Rumlow wasn't much of a drinker, but he was one to engaged into the currency of dare-or-be-dared. He watched the sport like everyone else, nursing a drink because it seemed appropriate to but hardly touched it all the same. There were roars of laughter as a new dare was carried out on the other side of the establishment, and he craned his neck to see.

There was a merry boisterous song that went up in the face of successful daring adventures, and like many who had come to know one another for the more risky or humiliating dares, he joined in by clapping a hand on the top of the table he was sitting at. He raised his glass in toast with the other, about to sip for the sake of it when, after one particularly hard slap of his palm on the table, his metacarpals decided push through his skin and poke up over his knuckles like claws.

He froze, the process having hurt only somewhat, but the shock of it was enough to still him in his seat. A few people who could see also froze with a morbid horror of their own, and he set his glass back on the table and managed a weak sort of laugh.

"...anyone happen to be a medic around these parts?" This sort of incident reminded him oddly of the sneezing glass event some time ago.