The group filed off the ice as the Zamboni emerged, sweeping up what remained of the Wildfires following the third period. Amy le Connard was still cheering enthusiastically from her seat, and Danyael paused to beckon her as he stepped off the ice. With a squeal, she leapt from her seat and ran back towards the concessions, and presumably, to the off ice locker room entrance. With a smirk, Danyael turned back to his team and continued into the locker room.

~~~~~~~~~~
Vitali had remained somewhat behind the main group as they left the ice, having only just met them in less than simple circumstances. Most of his belongings were in another dressing room anyway, and as the group continued past his door, he stepped inside, throwing his now used goalie pads to the side as he sat down on the sparse wooden bench. His moment of silence was quickly interrupted however, as a Wildfire uniformed goon kicked the door to his dressing room in just as it was finally swinging to a close.

”The Canadian says yoo're oot Rooskie,.”, the big man said, throwing a duffel bag into the centre of the room, which Vitali could only assume contained the remainder of his effects. ”He says if yoo show yoor face around here again, yoo'll be sitting in it.”
Before Vitali could question just what the hell that ridiculous sounding threat meant, the man stormed out, swinging the door open with a violent motion that knocked a nearby garbage can clear across the room with a loud *SMASH*. As the Wildfire player left the room, Vitali took a moment to think of where he was going to go, but paused again as his reverie was disturbed by yet another interruption, this time a soft cough coming from...the garbage can?

Cautiously, the Ukrainian stepped towards the tipped over waste receptacle. Distancing himself from the can as much as possible, he reached out with one hand and gripped the lid handle, his other hand searching of anything that could be used as a weapon. Finding his goalie stick, he wrenched the lid off the can and jumped back, his stick held tightly to bash in the head of anything that came out. What did come out however, struck him as particularly unexpected.

What appeared to be a man dressed in garbage bags flopped unceremoniously on the floor with a dull thud. As he did, a badge popped out of the mass of black plastic that covered him, and slid across the floor towards Vitali, who took a moment to look down as it as it skidded to a stop in front of him.

Special Agent Roberto Stanislav
Fantastico Security Forces
As Vitali looked up back up, the man who just seconds ago had been draped in garbage bags was standing before him in a clean, crisp tuxedo, and a cursory scan of the room revealed absolutely no trace of his former clothing. Vitali looked at the man with at Roberto was a confused expression, but the man looked back at him expressionless face, save a small twitch in his eye, which Vitali noticed looked considerably bloodshot and (though he couldn't figure out why exactly he thought this) reminded him of a small bag of asphalt. The silent exchange of looks continued a moment more before Vitali opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by a sudden blurt from the man in front of him, you apparently just been reminded he to speak to communicate his ideas.

”Specialist Agent Roberto Stanislav, Master of the Disguisings, at your services”, the man took a deep bow. ”Am field agent for Mr. Fantasti, and am here to relay offer for services.”
Before Vitali could get a word in edgewise, the man continued.

”Mr. Fantasti is seeing all you are doing on ice hockey rink,” the man's thick Russian accent reminded Vitali of his homeland, ”...and is hereby requisitioning your services for himself and company.”
Vitali tried again to voice an opinion, but it was vain one more as the man continued, seemingly uninterested in any debate on the matter.

”You are to be joining others from rink een service Mr. Fantasti een for reclaiming control of city and preserving all has been built by father.” While he'd been talking, Stanislav had been peeling his tuxedo off, and no was standing in front of Vitali in a Wildfire mascot uniform (which was little more than a tree costume with flames painted all over it) that Vitali was sure had been far too bulky to fit under the tux. ”Now return to group for eenfortmation on target. Failure for complying weeell have unfortunate results. And, if will excuse me, will be taking my leave”
Before Vitali could say a single thing to the strange man, he had stepped out the locker room door, closing it swiftly behind him. Vitali rushed to the door and pulled it open, seeking answers from the man before he got away. The hallways with strangely empty however, and Vitali shook his head as he returned to his room and grabbed his duffel bag.

At least now he had somewhere to go.

~~~~~~~~~~
The main group was still celebrating their victory (well, all save Percy, who was in fact talking to a miniature snowman) when they reached their dressing room. In what seemed to be a common occurrence in this arena, they barely had time to settle in before the door to their locker room was loudly booted in by the Canadian.

”Yoo played a hell of a game out there, ya' hoseheads” the tuque'd man said with a large grin cracking across his large bearded face. ”Guess I was underestimating yoo, best game I've seen since '93, eh?” The big man sat down on a locker room bench and stretched out. ”Now I suppose yoo're looking for some help with yoor job for the big man up in Fantastico HQ then, eh?”
As the assembled group nodded in agreement, the door was thrown open again as Vitali crashed through it, carrying a large duffel. The Canadian gave him a dirty look as he slowly moved to the back of the group, settling down on a bench on the opposite side of the room from the Canadian, who looked away to continue talking to the group.

”Now Garnet, he's the big moose around here, eh? But I'm sure yoo lot already knew that then, eh?” The group nodded in agreement. ”Used to move the white stuff around for the hoser, I did, but lately, he seems a bit...oof, ya know? Like something's going on in that head of his, don't know what though, but I don't like it” He paused as a couple Wildfire goons dragged a series of duffel bags (and one streetlight) into the room, depositing them along the wall before stepping out.

”Anywhos, ol' Darius is starting to get paranoid. I think he knows that hosehead Fantasti's wanting his city back or something, and he's gone deep. No one's seen him leave the Supa-Fly stadium in weeks, and that place is wrapped up tighter than a Nunavut hooker, yoo know what I mean, eh?”
He continued as the absolute silence confirmed that absolutely no one knew what he meant.

”Going in there straight on, is fixing to get ya' killed, eh? So I had a better idea, then. Garnet's two main distribution houses are a little light on the guards, eh? Been funnelling the hosers off to his arena for a while now. Maybe if yoo went to them, and caused some trooble, he'd be a little less inclined to let them go shortstaffed, eh? Here.” He extended a hand, noticing Katie fiddling with the PDA Stanislav had given them earlier. ”I'll give yoo lot the addresses.
The big fiddled with the PDA for a moment, before tossing to back to Katie.

”Now, yoo play a hell of a game, but yoo killed some of my best boys out there, eh?” His happy demeanour swiftly switched to a more irritable look. ”So, I'd be suggesting to get oot. Now.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 1.4: Some Sort of Hydra Metaphor, Surely
The group assembled outside the arena and Downhouser did a quick headcount. Before the giant man could realize that Danyael was missing, a series of profanities rang out as the leather jacketed ladies' man came running up the group, followed by more shouts from the arena entryway. He gave the group a sly smile as he wiped a lipstick stain off his neck, a shade Katie noted was quite similar to the one Amy le Connard had been wearing. As the profanities finally stopped a loud slam of the arena could be heard, the group turned to Katie and PDA.

