Grimacing in distaste at the thought of having to explain what she had just witnessed to a man who would likely disbelieve her, Anastasia made her excuses to Madame Irenke before rising from the table. Casting her gaze around, she tried to discern if the man who was choking earlier was still present in the club, a task make difficult by the low lighting and sheer number of patrons. As she walked to the center of the room to make her search easier, Anastasia couldn't help but wonder where these visions came from. Perhaps she would ask the Madame upon her return.

What she did notice, or rather who, was a gentleman who had just entered the establishment, his style of dress a touch different to what Anastasia would expect to see in London. But, she supposed, in the Gas Lamp Club very little could be considered out of the ordinary.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:28, Sun 06 Oct 2013.

FOR DENHOLM

The coatcheck person that you handed your greatcoat to waited until you were at the coffee bar and then promptly exited the club never to be seen again.

It's not that kind of club; it doesn't have a coatcheck facility.


FOR ANASTASIA

The choking man (sounds like the title of a detective adventure!) is still in the club; in fact, you walked past his table to get to a point where you could observe the whole club. But he had his back to you, so that's understandable.

Just as you spot him, a shadow passes over the front of the club, cast by a streetlight, and the door opens to admit two men in black trench coats and black trilby hats. They definitely resemble the men from the image. There's only one difference: you are standing between them and their intended target!


FOR REMI

As the little group by the bar continues to grow, raising the chaos factor. you can't help but notice two men step into the club. Still wary about the authorities, you assess all new factors in that light. Your first impression is that these new people might just be that, but then you realize that the way they look around is just like the way you do--assessing threats and looking for escape routes.

They stop scanning, as if they've spotted what they were looking for. One of them starts to reach inside his trenchcoat, presumably to draw a weapon, when the other man stops him.


FOR MIKO, FELIX, LEON, REMI, VIKTOR AND DENHOLM

"Ah, Nikola!" Mr. Twain calls out in greeting. "Glad you could make it! A bit of stimulating conversation is always welcome in this place! So, what do you make of Mercy's mechanical bartender? Will it ever join the army?"

He then makes sure introductions have been made all around.

"Mr. Remi here does not approve of Hugo. I daresay he doesn't approve of most technology, but doesn't have a problem using it!"

"I may rejoin you shortly... I have an engagement with a lady!"

He then heads over to the table where Miko and Edmund are seated.

"I am thoroughly enchanted to make your acquaintance, Madame!" he says to Miko, and makes an elegant bow. "Whatever Edmund has been telling you about me, I assure you it's all true!"

Catching sight of both her intended target and those who had come to murder him at the same time, Anastasia's eyes widened in shock, freezing in place for a moment while her brain frantically tried to come up with a way to resolve this situation. Surely they wouldn't be so brazen as to attack a man in the middle of a crowded club? But if they did, and Anastasia did nothing to prevent the man's death, she would probably feel a tad guilty. A positively vitriolic curse fell from her lips as the only viable solution she could think of came to mind.

Dear Lord, even if this works I'll never be able to show my face in here again.

Exaggerating a stagger, she spun on her feet to face the two men, lurching towards them as though utterly inebriated. In actuality, the drunken stumbling hid the process of her fishing around in her reticule for the small pistol she carried. She grasped the pistol, but did not remove her hand from the bag, intending to shoot through it if necessary. Letting out wail reminiscent of a banshee, Anastasia began screaming foul epithets at one of the men. Her screeching was loud enough to cut through the background noise of the club, and likely partially deafen those seated nearby.

"Harold!! I should have known I'd be seeing your sour face again, even after you left me to run off with that streetwalker to the colonies. A harsh sentence for the poor girl, to be sure, stuck with you for the past year. I should have my brother box your ears, you sorry excuse for a man!"

Wanting to make sure that every single pair of eyes in the building was on her and the two men, Anastasia simply started hurling assorted insults, some of them Slavic in origin. She had always found that those tongues held the most foul curses.

Viktor had been quietly listening to the conversations of those in the small gaggle about him, men like Tesla and Twain. He was sipping at his pint of the fine ale served up by Hugo when he noticed Remi's gaze on two new entrants into the establishment. Once the commotion began, a giant grin creased his lips as he watched what was a truly beautiful and well dressed woman berating one of the men who had just entered the bar.

Admittedly his eyes were on the woman, but something in his peripheral was setting off alarm bells at the back of his mind, even as he enjoyed the antics...something was ...menacing about the pair of men she was haranguing.

