Ric was half stunned by the fall, but really his mind was not on the bouncer looming over him, though it likely should have been. He was more focused on the girl at the bar. He closed one eye and started to twist himself to standing up, but his back started to protest, so he closed his eyes, let out a hiss of frustration and pain as he gathered himself to try again. And no sooner had he steeled his resolve than there was a boot poking at his side. Dios, this was not his damn night.
"Pinche culero! Mi inglés no es el problema, cabrón!" He growled the words out through clenched teeth as he brought a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his forehead. "I'm not drunk," he added in a short, snapping tone in English. His legs decided to work with him again and he literally kicked the chair away, one of the gathering onlookers yelped in surprise and jumped to one side in order to avoid being struck by it. That would surely not win him any points with the bouncer, but Ric could not really bring himself to care at that exact moment. His body and pride were both aching from the fall and a ghost from his past who likely had all the power to drag him back down to hell was sitting just a few feet away. He was ready for a fight.
"I'm not drunk and I am leaving. Now," he added as he rolled to his side, propped himself up onto one elbow and upturned the collar on his jacket. He at least wanted to get that done before the got to his feet or the bouncer grabbed his scruffy ass and physically threw him out, whichever came first.