A new team member, a new objective, and two new addresses. It was time to get things done. Awesome things.

The sly grin stays plastered on his face for a minute more. Then with a clearing of his throat he redirects his attention to the options at hand.

"Well done. At the very least we reduced the capability of another potentially criminal group. But, despite fear for my life, I must admit it was just a little bit fun." A slight smirk appears on his face.

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong but it seems we have two warehouse choices right? Katie, do you mind if I take a look at the PDA for a minute?"

(Assuming she gives it to him...)

He looks at it for a minute or two, taking note of the warehouse locations and anything around it.

"I would say we go with this one first." he says, selecting one of the two sites.

Danyael looks around for Percy's icecream truck, finding it (assumably) he motions everyone towards it. "I have an idea about how we get in. We can hammer out the details on the way."

Danyael turns to the fiery red head. "I'd like to hang on to the PDA for the time being if that's alright. I'm a bit curious about these "access Denied" messages. Perhaps I can do smething about that." He makes a point to restrain his normal comments for the time being.

Once every has gotten in the truck and they are on they way he speaks again.

"Since out friend the Canadian cautioned us against a frontal assault, I suggest a different way. One of us will have to be a buyer or distributor." He looks around the room for a minute... "That would be me or Katie." He turns to her as he continues. "No offense intended, as I'm sure to lose a filling if it were, but your temperment is not very well suited for a deal like this. Though your obvious feminine charms may be helpful... if you choose to use them of course." The sly grin seen so often by the group when he speaks to Katie appears for only a moment before being masked once again.

"The rest of you should do what you do best. Intimidate them and freak them out a bit. Percy, you should be particularly good at that last part I think. What do you guys think?"

After waiting a moment and listening to responses he goes to work on the PDA, attempting to crack any and all access he can and get as much information out of the thing as possible.

Once they exited the building Gerald was able to reflect on what exactly had happened. He summed it up in his head, which meant that most of the conversations that had taken place were fast-forwarded towards the parts where the violence started.

So, they had beaten a team of over rated hockey players at their own game. People had died a deserving death, and now there would be less crime going on in this area. They had done all that to get some information. But one question remained, and he voiced it as he entered the ice-cream truck.

“So, why did we leave that Canadian guy alive?”

He reminded himself to go back, once he had helped out Mr Fantastico, to clean up the leftovers.

Big gun #1 rested easily in his palm. It felt good having it back, even though it had only been out of his reach during the hockey game. He inspected the gun, just to make sure nobody had dared touch it, as he continued to listen to Danyael.

The man made some sense. At least, as far as the plan went that he was relaying now. Going in as potential buyers was a good way of getting close. But in all reality, they didn’t have to get close at all. A grenade or two would probably get a few of the dealer’s lapdogs storming from the building, where they would be sitting ducks.
After all, what they needed was for Darius to send his troops from his side to anywhere else. Even a partially successful raid would accomplish that.

Downhouser knew these things. He didn’t know why he knew them, but he liked to think that it was because he understood criminals. He would have been a great criminal himself, if he had chosen the illegal path over a life as Lady Justice’s sword hand.
Many times he had been the victim of bribes. Or rather, other people had tried to bribe him and they had become victims themselves. No matter how you looked at it, bribing had been involved, and he had refused to cooperate.

"The rest of you should do what you do best. Intimidate them and freak them out a bit. Percy, you should be particularly good at that last part I think. What do you guys think?"

Downhouser looked up. Lost in thought he had been patting Big Gun #1 like a cat, but he stopped now.

“I think it is a good plan. But this time we don’t let them take our guns. Otherwise I’ll refuse to go in. I’ll find a back door then, and the plan won’t be the plan anymore.”

He looked around the van, and his eyes rested on Virago.

“He should be your tester. You should have one of those if you want to be the real thing.”

Gerald had lots of experience with encountering drug dealers.

“You should also make some kind of appointment. You can’t just drive up and barge in. ‘s Not how it works. We need to find a small time dealer lower on the ladder, who’ll direct us to where we need to be.”

His eyes went blank for a moment as he thought of something. A grin spread across his face.

“Unless you WANT to barge in. I’d be game for that.”

He took a Fantasicornflakes bar from his pocket and started chewing on it. He had said what needed to be said. Now he just had to wait for the action to start.

As the team celebrated in the locker room, the Canadian came bursting through the door. Katie felt an immediate hostile threat and lamented the fact that her gear had been taken away from here. Here it comes. We just slaughtered your team. I hope to God you keep your end of the deal. Much to her surprise, he wore a big grin across his face. Well, she thought it was a big grin, it was hard to tell under that tangled mat of a beard.

”Yoo played a hell of a game out there, ya' hoseheads. Guess I was underestimating yoo, best game I've seen since '93, eh?” The Canadian sat down on a bench and stretched out his legs, ”Now I suppose yoo're looking for some help with yoor job for the big man up in Fantastico HQ then, eh?”

As everyone was nodding, the door was flung open again. Vitali came crashing into the room with a duffle bag in his hand. As the Canadian was giving him an ugly look, Katie felt herself blush high on her cheekbones. Ignoring Vitali for the moment, the Canadian continued.

”Now Garnet, he's the big moose around here, eh? But I'm sure yoo lot already knew that then, eh?” More nods, ”Used to move the white stuff around for the hoser, I did, but lately, he seems a bit...oof, ya know? Like something's going on in that head of his, don't know what though, but I don't like it” The door banged open again, and a couple of guys dressed in Wildfire outfits drug in their gear.

Thank God. Katie thought it might be tactless to grab her stuff while the Canadian was giving them the information they required. She almost had to sit on her hands to prevent herself from getting up.

”Anywhos, ol' Darius is starting to get paranoid. I think he knows that hosehead Fantasti's wanting his city back or something, and he's gone deep. No one's seen him leave the Supa-Fly stadium in weeks, and that place is wrapped up tighter than a Nunavut hooker, yoo know what I mean, eh?”

No one spoke. In fact, no one really knew what he was saying, the creative obscenities were obscuring any type of semblance of regular speech, and making it damn impossible to decipher. Katie pulled out the PDA from her pocket to make sure it was still working after the beating she had taken on the ice, giving her an excuse to look busy while they tried to work out what language the Canadian was speaking.

”Going in there straight on, is fixing to get ya' killed, eh? So I had a better idea, then. Garnet's two main distribution houses are a little light on the guards, eh? Been funnelling the hosers off to his arena for a while now. Maybe if yoo went to them, and caused some trooble, he'd be a little less inclined to let them go shortstaffed, eh? Here.” He extended a hand towards her, and she passed him the PDA, “I'll give yoo lot the addresses.” The big man fiddled around with it before tossing it back to her.

”Now, yoo play a hell of a game, but yoo killed some of my best boys out there, eh?”His upbeat demeanor vanished in a heartbeat ”So, I'd be suggesting to get oot. Now.”

