In all honesty Aiden gave too much credit to this crowd, and hadn't thought one of them would take offense to being told to sit down. It wasn't like Aiden had really been ordering anyone to perform the actual act of sitting, nor like by saying so he had been infringing on some sort of personal liberty. Or rather, that would have been the train of thought of someone normal. One of the Skynyrd fans, however, didn't take kindly to being not scolded, but told to do something he didn't want to do. Also something about art.
The man was staring Aiden down from the height of the whole eight inches he had on the bartender, but Aiden was staring right back up at him. If you were the flights of fancy type you could say you could almost see flames dancing in Aiden's eyes. He had really been trying to keep his violence mostly in check, lately, but this wasn't helping. In fact, it was doing the exact opposite.
"That's not art, it's a bunch of rednecks with musical talent making songs about some shitty sense of belonging that tends to end up bloody racist and disgusting." He muttered. The other man managed to look even more pissed. Aiden could swear his nostrils were flaring. Before he could speak, however, the bartender interrupted again. "And you know what I think about you having the right to do whatever you want in my bloody bar?" Shoving a hand down his pocket, Aiden pulled his lighter. It was more out of habit than necessity that he kept the humongous zippo around still, but sometimes it came in handy. Aiden lit it up, glancing sideways at the chair the big ass dude had been sitting on. He threw the lighter on it, then chased it with some fire of his own - though surreptitiously and quickly enough that no one could see him do it. The chair caught on fire quickly and people started moving away from it. Petty soon with the help of alcohol it had sort-of spread. He was going to get fired for this.
Aiden looked back up at his confronter. "You don't."