James kept quiet for the most part, simply staring at Vander, trying to ignore the comments made by the fighter. His grip around his glass tightened, and his free hand balled itself into a fist, all the while, he kept his polite smile at Vera, waiting for a moment where the drunk would shut up so that he could continue the conversation. Sadly, he never got the opportunity, for the fighter pushed himself in between the two, and began speaking to Vander. 

The young man went through all of the possible scenarios in his head; grabbing the glass he was holding, and bashing it over the jerk's head; slamming the man's head into the bar; grabbing his bar stool and beating the drunk half to death, all seemed like good ideas, but he stopped as he noticed himself raising his glass. The words of his father rang in his ears. [i]Remember, James, and you too, Mason, I cannot just send you out by yourselves. Remember this, I will have eyes on you at all times. This way, you can stay out of trouble, and not do anything that will taint the family name.[/i]

He quickly brought the glass to his lips, and, after taking a quick drink, immediately turned his head to the entrance of The Spit, then around quickly. There was no sign of anyone watching him. But of course there wasn't; even if there had been someone watching, they wouldn't have made it obvious that they were watching. With slight hesitation, he turned around, and was met with a finger pointed in his direction, and the uproar of a very pleased crowd. 

"Him! I pick him!"

He hadn't even heard the announcement, but by the look on everyone's faces, and the cheering, he could tell that he was in for a fight. He froze for the second time that night. Immediately, his heart began pumping at an incredibly high rate, and his palms began to sweat. His legs started to shake, and he turned his head around. His eyes were met with his brother's, which, although glazed over, were wide with horror. He turned his head back and looked at the back of the fighter, and then at Vander. Within an instant, his legs stopped shaking, he stopped sweating, and his surprised expression was twisted into a small scowl. He set his cup down so hard, that it almost shattered. By now, the crowd was silent, anxious, waiting for either acceptance or cowardice. Slowly, he turned his face to the crowd and threw up his hands.

"Alright! Let's do this!"

The crowd erupted into another series of cheers and yells. James looked at Mason, who was, by now, almost suffering from a heart attack, and merely shrugged. This man was drunk, the fight wasn't going to be that difficult. At least, that's what James was hoping.