Martin
Galaine stands, rocking the table and setting glasses a-clink. To his outburst, a few heads turn with either bemused or amused expressions. A roll of the eyes and laugh at his expense has them back to their glasses. There are a few faces, suddenly pale and sickly looking that suggest they may have watched the same live-stream you just had. Weak stomachs and weaker knees; they stay in their seats.
As the two hot shots exchange pleasantries, Martin raises a hand for quiet:
"Still… causing trouble, I see!" he says, shaking his head weakly at Brydon. His eyes go wide, as you mention Michelle:
"Mish… is she here? We were…" he coughs then.
"… were supposed to meet here. Working… a case!"
And then he’s overtaken by the group, all suddenly heading for the door. Someone grabs his chair, and starts turning him against his will. He tries to swat at you, and crane his neck to look around the bar.
"Mish… MISH?!" he calls out.
"Oi… We can’t have him upsetting the other cus…" the bartender starts up from behind the bar.
And then your attention is turned to the outside. A car alarm blares from somewhere down the street. Lights flash, illuminating the front window of the bar in little blinks.
And then another alarm, and another…
And then there’s a huge crash; the sound of smashing window panes. The bar is filled with screams as the big window erupts inwards, sending bits of glass everywhere.
A body comes through the window, sliding across the bar top with enough force to send glasses, bottles, and liquid everywhere. The body continues moving, flying off the bar and straight into the jukebox, which cuts out immediately, dropping the bar into sudden stunned silence.
A small crowd gathers around the body currently melded with the jukebox. Blood trickles from a hundred small wounds. His chest is still.
Dead. A few faces turn away from the carnage, gathering their possessions, intent on heading home for the night.
The clinking of broken glass, and your attention is drawn back to the broken window; and the three figures that now stand in the window frame.
They give off a terrible, snarling, sneering aura, as they effortlessly climb through the broken window and into the bar. Glass crunches underfoot as they fan out.
"Back to your drinks, fuckers." the lead one commands, running a hand through his coifed hair. The crowd shrinks back.
Some startled screams come from a woman at the back of the bar. A commotion over by the jukebox; and you watch as
whoever just came flying through the window starts to pull themselves free from the twisted metal wreckage.
Impossible…
It stands, though with great effort, and snarls at the three
people at the other end of the bar; and bares its fangs threateningly.
With a thick accent, it spits at them:
"Romani scum!" and dives across the room at them.
