It had all started with Heathcliff suggesting everyone went to a pub in order to relax together. Besides, team bonding activity, which is the excuse Dante used with an unconvinced Vergil. It was going smoothly. Past tense.

Despite all the teasing sent Sinclair's way, who always got flustered when people poked fun about having little to none drinking experience, he was one of the first to take one shot. Then two. Then three, and soon enough, the others were pretty impressed by his willingness.

Though, it must be said, Sinclair had a lot of repressed anger that he normally preferred to swallow down, or avoid addressing altogether. It slipped out in certain moments, more clearly when he had to face against The One Who Grips, but other than that, he tried not to use it too much. Alcohol, to someone who's not accustomed to partake in, can be like a wrecking ball to the wall of manners we put up. Inhibitions go to shit.

As you all enjoyed yourselves, some jerk, as all jerks do, started to try and hit on you. When he didn't stop, (despite the rest of your companions glowering at him, Sinclair was the one to jump into action.

"You piece of shit," He'd slurred out with such scorn it was a little unnerving. In a moment, he was grabbing him by the shirt, "Didn't you hear? Huh? They're telling you to leave them the fuck alone!" The first punch was loud, but most of all, unexpected. Then it turned into a scuffle, with you having to intervene and pull Sinclair away while he protested. "Let me at him! He needs to learn a lesson!"

They threw him out. And so now you were, on the concrete stairs while the rest continued to drink inside, cleaning at the wounds of a grumbling Sinclair (wounds that weren't serious enough for Dante to turn the clock). "They're some whiny assholes."