There's no way Jacob could have seen that knife coming under the press of bodies. None of them are in Wen Kexing's bright silks, however, so he knows at least that he's not striking out at a friend when he punches. Or when he elbows one man in the throat, which he wasn't intending to do, but turned out to be a pretty good move. As the man coughs, hacks and stumbles, his friends back off a little way, and that gives Jacob a little breathing room.

There are three of them, not counting the man who has, thankfully, been dragged out of the fray, still coughing. Three is a good number. He can manage that.

Two in his line of sight are already closing back in, and one thinks he's being sneaky by coming in from behind, but his boots squeak. They really should invest in better footwear he thinks as strong arms wrap around him.

"No cuddling on the first date," He says, eying the two in front who think the time has come to really lay into him. They're wrong. He jumps, forces all his weight back onto the man holding him, the back of his head colliding with the man's face, and kicks out at the others. One foot hits its target, the other only just, but it's enough. He's dropped as the man behind him curses and then launches himself at the others.

It takes moments before those men stumble back, everyone breathing hard. Jacob's lip is well and truly split now, running down his chin. His cheek is grazed too where another fist connected, but he's still standing solid. The others aren't. One is sitting on a chair groaning, another is holding a cold cloth his to eye, and the third is out cold against the bar.

"Well?" Jacob says, "I think I deserve a free pint, if nothing else."