Without really conscious thought, the former cavalry officers swapped the tankard from his right to left hand. That empty hand then settled inside his coat and atop the revolver at his hip there, discreetly ready for action...

Remi was not at all paying attention to the idle chatter, his gaze catching the men in black instead. They were certainly up to no good that was for sure, he knew the type after all. He was nursing the lovely Pint of Ale that he'd been handed, all the while rapping his fingers on the handle of his scimitar, not taking his eyes off the pair.

Then one looked to be reaching for a weapon under his coat. It was at this point when Remi put his mug down and began to walk towards the two men, the grasp on his sword tightening. He wouldn't have these two ruin his evening of drinking.



After this outburst from the woman, Remi stopped mid stride, stopping himself so as to not get in the woman's way. He quirked a confused brow, then readjusted his course. Remi made his way to a spot near the two men and the woman, close enough to react and possibly get in the way of an attack on the woman. Casually leaning against the wall, he watched.

At the sudden sound of a woman loudly haranguing some poor unfortunate named "Harold", an old jingle he'd heard somewhere quickly flashed through his mind,

#A shrew is a shrew, and it's a beautiful view, unless she is shrewing at you!#

Dash turned about and saw a young woman verbally assaulting a pair of bruisers with the kind of language he'd only heard from old salts.  The young woman was rather attractive, and stylishly dressed, while the two she was lambasting....those two had a look about them that Dash had only seen before on street toughs in the south end of Boston.  However, at the moment, both bruisers seemed completely cowed by the verbal flailing they were recieving.

"You tell'em, Miss!" Dash shouted encouragement to the young woman, as he leaned back against the bar to watch, "Give'em the full broadside! Take no prisoners!"

#Ah, London!#

Although Anastasia's tirade has given the two men pause, it hasn't deterred them from their objective. It just took them a moment to grasp the significance of their forthcoming actions, and decide to act anyway.

From within their trenchcoats, they both draw a gun, although the guns do not look like normal ones. They look like some sort of coil gun.

The man on the left starts to point the gun at Anastasia, while the man on the right aims at Lord Kentigern.

Remi was keeping a stern eye, and as soon as the trench-coated fellows reached towards their coats again he moved in like a flash. Drawing his scimitar he held it close against himself, agilely twirling his from his spot on the wall to place himself in front of the woman and the weapon. "Dame, I suggest you move away." Remi said as he would then move in towards the man who was pointing the gun at her, paying no heed to the other man.

Remi would attempt to move in very close, his body never in line with the barrel of the gun, and press the blade into the man's chest. His movements were quick and precise, clearly very adept at his art.  His techniques were reminiscent of the Dervishes.

Viktor, was only slightly slower than Remi as the new arrivals in their black trench coats produced strange yet dangerous looking pistols. The agile cavalry man planted his tankard of ale upon the bar, then flattened his hand next to it.  Using his arm as the fulcrum, Viktor sprang up, his booted feet finding steady purchase on the mahogany of the bar.

At the same moment his right hand, already grasping the butt of his revolver smoothly drew it from its holster and aimed it carefully at the most available threat, being the man whom Remi was not presently confronting. From this lofty perch, Viktor was able to both get a good view of what was happening and, if need be, obtain a clear and unimpeded shot through the throng of patrons. Cocking the hammer of his pistol back with his thumb, Viktor's commanding voice carried and cut through  the commotion like the trained leader of warriors he had once been...

DROP THAT WEAPON SIR!

Dash had just received his small cup of coffee -- laying a coin down on the bar -- and turned back to further watch the commotion.  As he brought his lips to the cup, the two bruisers in black pulled guns.

"Lord in Heaven!" Dash exclaimed; the stongest language his Methodist upbringing would allow him.

Dash quickly -- and sloppilly -- tossed his cup of coffee behind him, onto the bar top, as he took in the scene.

The young woman had been verbally flaying the two bruisers in black, but then they both pulled strange looking pistols -- one aiming at the woman, one aiming at a seated, well dressed old gent.  While the woman took momentary pause, a large, lethal-looking colored man jumped up and started flashing a scimitar, of all things.  This was almost immediately followed by a dapper-looking gentleman entering the fray in a most gymnastic way -- probably a sailor at one time in his life -- who pulled a pistol of his own.

