It had been a relatively slow day at the Bar. The night shift had begun, and with Nicholas cleaning the floors around the tables, Grace had taken over the counter as the Bartender and was refilling the several empty or half-full bottles that lay strewn about the floor and shelves under the counter. Ronaun continued to serenade the small number of customers that remained, and Oliver was talking, or arguing, with an angered drunk. Alistair, their most frequent customer and “caretaker”, sat in the corner quietly sipping his drink that Grace had prepared for him not three minutes prior. The only one missing from their little circle was Jeff, their other most frequent customer, who was probably off kissing the feet of his beloved employer, Lady Whatsherface.

Grace turned her head to watch each of them respectively, and sighed when she heard a solid crack that she knew was Oliver’s jaw. He wandered over to the bar a minute later holding his face, and Grace practically threw a bag of ice and some beer in his direction, which he took without question and returned to his office in the back. She would have to remember to make an appointment to get that checked out because, knowing him, he would return later for more drinks and would be too drunk to do it himself. She leaned on the polished surface in front of her and resumed her normal routine of quietly waiting for a customer, the content smile ever present and unwavering. It wasn’t long until Nicholas approached the counter, apparently meaning to ask her something. He was quieted by the bell as the door was shoved open roughly and a group of unkempt, middle-aged men sauntered into the center of the room in a drunken stupor.

“Can we help you?” Nicholas asked before Grace could say anything. She was still smiling, but she was unsettled by their presence, especially the one with the gun hanging oh so very obviously from his hip.

“Yeah you-hic!” he nearly choked on his drink as he hiccuped mid sentence, but continued as though nothing had happened. “You pricks, ya… sonsabitches. Ya killed my-hic! ...brother!”

It was Grace who spoke up this time. “I'm sorry, it seems that you're mistaken. I don’t recall ever having anything to do with you or your… group, here, and I suggest you leave before you do something you’ll regret,” she suggested in a slightly irritated tone as her brows furrowed and her smile twitched upward to form a slightly more wicked grin. “That goes for all of you.”

Oliver poked his head out of his office to watch the exchange that followed.

The man who stood behind the first, who seemed to have a large amount of trouble placing one foot in front of the other, managed to make his way to the counter without giving himself a concussion. He pointed a grubby finger at Grace’s nose and spat, “Summin’ we’ll regret, eh? Hic! ...well, howsabouts ya keep yer indigestions to-hic!- yerselves?”

“I believe ‘suggestions’ is the word you’re looking for,” Oliver replied in a rather uninterested and bored tone as he stepped out of his office completely. “You should get your blackout drunk arse’s out of here if you know what’s good for you.”

Oliver’s comment elicited a response similar to that of a disappointed crowd attending a concert, with each man crying out in a way that immediately reminded Grace of a bunch of preschoolers. They all began acting out, some even going so far as to draw switchblades or pistols. Most of them just dumped their backwashed drinks onto the freshly cleaned wooden floors, which sparked a fire of annoyance in Nicholas’ eyes that Grace didn’t fail to notice.

“We all suggest that you leave,” Nicholas repeated. “Now.” Grace and Ronaun both nodded their agreement.

The big man at the front rested his foot on the counter, causing a small tremor to rock both it and the shelf behind both bartenders, causing one of the bottles to fall from its perch. Grace quickly reached out and snatched it before it could hit the floor and waste its contents, throwing an apprehensive smirk towards Ronaun. The pianist had ceased his playing and was now facing the commotion. He nodded in her direction slightly, and Grace stood again, setting the bottle gently on the counter with her right hand still resting on the neck. She had to protect it - it was a special bottle after all.

“If you’re going to stay,” she said quietly, a serene smile plastered on her face as her grip on the bottle tightened. “Then why don’t you at the very least have a drink!” she shouted lifting the bottle and stepping up onto the counter. She spun on her heel, bringing her arm around in a mighty swing as she broke the bottle over the right side of his face. He staggered back and into the arms of two of his following, and gripped his face. The others had apparently taken it as their cue to get involved, drawing whatever weapon they happened to have on them before they rushed the bar.

By the time Nicholas had readied both of his knives, Oliver had already made short work of two of them, using a nearby crowbar to knock their heads in with one sweep. Nicholas leaped over the bar, slamming the pommel of one of his daggers into the temple of a gangster before swiftly moving on to the next one. When another of them had attempted to walk overtop of the counter, Oliver yanked him back down by his leg and slammed him into the ground. Grace took the opportunity to make her way to Ronaun and place her hand on his shoulder.

“Knock ‘em dead,” she whispered before she jumped eagerly into the frenzied mass of people.

She leaped onto an unsuspecting gunmans back and dragged him to the floor before promptly flipping him over her foot. Jumping to her feet, she quickly engaged another man who had attempted to shove his knife into her eye. She grabbed his wrist and shoved it to the left before she maneuvered herself behind him and sent a solid kick into the back of his head. As he fell forward and face planted, another of his comrades jumped easily over his body and nearly managed to strike her with a powerful leaping kick. She sidestepped it and turned, easily stopping his next kick by trapping his foot in the crook of her elbow and balancing on her left leg. She planted her right foot firmly on the ground before she swept her left leg behind his right and brought him to the floor, driving her fists into his solar plexus as she did so. While he was winded she stood and, not wishing for him to leave without learning a harsh lesson, kicked the side of his head rather hard and knocked him out. The brawl was suddenly interrupted by a loud “Ahem!” All eyes turned to Ronaun as he cracked his knuckles and prepared to play.

The melody was soft, but every now and then there was an accented note, and a small Bang! would sound from somewhere behind Grace. The tune slowly picked up the pace, the tempo shifting from melancholy to energetic within the span of twenty seconds. Ronaun shifted and swayed along with the music, seeming to get lost in it as he played. He also seemed to relish in the thought that he was also causing chaos at the same time. It wasn’t until she heard a loud explosion and a scream of both surprise and agony that Grace grinned and shifted her gaze to the man she had bottle smashed.

The entire right side of his face was gone. His skull had been shattered by the force and bits a pieces of his jaw clung to the front of his blazer. Chips of bone hung from damaged tendons and his eyeball seemed to be hanging by a thread. Needless to say his brain was no longer functioning, made obvious by his slumping to the ground a few seconds after the fact. His friends, comrades, lackeys, and gangsters all looked on in complete horror before they scrambled to their feet or knees and made a mad crawl for the front door.

Grace relaxed her stance and looked around, spotting a few other unmoving men - namely the ones Oliver had clocked in the head with a crowbar - and a slightly damaged table in the corner. She walked over to Ronaun and leaned her elbow on his shoulder casually.

Before she had even said anything, Alistair was already getting up from his seat, his drink finished and the cup placed neatly in the center, and making his way towards the middle of the floor. Oliver gestured to the mess and muttered, “Yeah, you get that,” before he began rubbing both of his temples and retreated into his office again.

Grace just continued smiling, rolled her eyes as she returned to her place behind the counter, joined quietly by Nicholas, and leaned on the top of it silently. She turned to him and smiled.

It had been a slow day, indeed.