Not waiting for their welcome to wear out, Katie got up immediately and grabbed her duffel. She trooped with the rest of the crew out of the stadium.

Once everyone was gathered outside, Katie dived into her bag of gear. As Downhouser was pointing to each one of them in turn and silently mouthing something, a loud series of profanities and shouts echoed out across the lot. Danyael was hurrying towards them. Katie ejected the mag to one of her Desert Eagles and watched him approach. He had lipstick on his neck and was reaching up to wipe it off.

She gestured at his neck with her empty gun, “Looks like you missed a spot, Romeo.” The magazine clicked home and Katie drove it home into its holster.

Danyael maintained his grin a little bit longer before clearing his throat. "Well done. At the very least we reduced the capability of another potentially criminal group. But, despite fear for my life, I must admit it was just a little bit fun." His grin reappeared.

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong but it seems we have two warehouse choices right? Katie, do you mind if I take a look at the PDA for a minute?" Katie handed it over, and he began scrolling through it.

Danyael turns to her and continued "I'd like to hang on to the PDA for the time being if that's alright. I'm a bit curious about these "access Denied" messages. Perhaps I can do smething about that."

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Katie replied with her hand extended out, “I trust you about as far as I can throw you, Danyael. I’d rather not have you jacking up our source of information for this city.”

"Since out friend the Canadian cautioned us against a frontal assault, I suggest a different way. One of us will have to be a buyer or distributor." Danyael began, “That would be me or Katie." He turns to her as he continues. "No offense intended, as I'm sure to lose a filling if it were, but your temperment is not very well suited for a deal like this. Though your obvious feminine charms may be helpful... if you choose to use them of course." His grin returned and she had to bit her lip from the retort that sprang to her mind.

"The rest of you should do what you do best. Intimidate them and freak them out a bit. Percy, you should be particularly good at that last part I think. What do you guys think?"

The big man was first to reply, “I think it is a good plan. But this time we don’t let them take our guns. Otherwise I’ll refuse to go in. I’ll find a back door then, and the plan won’t be the plan anymore.”

Yeah, I don’t really feel like losing my guns again. She gave Downhouser an appraising look as he continued on with his idea.

He nodded towards Virago, “He should be your tester. You should have one of those if you want to be the real thing.”

Probably the only one capable of snorting a cup or more of that crap without over dosing.
“You should also make some kind of appointment. You can’t just drive up and barge in. ‘s Not how it works. We need to find a small time dealer lower on the ladder, who’ll direct us to where we need to be.”

He looked lost in thought before a wide smile spread across his face, “Unless you WANT to barge in. I’d be game for that.”

From some inner pocket, Downhouser produced a cornflake bar and began munching on it. It reminded her that she hadn’t eaten for over a day, unless you counted the dreamsicle from Percy’s freezer. She like his plan; simple, easy to follow, and it seemed like he had done something like this before.

“I like it, Downhouser. But where do we find a small time dealer? I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not in the habit of buying drugs.” She wondered if any of the casinos she frequented had drug rings placed in the bowels of the establishment.

“Come to think on it, The Blue Room might have some of that happening in the back rooms. It’s mainly a club, but it has a couple of poker tables and some slot machines. It’s not too far from here.” Her stomach gave a small rumble, “I also wouldn’t mind a bite to eat on the way. Might be able to get some greasy pub grub while we’re there.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Katie replied with her hand extended out, “I trust you about as far as I can throw you, Danyael. I’d rather not have you jacking up our source of information for this city.”
"We all have our talents Fireeyes. Mine are not limited to the bedroom. Or would you rather wander around the city blind because we don't have some vital pieces of information that might be useful to us?"

Despite the remark, a smooth smile stayed on his face as he extended his hand for the PDA.

"I for one, want every piece of information available if we're going to be walking into a guarded warehouse belonging to a well-known enemy that has no issues putting each and every one of us in the ground. I would also like to point out that I effectively functioned as a moving target for more than one of those players, allowing you and others to come away with fewer injuries than you could have. Have I not yet earned enough to look at the PDA that was given to ALL of us?

Katie rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t mean you couldn’t look at the bloody PDA, I was referring you trying to access whatever mysterious hidden files on it that you seem to think are there. I just don’t want you to mess up the blasted thing. But by all means, Danyael, keep it. On your head be it if you corrupt it past the point of it being functional.” She dropped the hand that had been reaching for the PDA back to her side.

"Thank you for your confidence Katie. It is.... inspiring."

As they move towards this club he'd never heard of, he focuses his attention on the PDA, and on unlocking its secrets.

Though the victory was savoured, almost as much as the fact that he lived to fight another day, Vitali was unsure what to make of the events that followed his de-gearing in the locker room. Immensely pleased to have his things returned to him, the survivalist resisted the urge to tear into his belongings for the S&W and cap the goofball who yapped at him in that accent he so disliked, but managed to keep his cool for a moment. The most peculiar threat, however, left him in a state of wonder for a moment, only to be shattered by the arrival of a man from within his changeroom's garbage can.

Special Agent Roberto Stanislav
Fantastico Security Forces
“What the hell...?”

The events that followed were the last things the Ukrainian expected. While he had thought he'd be on his way back home to a hot meal of vareniky, he instead stood before a well dressed man who looked like he meant business, even though, for a most unusual reason, made him think that he'd been beaten in the face by a sack of parking lot grit. Perhaps the one thing that brought Vitali comfort here was that the stranger spoken in a hefty Slavic accent, and with a slight smile, reminisced of home. But from the look of things, he'd been enlisted, and assigned to aid the others in their apparent mission.

When the tuxedo was discarded to reveal a mascot uniform, something that defied physics, he couldn't help but laugh, despite his bewilderment. This, he smirked at, was something he himself was familiar with, and as the man left the room, Vitali thought it prudent to prep himself, and dug in the bag for his beloved Winchester. Out of date, perhaps, the thing still packed a wallop, and as if to prove how it earned the name “Pocket Howitzer”, he threw shut the breach with a click and slid the longbarrel into his pocket.

Zipping shut his duffle bag and slinging it over his shoulder, Vitali took a last look around the dressing room, and lay his eyes upon the goalie stick.

“Might be useful...”

Reopening the bag, he shifted things around inside, and slid the heavy thing inside along with his other gear, which, from the looks of things, he'd need to replace in its proper order in his packsack when he had a moment. For now, he had to meet the others, and set out down the hall to find where they might be.

It wasn't long before that most hated accent caught his attention, and Vitali kicked open the door behind which he heard it, revealing The Canadian seemingly lecturing his former teammates. All eyes on him, the young man nodded once before taking a seat on the bench, tossing a shy smile at Katie and a deep look of respect to Downhouser while on his way.

