The bounty hunter acted a moment too late to stop Drummond. Charging across the room he shoved Ressa away as he knocked Drummond from his chair with a stiff kick but by then the damage was done. The bounty hunter didn’t realize this, and thinking he had acted in time he focused solely on his quarry.  

The stunned man barely had a moment to register the hit before he was dragged to his feet and slammed into the wall. The remaining air in his lungs was forced out and he could only manage a wheeze in protest. The gray eyed man then produced something steel from the hidden holster in his coat. Drummond felt the cold dull metal press into his neck and ceased any attempt to struggle. 

It took him a moment to blink away the tears and get a decent look at his attacker. He didn’t know the face but he recognized the weapon. Its image had been burned into his mind alongside its thunderous report and cries of the men it cut down. He tensed when he heard the click of the hammer, eyes going wide in panic as he did best to hold his bladder. 

In the meantime the rest of the bar had retreated at the commotion and now held their ground at the sight of the strange weapon. Most were able to recognize it as a pistol, a rare sight outside the hands of an aristocrat or a particularly wealthy knight. There was something different about this one though, something in its construction that made it seem all the more dangerous. The hammer and frizzon were connected but a kind of clock work and a strange bulging cylinder rotated as it was cocked.

“What is the meaning of this?” Megra called out, stepping forward where others had retreated. When she noticed the aggressor was the strange man from before the knot in her stomach tightened. 

“This man is a dangerous criminal, I am here to take him into custody,” the man said.

Eying both men silently Megra, appeared calm and collected despite the nerves that were beginning to make her shiver.

“So you are a marshal then?” She asked crossing her arms to hide the shaking. 

“Not as such,” the man replied. “But I do have authority to act in the graylands.”

“A bounty hunter then,” Megra said. “If that’s the case then you must be carrying the mandate that declares this man a criminal.”

There was a pause, “I lost the handbill,” the man said. “But this bastard's mug has been on every notice board through both the empire and the graylands. Check yours there's no doubt in my mind he’s up there.” 

Megra looked toward the empty corkboard then to the stack of papers she had only just started going through. Noticing this Drummond seized the opportunity.

 “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. This man is unwell, driven mad by greed. Please you have to help me he’s insa-” Drummond's words were cut off by a swift punch to his abdomen. The air he had fought for was driven from his lungs once more. Still he managed a quiet whisper as he doubled over. “Fucker,” he hissed before he was forced back up to a standing position. 

The women Drummond had arrived with wasted no time in following his lead. They began to wail and beg, insisting their companion was truthful. They moved about the crowd pleading and hanging off anyone they could, sowing as much chaos as they were able before dropping to their knees before Megra. 

The dragon woman brushed them aside leaving the maids to collect them from the floor. “Whoever is telling the truth will take us some time to work out. Regardless, I can't abide anyone threatening violence and causing trouble in my place,” she said, trying to keep a diplomatic tone. 

“Take as much time as you need, it’ll be peaceful enough once we’re both on our way,” the bounty hunter said, dragging Drummond from the wall and positioning him as a shield, the gun pressed to the base of his skull. “So if someone would retrieve my property I can leave you to it.”

Drummond began to panic, sweat beading along his thinning brow. “You’re just going to let this happen? Some stranger comes in here to kidnap your customers and you just bend over for him like a bitch.” The charm from before had vanished, replaced by entitlement and condescension. 

“Mr.Drummond, I think it would be best if you remain quiet,” Megra said, eyes locking onto the armed man. Despite her unease she didn’t blink and neither did he.

“Then fucking do something you useless whores!” Drummond yelled. A moment later the steel of the pistol cracked against the side of his head. The strike had perfectly aimed to cause pain but not render the man unconscious. Drummond wobbled a little but stayed standing, blood flowing from the gash opened along his cheekbone. 

With the drawing of blood the mood shifted again. The air seemed to grow thicker and a charge began to build like static before a lightning strike. Drummond's companions renewed their shout pleas, wailing like banshees at the feet of the madam. Megra ignored their display, stepping forward with resolve as she stared the gunman down.  

“I’m afraid things have gone far enough Mr.-” 

“Striker,” the man said, finally giving a name whether real or not. 

“Mr. Striker, I don’t know if what this man says is true. He may well be a criminal or you may truly be insane. Regardless there are rules here and you broke them. Furthermore I cannot set a precedent for every bounty hunter in the gray lands to use my place as a hunting ground.”

“Not everyone, just me and just for him,” Striker said, keeping Drummond between himself and the bulk of the crowd. This wasn’t an easy task. Taking advantage of their numbers they had begun to fan out doing their best to surround the pair. 

Behind the counter Jazel reached for the large crossbow she kept under the bar while the massive Boran moved to block the door. Once the half troll was in position the pair made their move with Boran seizing a chair and charging the men as the bartender raised her weapon. 

