So A Italian Walks Into A Bar...

Now, make no mistake. Diana Accera was by no means one to hold a grudge. In fact, quite the opposite, as her constant search for fresh faces to smash in the ring made her sometimes accidentally overlook the men and women she had already rubbed up the wrong way. Such a fact didn't exactly matter to the Italian. She could never have too many people to fight.

Strolling up to somewhat of a stereotypical Celtic pub dressed as ever half assed-ly, the busty Italian somewhat slid herself through the door of McNally's for once with a posture and stance that screamed that she didn't want to make a scene. Not yet anyway. Hands in her denim jacket, she'd somewhat fold it around her front as she made her way through the small crowd of patrons; a crowd annoyingly too big for what Diana was fully expecting to occur. For it was not a simple drink Diana came to the Celtic chain pub for, but a certain someone.

Learning from the AFW water cooler talk that you'd be as likely to find Duffy Macbain in McNally's as you would Rebecca Tomko pushing weights, or Carmen Rodriguez at her punching bags, Diana's eyes would scroll among the masses in search for a woman she'd become somewhat greatly rubbed up by since their last encounter. Said bad encounter was seen almost entirely by the Italian as the Scot's fault, a arguable fact, but one that made the Italian grit her teeth both anxiously and excitedly in search for the smaller, more vicious Duffy. Settling at the bar, arms crossed over the counter, she'd again scour, to her somewhat chagrin gaining no success. She ran through the possibilities, of maybe simply Duffy not being here yet, or perhaps being in the restroom, or god forbid actually taking a day off from heavy boozing. Sighing, the Italian would continue to scour, head rolling side to side, hoping she spotted the Scot before she spotted her. If she was there.

Duffy was in the middle of screaming at the television. There was a soccer game on and she was in the middle of talking shit about anyone and everyone who flashed across the screen. In one hand as a pint of beer, swishing from side to side as she jerked it around, a few drops spilling out from the frosty mug here and there.

"Oi! These cunts! Twats, all o em, ya ken!?" Duffy barked and took a swig of her beer and frowned. "Oi, this beer is shite! 'Aven't ye got anythin that tastes better than me own piss!? Fuck!" She barked and motioned at the television. "Oh look, they're still kickin their wee lil baw 'round an not scorin! 'Ow long as it been since someone even took a fuckn' shot on th' goal?!"

Duffy downed her mug in a few big gulps and slammed her mug down. "Oi! Fill me up again!" The Scot demanded loudly.

It didn't take long for those recognisable tones to hear Diana's ears. Hell, you didn't have to know Duffy to know for a fact her tone belonged to a woman you'd most likely stay clear of if you didn't want trouble.

Ever in search of such, Diana would smile, eyes meeting the back of the head of the woman she was somewhat seeking, who had yet to see her. Noticing her fixture on the television, a small girth given to her from the crowd around given her somewhat loud demands and presence, Diana spotted her 'chance.' Stepping away from the bar, smoothly flowing through the crowd partially fixated too on the TV; partially fixated too on the small Scottish woman who appeared to be close to flipping a table any second, Diana would re-affirm herself on the bar, arms crossed resuming her stance. Right next to Duffy.

The Scot's head turned the opposite way, Diana knew the woman wouldn't notice her unless by chance she turned, or of course, Diana made her notice. Opting for the former, she simply stood there, arms crossed with a smirk, waiting for Duffy to inevitably turn back to her front for a swig of her drink, where she'd realise there was a new presence, awfully close besides her. One she ideally would remember.

Duffy did not, in fact, notice that Diana was there until she turned to pull her mug up to her lips and caught sight some something large in her peripheral vision. She didn't even know who it was, but she slid off her stool after finishing off her drink and as she was turning, her palms mashed into Diana's ample chest and pushed her away.

"Oi! Piss off ye-"

When she realized it was Diana, she grinned widely. "Nevermind... stay right there, lassie." Duffy said and swung her fist at Diana's jaw.

Diana knew violence on the cards. You didn't have to know Duffy, or meet her at some celebratory party, or even study her body language and speech to sort of figure out that violence was always on the cards. Diana was ready, but she couldn't deny that she didn't outright expect the violence to be the literal greeting!

Bringing her hand up to catch Duffy's forearm before the swing fully extended, fist a few inches from Diana's face, the Italian would grunt at the surprising difficulty of holding the smaller woman's arm. Leaning in, she'd whisper close, as one or two patrons nearby looked closely, at what they thought was an attempt at a swing.

"Now now Duff', let's not make a scene..."

"Hnnngh!"

Duffy grunted as Diana caught her punch and leaned in with that fucking face of hers. Duffy flashed her teeth like a wild animal but smiled as Diana's breath tickled her ear. "Twat, A'll make a scene!" She barked back craned her neck to the side and arced her head towards Diana's while she tried to pull her hand free.

There was numerous ways to catch a punch. Whether the forearm, the turning hips, or even the fist, if you were prepared enough, you could easily catch a strike, or of course dodge it. A headbutt? Less ways.

Releasing Duffy's hand as the smaller woman made her comment regardless, Diana would grunt as that forehead met cleanly with her own; nearly knocking her out of her stool into a stumble if not for her free hand on the counter. More around now evidently aware that the two were definitely getting violent, Diana would try to shuffle out of her chair, head still aching, to try and make some space for what felt soon to be an inevitable follow-up from the clearly pissed off Scot.

As Diana backed away from her stool, Duffy scooted off too and immediately brought her fists up and began to hop in place. "Oi! C'mon then, twat!" Duffy barked. "Ye came all th way ta see me, so don't be pussin out on me now! A'll be 'appy ta kick ye'r arse right 'ere an now, ya ken!?" Duffy grinned, not really caring about the rest of the bar or if the bartender didn't want her wrecking the place.

Some space forcibly created by Diana, the patrons around the two had already begun to back away, already apparently deciding they didn't want a close encounter with either women when they were clearly in the mood for a physical confrontation. The security of the bar was of course already on their way in, but given the outright scale of the crowd at the pub tonight? They might as well of been trying to push to the front of a concert.

Diana's face went stern, not bothering to remove her jacket as she raised her fists, apparently conversation completely off the menu. Rarely one to taunt, she found herself breaking character, from a combination of the fact the two women outright despised each other, and Duffy's cheap shot. The constant insults didn't help either.

"Come on then...you little fuck..."

"Ooooh, lil fuck, eh? Looks like the big ol flabby twat's got 'er flaps runnin!"

Duffy said with a big grin as a small circle began to form around them, keeping Security at bay briefly. Duffy lunged forward, trying to throw a hard fist between Diana's guard and punch the big girl's big tit. She was riled up and especially wanted to punch this bitch.