Great... he thought, as he settled in to listen to The Canadian yack on about some ongoing job and a man named Garnet, a stadium, cocaine, and a bunch of other things spoken in that bizarre dialogue that he couldn't determine the importance, nor relevance, of. But, he figured he would just get that information from them at a later point. These people were easy to understand.

The one thing he DID make sense of was the urging out the door, with which Vitali was more than happy to comply. Hauling his duffle bag onto his back again, he and the others vacated the arena, the bright sun causing him to tip his hat to shade his eyes.

A man short, it wasn't long before the man Danyael came running up, seemingly having been held up by something. Not his business. Plans were already being discussed, so he sat quietly and waited to be filled in without actually having to ask, and thus, reveal that he hadn't quite been paying attention to the locker room chat.

Drug deals and base assaulting seemed the hot topic here, and from the looks of things, Katie appeared to have quite a temper on her, or at least regarding Danyael's tardiness. It wasn't necessarily her tone...moreso that she gestured to the well-dressed man with one of her handguns. While he'd never admit it to anybody, the gun she carried held his attention more than the ongoing discussion. Heavy firepower. Compact form. He nodded to nobody in particular and upended his duffle bag, releasing an ungodly amount of possessions to spill out onto the ground, including his new goalie stick. Sitting cross legged on the ground in front of it, he opened all the pockets of his army bag, and started loading them in.

To any others, it would seem impossible to fit even a third of his things into that bag, but Vitali kept on going. When he found his pack of smokes, he smiled slightly and drew one out, lighting it and shutting his zippo with a clack. Offering the pack around, he returned it to one of his cargo pockets and carried on with his cataloguing of things. All seemed in order.

Last but not least, he buckled on his hip holster, producing the revolver with a flourish he'd seen cowboys do in movies, and reloaded the wheel with the high caliber rounds. Snapping it shut, he returned it to his belt just in time to hear the massive Downhouser mentioning the wisdom in making an appointment. Finding small time dealers and such, and Katie' own response, which regarded a place called The Blue Room. This, he could follow.

Waiting for Katie and Danyael to finish bickering about some kind of handheld device, secrets, and some such things he was too green to understand yet, Vitali shifted his goggles thoughtfully and hefted his backpack onto his shoulders.

“The Blue Room. I've been there before. A few months ago. Somebody told me that there were problems going on, so I scoped it out.” He smiled sheepishly. “Granted... I don't know the real workings of what go on in that place. But I do know that I could set up a better security system on...” He glanced around, realizing he hadn't thought of an example yet, and spotted an ominous looking...Ice cream truck? “That.”

Then he heard Katie mention food. This was something he could assist in. Digging into his pack, he produced one of his many packs of K rations, and handed it over. “Got you covered, dívchyna. Its not the most interesting thing, but wars were fought on these things.”

Snuffing his cigarette beneath the sole of his shoe, Vitali crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels, looking at the discarded duffle bag at his feet. That might be useful, too... Snatching it up, he stuffed it into his backpack, along with his abundance of useful crap, and thought on things. “You know... I used to have a friend who was into drugs. Things didn't turn out so well for him when things got hot with his dealer, and the last time I saw him was in an open casket funeral. Sad days... If this is anything like that situation, he might have some guys posted around with guns on some of us. Just in case. If somebody can spot, I can shoot, and we can make sure things go in our favour, yes? Scam men usually have muscle backing them up. Without support, they're zeroes. Just knowing he's got nobody to watch his back might make him crack. Of couse...” Vitali looked up at Downhouser, whose steel face behind those black shades was intimidating all on its own. “Perhaps you, pódruha, could just throw a car through the window or something. Just to get the point across.”

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz…zzzzzzzzzzzzz…*snorp*…zzzzzzzzzz...
The two boys sat and stared at the old man. He had dozed off mid-story, falling asleep just as things were getting good. The children were too young to properly account for the passing of time, but for them it had felt like years. In fact, it had felt like two years, six months, twelve days and couple of hours, a truly inexcusable gap, but as previously stated the children could hardly be counted on to accurate judge the lapse, and so everything would surely be forgiven. Surely.

”Grampa?” the child’s words broke the monotony of the old man’s snores.

”Zzzzzzzzzzz…snhjugh-what!? ANNIE GET YOUR GUN” the old man shot upright in his chair, clearly so disoriented by his slumber that he briefly confused reality with the multi award winning musical with music and lyrics by Irving Berlin, although luckily with far less gunplay, after all there were small children about that and that would have been horrifically irresponsible.

The old man looked about, reconciled his surroundings and focussed in on the boys.

”Oh I’m sorry boys,” he apologised, “things…things just got away from me there. Maybe we should just call it a night.”
”NUH UUUUUUH!” the first child whined.
”You didn’t finish the story!” the second added, helpfully in proper English words.

”I suppose I didn’t then…” the old man said wistfully. ”…I guess I better wrap this up then”
The children leaned in close as the old man paused to remember where he’d left off.

”Assault on the Dragonspire: The Last Age"
”WHAT DOTH THINE LEAVINGS SAY, SOOTHSAYER!?” the barbarian Brutalitox roared at the enfeebled old man. They had journeyed far longer than had been expected, and the mighty mountain king demanded answers of his once trusted seer.

”My lord…I…”the old man struggled to get the words out before his master barked back at him.

”THOU HAST FAILED ME FOR THE LAST TIME, WRETCH!” Brutalitox bellowed, ”I SHALL SEE THEE DISEMBOWELED AND THROWN TO THE PIT OF BEARFIENDS WHERE THOU SHALT --“
~~~~~~~
The children stared in utter bewilderment at the old man as he began going into horrific detail. He had just begun to describe what would become of the soothsayer’s flayed hide when the first child spoke up.

”Grampa…” the boy said, lip quivering, “…I think that’s the wrong story.”
”It’s what? Oh…” the old man gave a pause, perhaps contemplating whether or not it was technically a crime to describe, amongst other things, the terrifying desecration of a freshly killed corpse. Eager to put the whole subject behind him, he quickly switched gears.

”I uh…remember now…let me get back to it…a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…”
”Star Wars: The Lives of Bothans" It is a troubling time in the galaxy, as the Rebel Alliance learns of the Empire’s construction of a new super weapon…the Death Star. An elite team of rebel spies have infiltrated a remote imperial construction site, seeking plans. While it is probable many Bothans will die to retrieve this information…
~~~~~~
The children were staring at the old man again, though this time their look was more confusion than horror.

”I think…”the first child spoke hesitantly,”…I think that’s the wrong story again.” ”…but thank you for not tearing off anyone’s skin this time.” the second child quickly added.

