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“If you put a fuckin’ blade on my three-thousand year old rosewood, you’re gonna find how it gets the name.”

Crowbar Rick slid a glass of ale to his patron who had pulled a knife to start carving into the wood's virgin surface. The Rick cocked his eyebrow at the thread, flipped him off, and motioned to ignore the threat. Without skipping a beat, the bartender lifted his crowbar from the edge of the woodgrain and with a practiced control, brought it down against the hand holding the knife. A grotesque crack sounded over the grunge music as the Rick patron dropped the knife with a scream, holding broken fingers against his chest.

“Any other surface in this bar." Crow warned, "Not my baby.”

The biker coughed a chunk of mucous and spat onto the polished surface, resulting in the crowbar landing against the side of his head with a solid crunch. The force knocked the biker out of his seat and onto the bar floor, and as the Rick’s eyes rolled into the back of his head while slurring nonsensical expletives, Crow rounded the corner. In silence, he pulled his dick from his pants and shot a stream of piss onto the Rickhole who had disrespected his wood. He tucked himself back in and washed his hands before retrieving the previously served pale ale for himself, calling for a helping hand as he leaned against his bar, and ran a free hand through his hair.

“Someone get this Rickoff out of my bar and rob him blind while you’re at it.”