There should have been no way for Striker to track them both but as they moved his weapon cracked thrice in a burst of sparks and smoke. Several bottles shattered above Jazel's head forcing the woman to take cover. The second blast brought a shower of splinters from the floorboards by Boran's feet stopping his charge while the third struck the chair he held as a weapon. Thoroughly intimidated he dropped the chair and retreated slightly though he continued to keep his eye on the pair.

A thick cloud of smoke hung around Striker and Drummond making them silhouettes. When it dissipated it revealed the weapon was once again pointed at Drummond. Striker had him in a tighter grip now, arm around his throat pistol pressed to his temple. 

Still shaking from the shots, Megra was slow to rise. Any confidence she felt was gone, shattered like the bottles behind the bar. She dreaded to look into those eyes again but she forced herself to do so and nearly retched at the sight. 

Only one of those terrible gray orbs was upon her, the other bounced about the room on its own, darting from person to person. It joined its twin only for a moment taking its place as the other began its own dance. 

“Sorry about that,” Striker said, “but I hope now we’re clear on where we stand.”

“Crystal,” Megra spat, though the words sounded more defeated than she had intended.  Looking to Boran she motioned toward the back room where the guests' weapons were secured. 

“Please retrieve Mr. Striker's property,” she ordered before the gunman protested.  

“No, he stays here,” he said. With his wandering eye searched for a replacement, eventually deciding on the small Fawny who recoiled at being singled out. 

“You were here when I came in, do you remember the stick I carried?” He asked in a voice that was almost soothing. 

The satyr nodded slowly and was surprised to see a smile come to the man's lips though it lost its warmth when paired with around it.

 “Good, if you don’t mind, would you please retrieve it for me?”

Fawny hesitated at first looking at Megra who gave a nod of permission. 

“Yes, right away sir,” the maid said in a shaky sweet voice, her small hooves making a clicking sound as she rushed away.

Fawny was only gone for a minute but it was a minute Drummond used wisely. Meeting the eyes of his consorts they began to silently form a plan. With a code of blinks and subtle movements he made his desires known, the women acknowledging his commands through disguised wails. While Drummond didn’t consider the women particularly useful for much aside from warming his bed they were at least obedient and invested in his freedom. 

He doubted they would be enough to facilitate his escape on their own but he still had a surprise or two up his sleeve. With a silent strain his already tacky palm began to develop a white sheen as whatever was being secreted built up in a thick layer.  Clenching his fist to hide the change, a bit of the thick liquid oozed between his fingers and dripped to the floor, his accomplices watching the drops like hungry wolves. 

They weren’t the only ones who noticed. Cas had kept their eyes on Drummond even after the shots had rang out. Despite the evidence to the contrary they couldn’t help but feel that the short soft man posed a far greater threat than the hard and brutal gunman. As they watched the liquid drop their fur began to stand erect alerting them to the presence of particularly powerful magic. 

It was enough to give them pause. Magic was a tricky thing, a careful balance of give and take with rules and stipulations that needed to be followed to avoid consequence. The demon's power was particularly fickle and Casus was hesitant to have it mix with whatever the man had.  Before they could raise the alarm Fawny returned, struggling with the man's “staff”.

“That’s far enough love,” Striker said, stopping her a few feet away. “Just lay it on the table and go join your friends.” 

The maid did as she was told, the staff making a noticeably loud thump as it was placed on the table. Displayed there under the lights it was clear that its appearance as a walking stick was actually just a poor disguise. While most of it was made of actual wood a good portion had been covered in what appeared to be paper mache. The uneven surface of the facade had been painted hastily in a crude attempt to match the grain of the real wood. 

“Alright, we’re going to move now,” Striker whispered to Drummond. “As we do you’re going to keep your mouth shut and your hands to yourself, understand?”

Drummond muttered a nearly silent ‘fuck you’ in response but didn’t resist as Striker began to move them toward the table. 

“Grab it but don’t get any ideas, I’ll put a shot through your skull before you even finish the thought, bounty be damned.” 

Drummond mumbled again in response and reached out to collect the “staff.” As he did his accomplices sprung into action. One took hold of little Fawny seizing her from behind and locking an arm around her throat. The maid tried to cry out but the sound came out a croak as the woman lifted her up by her neck, the maid's tiny hooves kicking in the air. The other woman took hold of a nearby bottle and smashed it against a table. Waving the small shiv in a wide arc she was able to force back  a majority of the crowd.  

Her advantage would only last a moment though. The weapon held the most intimidation in a moment of surprise and with one of their own now in danger the crowd would quickly find their mettle and swarm the pair. But before they could react, Ressa rushed forward. She shoved her way to the front, nearly falling into the woman with the broken bottle. With no resistance she let the woman turn her to face the crowd as the jagged shiv was pressed against her neck