"HAHAHAHA!  You are so funny, Mr. Everything I Had You Wanted, Mr. Why Don't You Brag!  You're overlooking the fact that you're just a stupid Ravenclaw who just wants to be cool, alter ego, big, bad, tough guy criminal." He scoffed.  "You're just lying to yourself." Mack had calmed down a little, but he was still angry with Mark for being so shallow and close-minded.  "You said you've changed since school, but I think you're still just a wimpy goodie-two-shoes that you've always been.  James smooched with your girlfriend, do you think she was faithful enough not to do that?!" He yelled. 

"You aren't losing your temper, you've already lost it."

Mark clenched his fist, and his teeth. "Don't ever, EVER, insult Julie. No one insults Julie." He said his eyes wild. "I'll be the mature one Mack, don't worry, just as I always have been. I won't make the first blow. I won't. Because I'm better than that." He said. Mark let his grasp on the air loosen, as he took another sip of his whisky.

"I'm not a nice kid anymore, I am not a shrimp, but clearly, your ego has maintained it's annoyingly huge size." He scoffed. "Oh look at me. I am a badass Slytherin. My path was destined for me. I knew what I was going to do as soon as I was sorted." Mark mimicked. "Please. Give me a break."

"You mean I shouldn't insult your bitch?  Okay, fine," he said, staring daggers.  "Yeah, mature enough to be friends with Jim.  And drink whiskey," Mackenzie argued.  Mark always complained about how Mack bragged about everything, then continued to brag about his own little things.  It made him want to punch a hole in the wall, but miss and hit Mark, whoops.  

"I can clearly tell you're not a nice kid, I have a brain, if you didn't notice." If looks could kill, Mack would be a murderer, and he wouldn't care, not one bit.

"Really, Mark?  How many times have you said that I should be going on about how amazing I am, but I never have?  I'm a Gryffindor.  Noble and brave, not ambitious and snobby.  Give me a break, because, once again, the Ravenclaw has no idea what he's talking about." He let Mark soak it in before saying, "Oh, I'm a little, puny Ravenclaw.  But I want to be big and tough, so I'll be a criminal.  Blah blah blah."

Mark started to fume. This man had no respect for him. This man had ZERO respect! Mark put down his glass, and grabbed Mack's shirt, twisting it around his fist. "You are going to shut up, before I am forced to smash your head into this bar. You are not to insult my girlfriend. You are not to insult my Alma Mater. You are not to even going to keep spewing your idiocy out from your lips.  Understand?" Mark said seriously.

He let go of the idiot's shirt, before turning back to his drink. Mark finished the drink, before going back to rubbing his temples. If Mack had half a brain, he'd leave Mark alone. Mark had no patience.

"Ha!" He yelled in Mark's face.  "I'll do what I please." He didn't resist as Mark tried to scare him, he wasn't the least bit afraid.  "You're just about the dumbest Ravenclaw I've ever seen, your girlfriend is just about as smart as you, and you forgot I was sorted into Gryffindor.  If you think I am intimidated, you're dead wrong." He spat once again in Mark's face, this time on purpose.  Mack just wanted Mark to hit him so he could smash a bottle over his head.  He'd always wanted to do that.  

Then Mark let go.  He was looking forward to whacking him upside the head with a glass object and watching it shatter.  "Oh, so you're done, now?" He jeered.  "What, wittle Wavenclaw doesn't wanna get a boo-boo?" He said in a babyish voice, practically asking Mark to hit him.

Mark slammed his fist down on the table. "LOOK MACK, LOOK AT ME RIGHT NOW." Mark yelled. "If you do not leave me alone right now, and I mean right now, I will not hesitate breaking every bone in your body!" He took out his wand from his satchel, twisting his wrist to drag attention to the wand.

"If you think I can't take you in a fight, you're wrong. I'm strong Mack. You don't realize that, since you're such a lonely idiot, but I am strong, and right now, I have potions in my satchel that will paralyze you, give you nightmares, before slowly killing you. I am not one to mess with."

"Oh, so now you're a murderer, too?  Tsk tsk, Mark," he heckled Mark, not the best decision, but he was brave and stupid, so he wasn't hesitant.  "Listen…" He bought time as he slowly grasped a beer bottle.  "I don't need a wand to whoop your ass!" He kicked up, hitting Mark's wand right in the sweet spot, then threw the beer bottle at the bag of potions, aiming for the opening to shatter all of them.  Then, he threw his fist into Mark's stomach, just hard enough to knock the wind out of him,  If Mark was, in fact, stronger than Mackenzie, the issue had dissolved.  Same for Mark's magic tricks, with luck.  He wasn't sure how the potions would mix.  He was saving the bottle smash for later, wanting to save the best for last.

Mack knocked his wand away from his hand, the wand falling a few feet away. The bottle was then thrown at his bag of potions, and as he heard the shattering of the glass, Mark winced. He had worked hard on those. And now, they were all broken. Just then, Mack's fist came to hit Mark's gut, taking the breath right out of him.

