“Punch me,” Leo says flatly, tapping his own cheek with two fingers. “Go on then. Right here.” He guides Alastor’s hand up, positioning his knuckles properly, curling the fingers tighter. “Not like you’re swatting a fly. Make a fist. Thumb outside. You’ll break it otherwise.” He shifts his stance, boots scraping against the floor as he squares his shoulders. “Go on. I can take it.”
"I beg your pardon-"
Alastor blinked, bark brown eyes wide and curious.
He-...What?
"Are you mad? I can't possibly-"
But Husker was already giving him advice, taking his dainty hand and curling it properly into a good fist. The little brunette could do nothing but stare and watch the bartender manipulate his hand into the right form for a good punch. He'd bite his lip sheepishly, unsure if this was wise. "I-...come now, Husker. What if I hurt you? I'd feel dreadfully guilty for breaking something-" As if he could. Leo was built like a goddamn rock. If anything, he risked a better chance of breaking his hand over breaking Husk's face. Oh my...he was serious about this. Alright. Okay. Hmm. Yes. He could do this.
Huffing and growing determined, he'd roll up his sleeves and bring his hands up, fists inwards and stand shifting as well. "Very well, but let no man say I didn't warn you! I'll have you know I've had my bouts of fisticuffs before y'know!" And loss of course, he was a literal walking stick, but the less Husk knew the better.
Keeping what he taught in mind, the small little radio host would throw a swing, launching his fist in a right hook directly as Husker's cheek with a tiny squeaked war cry. He put everything in that punch in that little itty bitty first. All his might and strength and punched Husker right in the face!