”Again? But…all we have are dragon stories and star wars fables here…unless there’s some other kind of story in this place…”the old man paused for a moment to think. ”A-ha! Got it let’s try this again.”
”Burn Dusk: The Fading Moon of Forbidden Lust”
”But Ophelia…our parents would never allow us to wed!” Saren, the transsexual lesbian mormon werewolf lamented, his fur a-sparkle with fairy dust. ”After all, the battle between my clan of werewolves and your den of vampires has gone on since the first blood moon!”
”Calm yourself Saren,” Ophelia’s words poured from her deep purple lips as a single tear caused a truly oversized run in her over-applied mascara, ”…we need only seek the wisdom of a fallen star and to bring peace to this land and find love forevermore. Our children shall…”
~~~~~~
”This joke is becoming overdone Grampa!” the first child blurted.
”Surely at this point we know you’re just taking the piss! the second added abruptly.

The old man paused again, taken aback by the directness of the boys’ remarks as well as out of curiosity as to why the second child was speaking like a cockney gangster (in truth, the child had been staying up past his bedtime watching pirated copies of Guy Ritchie movies, not a terrible thing by any means but piracy is illegal, then again Johnny Depp received an honest to god Oscar nomination for playing a drunk pirate, but that is probably unrelated) . His confusion resolved by that enormously run-on fourth wall breaking sentence, he asked the children directly.

”Well then…what was it you wanted me to do again?” the old man had, quite to his dismay, honestly forgotten. It felt like quite a while since he had actually been asked the initial request.

”Finish City Fantastico Grampa!” the first child said, barely able to contain himself.
”Yeah, that huge book that is literally sitting on your lap!” the second helpfully reminded everyone.

The old man looked down, and much to his surprise found the thick hand bound book referenced many, many posts ago. The book in fact was open, a helpful ribbon denoting the exact line the old man had finished on, so that it could be started again, from exactly that point, easily, without trouble, assuming one took the time to do so.

”Oh…right…”, the old man said sheepishly, moderately embarrassed it had taken him so long to do so.

”Tales of City Fantastico”
”This is gonna be good.”, said the first child.
”After this long, it better be!”, the second added, petulantly.

(OOC: Holy Intro to the Intro to the Restart. Part 2 Coming Soon!)

The sun was just beginning to set as the group set out, filled with purpose and direction at Katie’s insistence that their best bet would be a nightclub/gambling den/eatery she referred to as The Blue Room. Newcomer Vitali’s agreement quickly firmed up the group’s plans, though he preached caution, and possibly the improvised use of a small car as a doorbell. Their plans to be informed by the circumstances they would find themselves in, Katie took a quick look to get their bearings and they headed off.

As our four heroes made their way to Percy’s reliable old ice cream tru—

~~~~~~
”Grandpa?”
”Hmm?” the old man paused to look down at the boys.

”You said four heroes...” the first child said.
”…I think there were six! the second added.

”Uh…nope.” the old man leaned forward, ”Four; Downhouser, Katie, Percy and Vitali. That makes four.”
The boys looked briefly confused; they conferred for a moment to ensure they were accurate before turning back.

”But one of them was just talking!” the first complained.
”Yeah…Danya--“ the second started.

”NOPE! NEVER HAPPENED! YOU’RE MISTAKEN!” the old man interjected.

”Really, you’re just retcon-ing all of that?” ”Even Virag--“
”DON’T REMEMBER THAT! ONLY FOUR!” the old man was adamant.

The two kids, too eager to get back to the story, accepted the loss and resume paying rapt attention to the story as the old man started his thought again.

~~~~~~
Our four heroes made their way to Percy’s reliable ice cream, preparing to get on their way to the Blue Room. They found the truck suspiciously more roomy than usual, as if at one point there had been more of them in there, but they quickly dismissed the idea, deciding that thinking more on it would be stupid and truly a fool’s endeavour. Putting the metaphorical elephant (or lack of elephant, because it’s actually more spacious. I see what I did there…) out of the way, Katie holding the PDA which she never let go of because there was no one to ever give it to (no one at aaaaaaaaall) relayed the directions to Percy as he wove his way through Westside, blaring his incessant child luring music as he went.

Either the Canadian’s influence had been wildly understated, or perhaps word of their previous encounter with local gangs (wherein the always creative Downhouser had literally blown someone’s mind) had spread to the point where few of Westside’s locals dared impede their progress. Local thugs ducked into alleys and burnt out buildings at their approach. Though they showed no signs of being openly antagonistic, the group could not help but notice many of their passersby quickly revealing cell phones as they disappeared from view. Maybe their clear passage so far had been less benevolent then they hoped. It looked now like someone with many street connections had taken an interest in monitoring their progress.

The Blue Room was a fairly nondescript brick building from the outside, in fact, were it not for the pair of burly bald men in fine suits standing on either side of an otherwise unmarked door, few would spare it even a glance. Percy pulled up opposite the building as the group surveyed the situation. Vitali’s remembrance of the security situation started to seem a little dated; the small earpieces on the men’s ears as well as a partially concealed camera just away from the door seemed to imply that whoever maintained the club was keeping some measure of the control.

Seemingly intent on providing a display for the group now huddled across the street in their strange transportation, a pair of gangly youth in overly large and baggy garments emerged from an alley a few buildings down from the Blue Room. They approached the door as one of the burly men revealed a clipboard, previously concealed behind his enormous bicep.

“Oi, mate!” the lead youth was evidently Australian or something, but whatever he was his accent was unmistakably annoying. ”Me boy ‘ere an’ me are lookin’ for a little fun, eh?” Goddamn that accent was annoying. ”What say you big geezas’ let us in f’bit now uh?” Like seriously, really f***ing annoying.

The burly man with the clipboard looked down at the pair in front of him. Single word was uttered.

”Names.” It was not a question.

”Me’s Columbo…”, the accent again making everyone within earshot wish they had a gun as big as Downhouser’s (including Downhouser, confusingly), ”…an’ this’sir be Mizzer Skinny.”
The burly man looked down at his clipboard, evidently humouring the notion that either of those ridiculous names would be on it. His response was as obvious as “Columbo” was nettlesome.

”No.”
Columbo paused a moment, clearly taken aback. His feeble mind had obviously assumed this club catered to his every whim, and the denial of entry seemed to confuse him. He paused for a moment before quickly lunging forward and grabbing at the doorknob, Mizzer Skinny right at his back.

The burly men appeared unmoved, and in fact, appeared to not move at all. The moment Columbo’s hand touched the doorman he froze, motionless mid-lunge. Mizzer Skinny, unable to stop himself, collided with his presumably Australian comrade and immediately froze himself, puzzlingly suspended in mid-air. One of the burly men gave an almost imperceptible nod, and the pair of youths found themselves fired through the air toward the ice cream truck, barely avoiding it as they whipped past and into a nearby alley, followed by the customary smashing of garbage cans and tradition pained cat meowing.

”F***.” Katie whispered under her breath. ”Telekinetic Super Bouncers.”
Vitali nodded in agreement, before the pair of them explained the situation to Downhouser and Percy. Shortly before the decline of City Fantastico, while genetic modification ran rampant, a select few clubs spend their surplus revenues on developing near foolproof security team. Telekinetic Super Bouncers or TSBs (affectionately referred to as Tisbuhs by those who couldn’t probably understand acronyms) were the result of that program, and it was thought that only a few remained following the numerous riots as Fantastico’s grip on the city weakened. Their presence here meant two things; the level of security on the club was higher than originally expected, and there was someone or something in the club of enough value to warrant such protection. This was definitely the place they wanted to look for a high profile dealer.