Mark toppled off the barstool, and on to the ground, He looked over at his satchel. All he needed to get was the satchel and his wand, and he could be out of here. He just hoped that Mack wouldn't use anything he found in Mark's bag. Someone had already tried that. And it did not end up well.

But if there was one thing Mark couldn't do, it was stay down and wait for Mack to continue to hurt him. Mark stood back up, aiming a fist at his face, but stumbling a little as he did so.

Mark fell to the ground and Mack smirked with satisfaction.  But he needed that wand if he were to live another day.  He tried to kick Mark, but missed by inches, cursing under his breath.  He stole a quick glance at where he figured the wand had landed, and pain erupted from his jaw.  Mark had thrown a punch as he stood up and had shocked him a bit.

The only course of action he'd take was getting that wand.  He shoved Mark to the best of his abilities and dove straight for it, landing with a huff of air as his breath was knocked out of him by the impact.  He could almost reach it,  scrambling forward, hand outstretched.  His fingertips were right on it…

Mark was roughly pushed into a wall, as Mack dove for his wand. If Mack got his hand on Mark's wand, things were not going to look so well. Disoriented, Mark threw himself on top of Mack, struggling to grab the wand. Mack was closer. He was just a little closer, but Mark wanted it!

"NO!" He shouted, as he reached. However, his luck was not with him today. And this was not going to end well. At least this time, Mark recognized it, and could ready a story to tell Julie.

Mark tumbled on to Mackenzie just as his fingers closed on the wand.  He was not a dead man, he was very much alive, to his content.  He started pull in his arm but it was crushed under Mark's weight.  He cried out as his elbow was bent in the wrong direction.  He bucked and flailed, keeping a tight grip on his prize as he tried to shake off the monkey assassin on his back.  He struggled to stand, and worried that he might lose tge wand, or worse, break his back.  He pushed with all the strength in his legs, but Mark still held on.  He threw up a fist, the one without a wand clenched in it - and hitting him somewhere.  He had an idea.  He staggered forward, and fell to the ground, his hand just missing a beer bottle.

Mark wasn't going to let go. He wasn't going to let go. He held on to Mack, knowing that it'd be difficult for him to stand with another man latched onto his back. Mark's head was directly over Mack's right shoulder, and as though it was planned, WHAM! Mack's left fist made a nice uppercut with Mark's chin.

He immediately let go, holding his jaw. When he saw, what he thought, Mack going for his potions! There had to be one potion still intact. There had to be! This time, Mark didn't jump onto Mack, just near him, trying to reach into the bag himself. If he could get his hand on a noxious potion, or something of that kind, and create a distraction, Mark could grab his stuff and get out of there. But first, he was going to have to reach his hand into a bag full of broken glass, and possibly some dangerous potion. Really, Mark wanted to shove Mack's face into the bag, but that didn't seem all that plausible at the moment.

Mack quickly got up, his whole body throbbing, namely his right arm.  And, finally, he had a chance to do what he wanted to.  But he had to be fast, otherwise Mark would run off, leaving him in a puddle of blood or poison.  His arms scrambled for a nice, thick, bottle, and they found one.  He snatched it up, and while Mark was still crouched over by his bag, Mack had time to set up.  In the end, rather than a classic SLAM! right on top of his head, he swung the bottle like a baseball bat, making contact with Mark's head. 

Homerun, Mackenzie!

Mark had almost found the potion. He almost found it! His hands were cut up a bit, but it didn't mind. He was finally going to win one! It would finally be Mack 1,500 and Mark 1! Mark felt around, his hands nicked as he dove deeper, and his hand fully wrapped around the small bottle, before...

A resounding force hit him over the head. There was a splinter of glass, and Mark went down, fully knocked unconscious. His hand still wrapped around the bottle, deep inside his bag. His head started bleeding where the bottle had hit. Not that he could feel it. He was out.

Mackenzie smiled, having survived the fight.  And, oh, was that beer bottle smash fun.  His smile faded as Mark slumped forward, his hand still on the potion.  His hair was red with blood, and Mack winced, wondering what to do.  He was sure he looked like a fool, trashing the bar in his pajamas and beating the conscienceness out of Mark with a bottle.  If he had weird looks before, then he had 7 arms now.  He quietly dragged Mark out of the bar, knowing he'd be kicked but not wanting to leave Mark there.  He struggled as he opened the door.  The rain still poured down, and Mack was soaked in minutes. 

How would he fix this?  Or explain it to James?  The immediate thought was to stop his bleeding.  He didn't want to cast any spells, as he didn't want to mess with Mark's wand.  He ripped a patch of fabric off his shirt, and pressed it on Mark's wound.  He ripped up all of his shirt stopping the blood, as it was only a tad thicker than paper. Now, he was naked from the waist up and thin cotton pants were the only thing protecting his legs as he sat with Mark's head in his lap.  He was in a good mood today, but now he was humiliated, irritated, regretful, and cold.