When the Reds Clash

[Rod Stafford]

It was half-time. The players disappeared into a tunnel and after a few minutes of commentary from Gary Lineker and Ian Wright, the commercial break began. People were packed tight at the bar, ordering their drinks. The rest of the pub looked empty by comparison. Sansa's friend was engaging a tall Liverpool supporter in a fierce verbal confrontation. Rod stood. The others looked up at him.

"I'll get this round in."

"Good man, Rod!" said Andy. "Everyone having the same?"

They all nodded and sent Rod on his way. Two young women squeazed past him in a narrow space between tables. He smiled. He enjoyed the closeness and atmosphere of being in a pub during a football match. Once people had alcohol in their blood and a song to sing, they were no different from people centuries ago. Rod already had this warm fuzzy feeling swelling in his chest.

"Excuse me. Excuse me. Sorry. Pardon me. Excuse me."

Gradually, Rod worked his way to the bar; ducking under arms and dodging pints of beer. He found himself next to Sansa, her friend was still arguing with the scouser. He smiled at her.

"Enjoying the match?"

[Sansa]

Peter was arguing about some of the calls with the scouse sitting next to him, and Gwen was making a run for the loo. Which left Sansa basically to herself guarding Gwen's seat from those who would take it. Being cut off from her friends by a drunken Liverpool fan was the last thing she wanted.

"Enjoying the match?"

Sansa pulled her fingers out of the tangle she'd created in her long hair and turned to smile at Rod. "Certainly... you?" She raked her fingers through her hair again, and pulled it over one shoulder. Her neck was itching for some reason, and she absently scratched at two small bumps near her collarbone.

[Rod Stafford]

"Insect bites?"

Rod awkwardly gestured to her neck. He could see the marks on her neck from where he stood. He leaned in, eager to get a closer look. His brow furrowed and he looked at Sansa with concern.

"Have you..." He paused, glanced back at the scabs and stood up.

"Been on holiday recently?"

[Sansa]

She frowned, "Insect bites?" Sansa looked at the mirror behind the bar, trying to see what he was talking about. "No, I don't think so. Well, maybe! I don't know where I could have gotten them though."

Sansa self-consciously pulled her hair over the marks. "No holidays for me, I'm afraid."

[Rod Stafford]

Rod leaned against the bar, and browsed the large selection of drinks. He could see Sansa staring at her marked neck in the mirror's reflection.

"Don't worry about it." He added, deadly serious, "The worst you could get is rabies or maleria. People don't die from that anymore, right?"

The barmaid caught his attention and he ordered his drinks. Then as she walked off, he called her back.

"And can I have a double... Jack... Daniels?"

"Want ice with it, lad?" She asked thickly through a gob full of gum.

"Erm... yeah."

The barmaid turned again and he lunged out and tapped her on the shoulder. She pivoted and glared at him. He failed to notice her temper.

"Sansa, what can I get you?"

[Sansa]

She smiled apologetically at the barmaid, "Oh, another of these, I guess." Sansa lifted her almost empty beer.

The woman behind the bar turned to fill the order, moving out of Rod's reach quickly so he couldn't stop her again. Sansa looked at him, draining her glass. "Thanks for the refill, Rod." She smiled, wiping a bit of foam from her lips as the barmaid slapped down a fresh beer and Rod's other drinks.

[Rod Stafford]

Rod nodded a quick acknowledgement at Sansa then turned to face the bar again. He was beaming, pleased that she'd accepted his offer, and when he saw his reflection in the mirror opposite, he buried his head in the glass of whiskey and threw it back in one. His face contorted immediately, he closed his eyes tight and shook his head.

"Brrrrrrr! Wooh!"

When he opened his eyes again, the barmaid was staring at him, sour-faced and chewing furiously. His drinks were lined up on the bar. He handed her a ten pound note.

"I'll take another one of those Jeff Daniels, please. And take your own out of that," he offered the woman a big pleasant grin but she simply snatched the money from his fingers and stormed off. He turned to Sansa again, his face a little more colourful now.

"Whatever happened to service with a smile?"

[Sansa]

"I don't think that's been had 'round these parts since the Dark Ages," Sansa laughed, and then she looked up at the screen, "Game's back on. Better get your drinks to your friends."

Someone elbowed their way between her and Rod, ordering a drink, and when they left Rod was back at his table with his companions. Sansa shifted on her stool.

"Gwen," she leaned towards her friend, "I'm going to the loo."

Gwen tore her eyes from the screen, and nodded, then turned to Peter who was gripping the edge of his t-shirt with white knuckled hands as the game progressed. "We're off to the loo, Pete." He waved her away impatiently, and the two girls shoved their way towards the lavatories.

