The edge of the pool table pushing into his back, Connor moved slightly in the drunk's grip to lessen the discomfort, placing his palms on the flat part. There was no concern in his expression despite the beefy fist that held a handful of t-shirt, preventing him from going anywhere unless he slipped out of his shirt. That would be a last resort. Instead, he causally watched the back and forth between the two men like a good football match.
He recognized that look that the smaller man got. It was one both he and his twin brother had on the occasion where trouble followed soon after, usually a fight of some kind. The two of them had been in more than a few brawls, alone and together. Connor was no stranger to it and if he was reading it right, it looked like he was going to be getting into his first of the new reality. And it had taken him over a week. It was a new record.
An eyebrow arched at the stream of Chinese. Whatever had been said, it wasn't complimentary, but their drunk buddy was too blitzed and too dumb to notice. His biggest concern was keeping that wallet. As Connor started to speak, the other guy decided to skip right past negotiation and go for the violence. Whatever worked for him. The drunk staggered and Connor sidestepped with him, bumping into the table again. He heard a small rip and glanced down to see the seam open just slightly between the body of the shirt and his sleeve.
"Come on. I don't have that many fucking shirts here," he grumbled, trying to loosen the death grip the drunk still had on him. As the people around them went silent, Connor glanced up to realize the other man had pulled out a gun, some weird one that he hadn't seen anything like before, while the drunk tried to right himself. "Might want to listen to the man. It's not wise to be arguing with the one holdin' the gun," he said, tilting his head towards Mal. "Especially not one in a bar."
The drunk stood up a little straighter, nostrils flaring as he blew out a breath, reminding Connor of a bull right before it was about to charge. Which didn't seem too far from the truth. Just as the drunk shifted, Connor planted both feet and pushed. The result was knocking the other man off balance and sending him crashing into a nearby - and unfortunately occupied - table nearby. Wood cracked and glass shattered as the table gave way to weight and the drunk hit the floor, swearing enough to make even Connor impressed.
"Sorry," he said, glancing back at Mal. "I was tryin' to help but I'm thinkin' it's only about to get worse."