~~~~~~
Derrick Cypher sat in his office. I say office; it was more of a room with a desk in it. Times had been tough since Fantastico’s decline, back in the golden days you could always catch a woman running around behind her man’s back, or maybe a relative who wasn’t who he claimed to be, or on really good days a large scale jewelry theft involving one or more macguffins, now with the lack of law, people took up their grievances with gun fire, no more hiring a private dick to follow your enemies. Perhaps it was time to close down the shop.

It was just then that trouble walked in…trouble with a trunk that wouldn’t quit. Fine bark, cute foliage, not bad hanging fruit either, yes what appeared to be a man in a crudely constructed palm tree disguise had just walked into his office. Before Derrick could even rise out of his seat, the palm tree disguise was thrown off with a flourish, and a man wearing an impeccably clean tuxedo stood in front of him. Derrick’s eyes were instinctively drawn to the badge pinned to the man’s chest.

Special Agent Roberto Stanislav
Fantastico Security Forces
That had been two days ago, and then man’s first set of instructions had been clear. He was to go to the Blue Room, where he’d find his name had been placed on the guest list, and then he was to wait. His next instruction was a little more vague, apparently a group of 64 people would come in; he was told he would know them when he saw them. Then he was to offer his assistance to this group in whatever it was they were doing, apparently dropping the name “Roberto Stanislav” should be enough to gain their trust. Weird job.

(OOC: Will post up a bunch of things in the Q&A)

Percy found himself just a little bit baffled following the events at Fantastico Arena. The others had said something about a guy called “The Canadian” and playing a hockey game with the Wildfires, there, but, really, all Percy had brought out of the place was the dreamy memory of an antique soft-serve machine and a couple of miniature snowmen. There was the vague recollection, too, of more snowmen – a veritable army of the little frozen guys, in fact, formed up all over the ice-rink back in that old arena – but, for whatever reason, he’d decided that only these two were allowed to come along with him on his route…

“Maybe the other ones were sinners,” he mused, his rubber-lipped smile stretching up almost to the corners of his too large eye as he patted the two frozen heads that peeked out of his apron pockets, “and we had to scoop out their souls for sundaes…”

Kate, Downhouser, and Vitali filed past him, just then, and there were more than a handful of questioning… or is it questionable?… glances flicked his way as they climbed aboard the truck.

“…Don’t worry,” the ice cream man cooed to his frozen friends as he climbed up into the truck behind the others, “They’re probably just upset because you’re not talking to them, too. And why would you, right?...”

He extracted the tiny snowmen from his apron pockets and set them down on the dashboard before weaving his way through the others in the back in order to gather a few pump-top bottles of various colored syrups, a box or two of sprinkles, a licorice stick, and a marshmallow. With these items in hand, Percy returned to the front of the truck, plopped down in the driver’s seat, and, after starting the engine and cueing up “The Mr Fantasti-Freeze Jingle” on the music box, leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially to the snowmen; “I don’t think they remember you guys… But I do… shhhhh!”

Giggling to himself, Percy shifted the truck into ‘Drive’ and pulled back out onto the streets, steering with his knees as his hands were busy constructing a miniature lamp post from the licorice and marshmallow. He had just finished crafting the thing when Kate, calling to him from where she had propped herself in the back of the truck, started playing ‘sexy-gunny-bunny-GPS’ and passing him directions to this Blue Room place. He attached the little lamppost to the larger of the two snowmen on the dash and, steering with one hand while the other deftly decorated both of his frozen friends with colored syrups, began singing a song that, strangely enough, wasn’t exactly discordant with the song blaring from the trucks speakers…
~Virago the snowman was a jolly happy soul
He’s whacked on drugs and he’s tough on thugs
And he has a friend named Romeooooo!~
A couple of quick drips from a bottle labeled Surprise! It’s not Strawberry! painted a heart on the chest of the smaller snowman and, at the same time, Percy nodded his acknowledgement to Kate’s “turn here” as he continued singing…

~Virago the snowman was a fairy tale they say
He’s now made of snow but the children know
That it wasn’t alwaaays that waaaaay!

There must have been some magic in that ice cream truck they found
For when they placed him on the dash
He began to dance around!~
…Percy let go of the wheel, again, and grabbed up both of the little snowmen, helping them to dance along to the tune he was singing…

~Ooooooooooooooooo!

Virago the snowman
Was alive as he could be
And the children say he could kill
And slay just the same as you and me!~
…at the start of the next verse, which Percy almost couldn’t sing because he was trying to get both the song and his laughter out on the same breath, he started bouncing the smaller snowman with the Surprise! It’s not Strawberry! heart rather suggestively (and disturbingly) against the larger, lamppost wielding snowman…

~Humpity-hump-hump!
Humpity-hump-hump!
Look at that Romeo go!
Humpity-hump-hump!
Humpity-hump-hump!
He’s always chasing a Ho!

Virago the snowman
Knew the city was hot that day
So he said “Let’s run
And get this Blue Room thing done
Now before I melt away!”

Down through the Westside
With a lamppost in his hand
Running here and there
In his underwear
Saying “Romeo keep it in your pants!”~
…‘Sexy-gun-bunny-GPS’ Kate’s last “turn here” found them turning onto the very street on which this ‘Blue Room’ place could be found and, coincidentally enough, the next verse went right along with those directions… and Percy kept right on singing as, after having parked across the street from their destination, the Fantastiteam watched the irritating Australians have their ‘altercation’ with the Blue Room’s doormen…
He led them down the streets of town
Right to the truck’s next stop
But he only paused a moment when
He heard them holler…
“F***! Telekinetic Super Bouncers!”

“Ummmm... Noooo,” Percy blinked and his smile did a crazy jitterbug over his teeth as he turned and regarded Kate, “I think it actually goes ‘Here, eat this green bomb pop!’ but your version works, too… I’m glad those Aussies didn’t hit my truck… The smell of eucalyptus is a tough one to get out of the ice cream… Anyway…”

~…Virago the snowman
Had to hurry on his way
But he waved goodbye saying
“Someone’s gonna die
I’ll break a back again somedaaaay!”

Humpity-hump-hump!
Humpity-hump-hump!
Look at that Romeo go!
Humpity-hump-hump!
Humpity-hump-hump!
He’s always chasing a Hooooooo!~
“We’re here, guys,” Popsicle Percy smiled, happy with his new song and with the fact that the two tisbuh’s on the sidewalk over there looked like they could really use some ice cream, “What’re we gonna do, now?”