[Rod Stafford]

It started when Rod returned to the bar to retrieve the whiskey he'd forgotten. He considered himself lucky it was still there. He picked it up and turned carefully, lifting the glass over a short woman's head. Then the entire pub bellowed curses and abuse at the screen behind him. He found it quite intimidating and turned to see what all the fuss was about. A Liverpool player had been fouled in the penalty area when he had a good chance of scoring. The referee blew his whistle and made a signal with his hands. The pub cheered. A penalty had been awarded to Liverpool.

"Watch it there, lad," said the sour-faced barmaid.

Beer cascaded from the bar and soaked the short woman's dress. In frustration, Pete had accidently knocked his pint glass over. The barmaid cleaned up the mess while the short woman hurled abuse at the young Mancunian. Pete offered his apologies and the pub settled to watch the penalty being taken. There was utter silence. Steven Gerrard took the shot and planted it perfectly in the top right hand corner of the net. The crowd errupted into cheers and Pete threw himself back into his chair.

"Jammy scouse cun..." He muttered.

"What's that your saying there, lad?" Said a tall young man with a brutal crooked nose. He added, "If you don't like scousers then get out of here. We don't like you either."

"Look, mate, get out my face, alright?" Pete replied.

"Don't call me 'mate'. I'm not your mate. And was it you who soaked my bird?"

"Yeah, it was. It was an accident so get over it, you scouse..."

"Scouse what?" Shouted another man, who suddenly stood, beer in hand and threw the contents of the glass in Pete's direction. He ducked.

"Sorry, mate..." Said the beer-thrower. He held his hands up apologetically but the big burly bald-headed bloke with the beer belly didn't seem amused. His face and bald head glistened and dripped with ale. He wiped it off and stepped forward, barging Rod out of the way.

One thing led to another. The bald bloke butted the beer-thrower. The beer-thrower's mates got up and went for the bald bloke. The bald blokes mates went for them. The soaked short woman pointed fingers at Pete. Her crooked nose boyfriend squared up to him. Rod positioned himself between the Mancunian and the boyfriend. He stammered the odd soothing word or two in a sorry attempt to settle the situation. Then suddenly, he found himself with the weight of the soaked short woman on his back after she had thrown herself at him in a blind fit of rage.

"Excuse me, miss."

"Dirty Mancunian git!" She screamed as she straddled his back, her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck. He sputtered and made every effort not to spill his whiskey admist the chaos of the pub brawl.

[Sansa]

"C'mon, Gwen, stop starin' at yourself in the mirror!" Sansa cracked open the door to peek out at the suddenly very loud bar, and quickly closed it again. "Looks like Peter's gotten himself into a bit o' trouble..."

Gwen was putting lip gloss on, "Oh? Not again." The blonde ran her fingers through her short dyed hair and pocketed the gloss. "I suppose its bad. Worse than last time?"

"Oh, lots worse." Sansa followed Gwen as the bolder girl stalked out into the bar proper. Her eyes widened at the sight of Peter squaring off to a scouser with a broken nose, and Rod - Rod? - trying vainly to get a woman off his back. The rest of the bar was slowly succumbing to an all out brawl, and Gwen pulled Sansa down as a shotglass catapulted over their heads.

"You're right," Gwen noted, "Lots worse. C'mon, lets get him and get out." She grabbed Sansa's hand, and they tried to make their way towards the bar.

[Rod Stafford]

Rod could feel his shirt being drenched from the woman's beer soaked clothes. He gasped under her grip and swayed this way and that to toss her off. Behind them, he heard glass smashing. Her feet had come loose and knocked everything off the bar.

"You're not so hard now, eh?" She cried into his ear. She was a brandy drinker.

Bent double, Rod could see the upside down scrunched up face of the barmaid from between his legs. She'd spat her chewing gum out now and was mouthing off a slew of swear words at him. He tried to tear her arms from him with his free hand but to no avail. The other arm he kept at length away from the woman and desperately attempted to keep it away from people and flying objects. He stood and Sansa stood before him.

"Help!" He choked.

[Sansa]

Sansa looked a bit helpless as chaos ruled around her, but Gwen waded between the scouse and Peter, shouting at them both. Rod croaked as the woman on his back got her arm around his throat, his eyes pleading for help.

Galvanized into action, Sansa plucked the glass from Rod's free hand, setting it on the bar, and then she grabbed a fistfull of the woman's hair. Yanking the wench backwards she hollered, "Get off him, you cow!"

The beer-soaked woman, a new target in sight, released Rod and grabbed a handful of Sansa's hair, pulling the taller girl's head down. "Stay out of this, you bloody Mancunian tart!" Sansa's eyes widened, and she stuck her hand in the woman's face, trying to lever her away from her hair.

