Angus needed some food and drink, so naturally he went to a pub.  He walked by a new one with a silly name.  The Duckless Rooster?  What the hell was that?  Anyway he decided to go in.  The server seemed nice and all.  He asked for fish and chips and a pint of ale.  He didn't think he would see Ruth here.  He was pretty sure he was clear from seeing any of his other wives.  How many were there here in Whitby?  Two or three?  All he wanted was to have fun and enjoy his time.  Women seemed to give him trouble.  He liked them and all but then they wanted to get married and get pregnant.  He didn't like that part.  That was when he always left.  

The server brought over the pint of ale and he relished it.  The taste was just out of the world.  He decided he must come back again.

Bruce wasn't a man who particularly liked conflict. He tended to stick to himself and not approach in certain situations, but that didn't mean he was afraid to. He noticed Angus right away, and who wouldn't? The man had quite the reputation around town. He was owed money by that one over a bet, and he had heard what he had done and thought it was pretty shitty. "Oi, Angus McLeod!" he bellowed as if in good cheer, approached the man and said, "I 'eard congrats are in order... What's that? Wife number 4? 5? I don't know, but I 'eard she was a beaut. S'at Ruth Blacke? Oi, aye, I seen her affore, she IS a beaut... Ye're a lucky man." He paused for a moment and then nodded to the bartender, "Oi, fella, next round's on me." He clapped Angus on the back with gusto and a guffaw.

[Content warning: crude and vulgar language.]

Oh shite! Angus thought as Bruce Carmichael came up to him and spoke to him about Ruth. I came here to forget about that woman. He thought to himself. Big fucking mistake that was. And now Bruce wanted to make trouble.

"That's okay, Bruce." Angus told the overfriendly butcher. "I'm just here trying to enjoy a nice meal and drink. I really wasn't interested in having any company. But it was nice seeing you again, mate."

"Sure, sure," he said, but he didn't move. His grin only widened and he said, "But ye see, I didn't just come here to congratulate ye for bein... well... a scum-sucking toad, I came for me money." He only backed away at that point to fold his arms over his chest and spit on the floor at the man's feet. "Ye owe me, lad."

"Only a scum sucking toad would tell somebody they owe them money and not say the amount of money to them or how they owe it." Angus shouted at the man. "Am I supposed to remember myself? Because I don't. How do I know you're not bullshittin' me?"

Bruce snorted at the man, "Ye know very well how much ye owe me, man, 20 quid. Pay up." 20 quid was a significant amount of money. "Ye lost a bet fair and square." It had been a ridiculous bet, to be fair. Over some chickens. "If not, ye can always work off yer debt. I've got plenty o' jobs around me shop." He was at least throwing the guy a bone.

Angus couldn't believe what he was hearing! "What nonsense!" He screamed at the man. "There's no way in this world where I would make a 20 quid bet on something. I demand to know what was it!"

"Ye lost a bet on how many chickens could fit in a cage. I don't remember the number but ye said somethin' dumb, man. Ye're the one what proposed the bet!" He snorted and finally pulled his arm away. "20 quid o'er a buncha chickens," he said in bemusement. "Then ye took off wit' Ruth Blacke. Are ye really hitched to her?"

Anyone who knew Angus well would probably know he was holding his temper.  The butcher intimated that he could work in his butcher shop to pay off the debt.  What nerve!  And he was lying, telling him he made a nonsensical bet and owed him 20 quid.  What really was intolerable was bringing up Ruth Blacke and asking him if he was still married to her.  Angus had no clue, but he wanted to forget about Ruth, he didn't want to be reminded of her.  Because of that, he realized he probably couldn't walk into this place again.  And this was the only one where he knew nobody heard of her.  Well up to now.  He stood up and looked the butcher in his eye.

"If ye really think I owe you money,"  Angus said to the guy.  "I think you need to talk to my atternees, the Finger Law Firm."  He balled his right hand into a fist and threw a punch at the left side of the other man's mouth.  "They're managed by Thumb."  He laughed at his joke and prepared for a fight with the man.

He took the punch without flinching. Then he folded muscled arms over his chest and glared at the other man for a moment, "Ye're nothin' but pond scum," he spat blood out onto the floor at Angus' feet. Then he reached out quickly, grabbing the man by the shirt and slammed his head toward Angus' nose. Assuming contact was made, he would haul his fist back and start throwing punches too. "Give me me money, ye toad!"