The PDA. There is something very odd about this.
Kathryn McDonnell stared down at the electronic device in her hand. It felt heavy, cold, and completely foreign, as though it hadn’t been there moments ago. Suddenly, she clasped it protectively to her chest and a sense of relief washed over her. Katie only then realized how nice it was to have a complete lack of chauvinistic prigs and drug addicts in their group.

She swung into very spacious cargo space of the icecream van and perched on the deep freezer as Percy kicked the vehicle into gear.

“Onward, Icecream Man,” she exclaimed, gesticulating with the K ration that Vitali had given to her, “to cards, to booze, AND TO HOT AND GREASY PUB FOOD.”

---

The icecream truck rocked gently as Percy came to a stop. Katie moved to stare out the service window towards the entrance. As though someone had cued them from off stage right, two ridiculously dressed Aussies strolled forward. Their strange mash-up of cockney and third grade grammar was easily discernible over the tinny calliope music issuing from the truck’s speakers. If that alone hadn’t made Katie want to punch them in the face, their “get in the door” approach did.

“Soddin’ idiots,” she mumbled, leaning forward on her elbows to watch the show. Her hand slapped her forehead as ‘Columbo’ quickly reached forward to try and get in. Only when the Aussie stopped mid pose did Katie realize how beefed up security had become since the last time she had been in this joint. The Aussies rocketed through the air, only barely missing their bizarre vehicle.

”F***.” Katie whispered under her breath. ”Telekinetic Super Bouncers.”

This place was a hell of a lot swankier since the last time she had been in.

She and Vitali went on to explain what and who TBSs were. Percy seemed to think she was adding to whatever little diddy he had been singing to himself; Downhouser, well, he was Downhouser.

“We’re here, guys,” Percy said with a disturbing grin, “What’re we gonna do, now?”

“I say we get in there, do a little gambling, have something to drink, and gather some f***ing information,” she said quietly, “We know where we need to go after this; it’s time to find out how hard it’s going to be. If anything, just find out if people are already on our trail. I say half an hour, hour tops, and we meet back here.”

Katie reached up and pulled her hair out of its bun. Long auburn tresses shook down around her shoulders, and she ran her fingers through it to smooth it down. She unbuttoned the top button of her shirt and pulled it down so an ample amount of creamy cleavage threatened to tumble out.

“Alright, let’s do this thing,” she said, throwing open the sliding door.

As they filed out of the van, Katie slipped her arm into Downhouser’s and began pulling him towards the two bouncers.

“Come on,” she whispered back to the others, “stay as a group. My name might actually be on there; I have played the tables here before.”

The two TSBs looked as imposing as ever as they approached the door. She looked at them calmly and said, “McDonnell.”

There were moments in Gerald Downhouser’s life when he woke up somewhere and had no clue at all where he was and how he got there. Most of these moments he found himself holding some psycho killer or underground porn lord in one hand, and Big Gun #1, with smoking barrel, in the other. He liked it when this happened. It felt good bringing in criminals and putting them in cells. The streets would be safer, which he knew was a relative thing nowadays.

There were also moments when time had passed unnoted, and he was suddenly aware of the fact that he had been sitting in the same position for a long time, waiting for something he wasn’t sure about either. He didn’t like it when this happened. He usually went out to find himself some low-life thugs to arrest, just to feel better.

He woke up with that feeling when they finally arrived at the Blue Room. He felt like years had passed since they entered Percy’s van to set out on their mission.
Aggravated he got up, banged his head against the ceiling for the second time that day, and sat back down again. He growled lowly, like a wolf catching a dangerous scent. Impulsively he began to slap Big Gun #1 into the palm of his hand. It had been too long since he had actively punished a deserving individual, and he was going into the first stages of withdrawal.

Luckily, his attention was caught by what transpired in front of the club. The two kids, who had tried to get in without a membership, were being flung from the scene by an unseen force.

“Oh, hell… brainos.” He sighed, under his breath.

He realised at that moment that those bouncers were not the ordinary kind of doorstep wards. He had grown accustomed to applying bouncers for battering ram purposes, but this would be a different kind of encounter. He had heard of people being able to move objects with their minds. He had once taken out a former magician who had taken up the habit of making knives disappear into people, with his mind. Downhouser had learned that day that the same rules applied concerning hitting people over the head and them no longer being a threat, when it concerns telekinetics. It was just a lot harder to get close to them. This called for more than brute strength and ordinary bullets.
He put Big Gun #1 away, and reached for the even bigger Big Gun #2, and got up.

“We’re here, guys,” Percy said with a disturbing grin, “What’re we gonna do, now?”

“I say we get in there, do a little gambling, have something to drink, and gather some f***ing information,” Katie said quietly, “We know where we need to go after this; it’s time to find out how hard it’s going to be. If anything, just find out if people are already on our trail. I say half an hour, hour tops, and we meet back here.”

“Good.” Gerald said. Half an hour was more than he needed to empty Big Gun #2. He would go in asking questions about the whereabouts of the drugs and convincing anybody unwilling to cooperate that it was unwise to refuse assistance.

He got up, Big Gun #2 feeling like a solid extension of his front arm, and headed for the bouncers, when suddenly he felt a slender arm slipping into his own. He looked at his flank, and noted Katie, looking like a cheap version of herself. He gave her a questioning look, wondering what she was doing. Than he remembered that they had something that resembled an actual plan, and he decided to go with it and see where it got them. After all, it was not the first time he had been a personal bodyguard. Guarding bodies was something he did quite well.

Sometimes, Vitali found himself spacing out in the most unpleasant of fashions. There were times where thoughts of his bombed-out neighbourhood ran through his mind. Others, fantasies about holding out in the streets against the risen dead. And other times yet...merely emptiness.

This was one of those times, and he broke from his reverie in time to bear witness to a pair of goofs from that south south continent get ‘super bounced’ by some rather burly goons at the door. Only they didn’t use that stockiness to send them flying.

Vitali was glad that those two wouldn’t be in the club; it seemed he was coming across a number of folks here whose accents just got beneath his skin. The Canadian. These two goofballs. He made a mental note to himself to never come to the aid of the English, should the ultimate unravelling of the world take place, in the hopes that, with the fall of the Queen, so, too, would that slaughtered form of English vanish from the earth.

Wishful thinking. He snapped back to the matter at hand. TSBs were not something he was overly happy to find here. Joining Katie in the supplying of an explanation as to what exactly TSBs were, it occurred to him that they would soon be going in.

He took a look at his army pack, and began a mental rundown of its contents. While his attire would be just fine, even he knew that only losers carried knapsacks into clubs. However, the more valuable contents could still be brought in on his person.

