[IC] Game thread

Ardena will proceed to get a closer glance of the ruckus.

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Ardena moves closer to the ruckus: around a dozen people, both staff and punters, are getting increasingly handsy with each other. It's close enough to the gator-tussle to not have been noticed by too many of the other patrons, but the clamour is certainly increasing. It looks as though everyone is trying to look into and under things that others have hidden ─ bags, jackets, ect.

Ash notices the woman at the bar has also focused almost entirely on the direction of the noise. Her hand is on something at her hip ─ a weapon? No, the reservoir she had been filling with the booze.

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Ardena finds a comfortable place to lean ─ the psychic storm is slowly spreading, but its curiosity is starting to cause issue. The impacted people are starting to look at unaffected people's poker hands and the like and voices are starting to rise.

Ash spots a roulette points marker on a nearby surface: size of a peach and with a solid metal hook and good weight. Honestly you'd be forgiven for thinking this was built to be a cosh.

The barfly has looped a cable up from the hipflask and plugged it into her nose (stillsuit style). She stands up and moves towards the ruckus.

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The punter Ash speaks with is a jowly woman with a high neckline and a biopearl necklace. "Honey, it's not polite to say it, but yeah this thing happens on the planet all the time."

Another punter butts in ─ tall and hairless except a pencil moustache ─ "Not in the casinos though, Marche. Not on account of the offworlders."

"Ah yeah I suppose that's true. It'll pass. Always does."

Ardena can take a handful of chips from either Marche or her husband(?) Corbin joins Recwal in a placement with good view of the unfolding chaos, but enough barriers in the way as not to be likely to get caught in a crush. It would also make an excellent shooting gallery, come to think on it.

The barfly stiffens slightly as she takes a deep inhalation of the liquor vapours, and hastens her pace directly towards one of the casino staff who themselves seem to be suffering from the psychic storm, and full on crushes his windpipe.

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"Thank you, sir," says the croupier to Corbin, hiding a panicked grimace under a polite gurn. He leans back away from the man and presses a finger to his ear, whispers something, repeats it with a bit more panic, and then slowly looks up at Corbin with wide eyes of panic.

The comms system is down──

And it's in the same moment that the main lights are shattered by silent projectile fire

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