit of a complex maneuver to pull of without stumbling at least a bit. Seeing Shane's smile widen, however; emboldened Johan just as he caught a right hook to the head. The crowd cheered as Johan reeled a bit from the strike as Shane moved to bind his arm, his Acolyte's leg behind his own. "Haven't you learned? I'm hardheaded!" Johan cried out, tensing his legs for a moment before snapping his head back to try and headbutt Shane in the face.

Shane laughed drunkenly as he managed to punch Johan in the head, stumbling around and getting him in a pin before...Wait. No. No no no! Swearing as his nose broke and blood sprayed everywhere, the Quincy stumbled back and playfully glared at the Inquisitor. "Dritt! You'be ruined by drunk, drittsekk!"

Giggling through the blood pouring down his face, he ordered another Berlin Mule so he could get the curse of lucidity out of his head.

Priorities, man.

Johan stumbled forward, staggering a little from the slight ache in the back of his head and let out a roar. Shaking his head and letting a little bit of blood splatter on the floor of the bar, Johan rolled his shoulders and ordered another drink of his own. He raised the Berlin Mule up high, tilted his head, and chugged down the beverage. The orange-brown beverage sloshed down the sides of his mouth, a good chunk of it spilling onto his pristine white robes. Once done, he slammed the glass down and turned around. Fun Johan was ready baby. The crowd began to chant for a round two, and Johan raised his hands up, stance even sloppier before and his grin even wider. His normally well-combed hair was tousled and rough, some of it falling in front of his face.

Shane's smile spread across his face as he took up a position across from Johan, his eyes unfocused and blood running down his face. Unfortunately, he MAY have gone overboard with the drinking. His blood-alcohol level was likely somewhere around 3.4, and it had just caught up with him. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and the Norwegian man dropped like a sack of potatoes, landing on the floor of the bar unceremoniously. If anyone came up and started poking at him, they'd notice him snoring and muttering something about blondes.

Whelp, looks like Johan won.

[Thread Exit Via Unconsciousness]

"You see...? You're ten years zu early to defeat... me..." Johan's gaze was beginning to look rather cross-eyes, his ability to stand growing further and further questionable. His own blood-alcohol wasn't much better than Shane's, and sure, he way-overdid the drinking. That last one was probably unnecessary but, that was part of the fun of it after all. Two dudes just beating the ever-living shit out of each other in the bar. Johan stumbled into a chair at the bar, holding up a hand as the crowd cheered him for his victory... and then he promptly collapsed on the bar. He fell out of his chair in glorious fashion, and as usual a few of the regulars scooped them both up and put them in the back to sleep it off. They were used to it by now.