Rummaging through his pack, he produced his Winchester, hunting knife, sidecutters, duct tape, and storm matches. Temporarily debating his flask, he reasoned it a bad decision to bring outside alcohol into an establishment, and so instead, too a quick swig and offered it around before tossing it back in and drawing closed the string. Standing up to provide easier access to his pockets, he realized he was still wearing his gun belt, and quickly unbuckled it, though he kept the pistol in hand and shoved it into his back pocket. Only Italian thugs tucked it into the waistband. His rifle found a home in his left from pocket, while the other items were slipped away into the cargo pockets on his legs.

He tossed the belt to his gear, and climbed out of the van, producing his pack of cigarettes and tapping one out. Much to his dismay, he realized he was beginning to run low. That would have to be remedied. But, that would come later. For now, he lit one up and took a long drag. Katie and Downhouser led the way, while he followed up behind, trying to stay close, in a group, as instructed.

“Hope this works, Katie,” He whispered back to her. He the Ukrainian wasn’t much of a gambler, though maybe he could pick up a couple tricks. But more than anything, he was looking forward to seeing what drinks were available. That little taste of vodka had given him a thirst that needed quenching.

The Australians were out of the picture, the ice cream truck was in park and Downhouser had renewed his efforts to dent the ceiling of the groups transport with his thickened skull, so for a brief moment everything seemed relatively normal. The group listened intently to Katie and Vitali detail the nature of their opposition, and assembled whatever gear they thought might be required in the coming moments. That turned out mostly to be guns. A lot of guns.

Disembarking, they began to cross the street as a group, Katie and Downhouser led the way arm in an arm, like a couple that would surely never be able to use a teeter-totter appropriately, while Percy and Vitali followed just behind. They made eye contact with the “tisbuhs” about as they approached, and for a moment it sounded like the opening chords of The Good, The Bad and the Ugly’s theme were being played. In fact they add, and a quick look down the street revealed a small orchestra had formed a block away, seemingly drawn by the drama of the situation. They just as quickly dispersed as they were noticed, leaving only the surreal memory of their appearance and few sheets of music blowing in the wind.

With the gravity of the situation now defined through the medium of instrumental awesomeness, the group continued their slow progression across the street. They felt somehow compelled to take it slow and meaningfully, and due to their newfound badassery, the journey across the street took several seconds longer than it should, which would probably seem unimportant in the long run but is an interesting thing to note at this exact moment. They finally stood in front of the bouncers, with only Downhouser truly seeing eye to eye with them, and for a moment there was a quiet staredown. Katie finally broke the silence.

“McDonnell.”
The tisbuhs stared at her a moment before one of them produced the list, once again concealed behind his enormous bicep. His eyes scanned up and down the list before looking over at his partner, who nodded silently. A strange sensation swept over the group, as if they were being patted down by hundreds of swift invisible hands. The feeling passed as swiftly as it had begun, and the tisbuh turned back to his partner.

”They have guns.” he uttered emotionless.
”Which ones?” the second asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.

The tisbuh gestured at Downhouser, ”A couple.” his fingered drifted toward Katie, ”A couple more.” his finger finally came to a rest on Vitali, ”He has an armory in his pants.”
The second tisbuh nodded solemnly before looking at Percy (who was talking to… a tiny snowman?). ”Him?”
The first tisbuh paused before answering, and though it wasn’t overly present in his voice, his confusion was obvious.

”He is carrying ice cream.”
Another solemn nod was shared by the tisbuhs and they turned back to Katie. One of them seemed to be about to speak before both suddenly put a hand up to their earpiece for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, Vitali thought he noticed the lens of the camera off to the side shift in their direction before both tisbuhs gave a solemn nod and one of them reached over and opened the door.

”Welcome to the Blue Room Ms. McDonnell and guests. Enjoy your time inside.”
Although wary of the sudden hospitality, the group decided not to inspect the teeth of this immaculate gift horse and made their way inside.

~~~~~~
As the group entered, the tisbuh closed the door firmly and looked over at his compatriot, letting out a slow breath.

”Weird.” he said expressionlessly.
”Yep, weird.” the second agreed.

”OI! FACK YOU’S MATES!” the yell, thick with horrid Australian accent, rang out from the alley across the street.

The tisbuhs sighed, and one reached into his pants and withdrew a pack of smokes, popping one out and lighting it as a garbage can, seemingly of its own volition, rose off the street corner and made its way over to the alley where it began throwing itself violently into a yelping semi-prone, Australian-sounding form there.

”We don’t get paid enough to deal with Australians and ice cream.” the first tisbuh said between drags.
”Amen.” the second added.

~~~~~~
Chapter 1.5: And That’s Why They Call it the Blues…Room, They Call it the Blue Room.
It was akin to entering Narnia, the group had stepped through a non-descript door on a non-descript brick building and found themselves in a bar rat’s paradise. There was no hint of a misnomer here; the Blue Room was blue, from curtains to carpets, booth to stools, and lighting to uniforms. The entry opened onto a descending staircase that led directly into the main room of the club, which seemingly had been extensively renovated since any of the group had been there last.

A large wooden bar dominated their view to the right, its stools filled with a variety of characters, the partially walled off section to their right was filled with slot machines, the bings, bloops and bright lights barely heard over the strange electro-hip hop-dubstep-old school throwback-classic rock that was blasting out of a speakers the group couldn’t quite locate. The floor between the two areas was evenly divided between cards tables on the left and dining tables on the right, and a swirl of gamblers, drunks and waitresses milled about between them. Directly across the room from the entry stood a stage, its long blue curtains drawn shut, immediately preceded by a large dance floor that even at this distance smelled of sweat.

Though the club was packed, people stood out to the group. There was a man sitting at the bar, his long trench coat immediately causing him to stand out. Though it was obvious he’d noticed the group, he gave no outward indication that he noticed them, even as they could feel his eyes on them. There were thugs not unlike those they’d encountered previously grouped together at numerous tables, their lack of hostility towards the team likely explained by the drinks in front of them dominating their attention. Over at the slots, Daniel Day Lewis sat in front of a machine, cursing and swearing at his recent run of bad luck. Being an insufferable method actor and incapable of getting into a role otherwise, poor Daniel had gotten into the skin of a loser alcoholic gambler, and following the fall of order in Fantastico, had been forced to shutter production without completion, leaving him trapped in an assumed life. A sad fate to be sure, but he was overrated anyway.

As the team scanned the room, a waitress in a short blue skirt and barely there top swept up to them, and before they could even react to her presence she had them ushered into a comfy leather booth just off the bar. Before they could even question their situation the waitress had disappeared, leaving them alone in the thick of it. The music was blaring, the crowd was pumping and there seemed to be debauchery every which way. If they were going to find a dealer with connections this seemed like the place.

(OOC: Fun fact, wrote paragraph two while on the toilet. See Q&A for anything and use it for questions and answers and planning and dancing and planning! And Dancing!)