[Rod Stafford]

Rod's jaw dropped at the display from the two women. He turned pale as he cautiously wriggled between them. He manouvered his hands carefully, in order to avoid causing offense, and gently pulled free their grip from each other. Both were reluctant to relinquish their grasp.

"Now ladies, please..."

The intermingled trio were suddenly barged aside by the beer-thrower and the bald bloke, who were throwing punches, biting and butting with bestial vigor. The short woman lost her balance and fell, consequentially, Rod and Sansa tumbled to the ground with her.

"This is ridiculous!" Grunted Rod.

There was a hiss and the shorter woman suddenly yelped in pain, and immediately released her grip on Sansa's hair. She jumped up and plunged her fingers into the bucket of ice on the bar. Rod climbed to his feet and helped Sansa up.

"Time to leave, I think."

[Sansa]

Sansa winced, wondering how much hair the scouse woman had pulled out, but took Rod's hand as he tried to get them out of the bar. She looked over her shoulder for Gwen and Peter, and caught sight of Gwen climbing up onto the bar, the match projected onto her body. She made the 'call me' gesture to Sansa, but was pulled down by a myriad of hands. She seemed to be laughing.

The dark haired girl swallowed hard, following behind Rod as closely as she could as he led them to safety. A couple of brawlers banged against them, knocking their hands free from each other, and for a terrifying moment Sansa was shoved awkwardly against a now empty table. Separated from Rod, and with the back of a smelly scouser pinning her in place while the scouse pounded someone in the head, she tried not to panic.

[Rod Stafford]

"Gerroff her!"

Rod shouted, wrapping one hand around the back of the neck of one of the assailants while the other grasped the t-shirt of the one on top of Sansa. He dragged the first back and lifted up the other with ease and threw them aside. He took Sansa hand and pulled her out through the door. They squeezed through a number of bloody patrons escaping the pub and found themselves in the street. It was getting dark now, and the street lights were casting an orange glow on the black, glistening road.

Rod circled Sansa quickly, putting his damp fingers in her hair and on her arms and hands. He looked at her with concern.

"Are you alright?"

[Sansa]

Wide-eyed, Sansa looked at her arm. There was a smear of blood on it, but a second glance proved that it wasn't hers. "'s a bloody biohazard in there," she exclaimed, and then unexpectedly hugged Rod. "Thanks! I think I'm fine. Might have lost some hair though, that fat cow had strong fingers."

She released him to rub her scalp, and then realized that Gwen and Peter were still inside - her ride back to where she was staying the night. "What now?"

[Rod Stafford]

Rod was grinning from ear to ear. It took him a moment to realise he'd been asked a question. His eyes widened and he pulled the blue rucksack from his back. He crouched down, unzipping it and delved inside it.

"Here," he said, handing Sansa a folded up map.

"One of my friends picked it up on a night out with his university. Liverpool hot spots."

He put the rucksack back over both shoulders and they started walking. Then he stopped, turned and ran back into the bar.

"I'll be right back, I just forgot something."

After about thirty seconds, Rod reappered, he collapsed out of the door and almost lost his footing. Half a dozen hands groped after him. Behind him appeared the scouser with the broken nose, the bald headed man and the beer-thrower. They clamoured through the narrow doorway together to get their hands on him, hurling abuse as he found his footing and scrambled onto the street. In his hand was his glass of whiskey, the ice half melted, and not a drop spilled.

"Run!"

[Sansa]

Sansa grabbed his hand to help him regain his balance, and they ran down the street. She considered the map in her hand, and decided that it probably wouldn't help them find Peter and Gwen's flat.

When they finally stopped she took a moment, panting for breath, and said, "I don't think you're allowed to take the glass with you, Rod." Then she started laughing.

[Rod Stafford]

They had turned into a narrow alley and were now pressed against a garage door. The shouts from the pub were distant now. Rod looked down at his glass and then at Sansa, and shrugged carelessly. He gulped the contents of the glass and chewed on the ice.

"That's good stuff."

He leaned out of the alley and glanced up the street. It was clear so he stepped out of the alley. He placed the glass carefully on the floor, against a wall, plunged his hands in his big baggy trousers and looked helplessly at Sansa.

"Do you know where we are?"

[Sansa]

Sansa shook her head, a little incredulously. "I live in London, and before that Manchester. I don't know my way around Liverpool all that well at all." He cut quite a figure in his huge red pants and stripey shirt. "Don't you know where we are?"

She followed him out of the alleyway into the street, carefully looking around. "I was following you."