The air in the bar was thick with the stench of spilled drinks and cheap cigs, but it didn't deter the patrons from their evening's entertainment: a good, old-fashioned bar fight. Bodies collided and crashed against the sticky floor, fists flying and curses flying even faster. Amidst the chaos, a lone figure stood out. His movements were graceful and deliberate, as he wove in and out of the melee with a predatory ease. And in one hand, he held a fiddle. The bartender, seeing the unlikely fiddler in the midst of the brawl, let out a low whistle. "You know, that fella could be playin' 'fiddles and fistfights' right now, and none of these idiots would even hear it over their own dang yelling." He shook his head and reached for a clean glass, muttering something about the sorry state of the world. As if in response to the bartender's remark, the fiddler-fighter, as he had come to be known, launched into a spirited rendition of the very same tune. His bow sawed across the strings with a vengeance, each note piercing the din of the fight and drawing the attention of the crowd. For a moment, the punches and kicks were matched by the rhythm of the music, and the bar became a strange and beautiful symphony of violence and art. But then, inevitably, the music came to an end. The fiddler-fighter finished with a flourish, the final note ringing out through the room. There was a brief moment of silence, as if the crowd was unsure what to make of what they had just witnessed. And then, as if on cue, the fiddler-fighter turned his attention back to the matter at hand, launching himself into the fray with renewed vigor, his fiddle tucked safely under his arm. The bartender, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of awe and disbelief, leaned over to a grizzled old man sitting on a stool. "You know," he said, nodding toward the fiddler-fighter, "I think I've never seen anyone play the fiddle quite like that before." The old man smiled, took a sip of his drink, and replied, "Ah, kid. You ain't seen nothing yet." And with that, they both turned their attention back to the fight, eager to see what the fiddler-fighter would pull out of his musical hat next.
the inspiration was from a song by Appalachian anarchy called fiddles and fistfights. I get a lot of my story ideas from song names and stuff.