This was looking far too dangerous, all around.  And, nobody seemed to have warned to old gentleman he was a target!  Dash recalled seeing several other patrons with the look of sailors, as he entered this establishment, and he instantly realised that the only way to settle this fracas was to escalate it -- San Francisco style!

Dash launched himself away from the coffee bar and, in his best Deck Voice, which could be heard through a raging gale, he shouted,

"All Hands On Deck! Repel Boarders!"

Dash then raced toward the seated, older gentleman with the intention of tackling him to the ground, out of the line of fire.

((OOC: the Sailor equivalent of a Carney yelling "Hey Rube!"))

Things appeared to be happening in slow motion at this point, though it was all happening quite quickly.

The trenchcoat-and-trilby man that Remi was threatening started to swing his gun around at Remi, pulling the trigger as he did so. A swirling arc of electricity leaped from the gun just missing Remi, but it was close enough to Remi's sabre that it sent a shock down the blade.

Remi had seen the look in the man's face before--he was prepared to die to accomplish his mission.


The combined  shouts from Viktor and Denholm did startle the second trenchcoat. His aim waivered for a moment, just long enough for Denholm to tackle the intended target by diving over the table. As the two tumbled to the floor, Denholm felt a searing heat on his back along with the telltale tingling of electricity.


At that point, the women at the bar in coveralls yelled out.

"They've got my gun!"

"You mean MY gun," Nikola corrected.

"Okay, so you designed it, but I built it!" Mercy added.


A few patrons are ducking under tables.

((OOC: The reactions of the rest of the bar to Denholm's shout are slow to develop, and will depend on Remi's and Viktor's actions.))

Viktor, upon seeing the man he is aiming at try to actually shoot the old chap that Denholm tackled, squeezes the trigger of his revolver which he had previously carefully aimed at the trenchcoat-and-trilby man's chest just seconds before.

Simultaneously he shouts

GET DOWN!

as a general warning to the rest of patrons of the tavern.

Remi felt his muscles contract before he even saw the flash of the Lightning striking his blade. It traveled down the weapon and into his hand, the pain unlike he felt before. Or ever wanted to feel again, to be honest. The sudden jolt caused him to drop his blade and stagger backwards, shaking his hand in unfamiliar pain. He looked at his palm and saw a burn on his palm.

Now he was mad. Picking up his blade with the opposite hand, Remi took a swift step forward and swung a heavy arching strike at the man's collar bone, then another at his chest, and the last one hoping to lop the fellow's head off.

Astounded that even men of such low standing would attempt such an audacious act in front of so many witnesses, it took Anastasia a moment to recover her senses and draw her weapon from the reticule. Though their guns discharged energy of some sort, rather than conventional bullets, it appeared that their function was otherwise quite similar. It didn't appear to be immediately lethal, judging by the effect it had on the swarthy fellow that had the gall to suggest Anastasia stand down. She was relieved to note that someone had taken the choking man out of the line of fire, and that other patrons were responding to the assault with the force she had hoped they would.

Raising the gun in a double handed grip, Anastasia relaxed her posture as she had been taught, taking aim at the trenchcoat-clad assassin that was currently being threatened with a scimitar. Should he be repelled once more, she was well prepared to loose a shot at the man's chest. At this range, it would be difficult for her to miss.

The sudden shock was a surprise, causing Remi to drop his sabre. As he recovered his sabre, the man swung his gun around and fire again. The electrical discharge zapped over Remi's head.

He came up swinging, hacking into the man's shoulder blade. It was a nasty blow, easily drew blood and would affect the man's aim, but it didn't cause him to drop the weapon though is arm dropped to his side.

He swung again, across the man's chest.

Just as he did so, Anastasia fired. Sabre and bullet struck the man almost simultaneously, and the man fell down, though it was unclear if he was dead or not.

Viktor shot the other man, and it appeared to hit him in the left shoulder, which, unfortunately, wasn't his weapon arm. He didn't go down, but he seemed to hesitate as he re-evaluated the situation. Clearly his intended target was not immediately accessible, but rather than flee, he turned his attention to the more immediate threat--the man who had shot him!

As he swung his weapon around to the new target, Viktor fired again. The two of them fired at the same time. While Viktor was firing, the man named Tesla grabbed a serving tray off the bar, dumping glasses and drinks all over the place. He held it up in the line of fire of the electric gun, and the electrical discharge hit the metal tray and seemed to scatter in all directions. For a moment, the lights in the club flared brighter.

Viktor's second shot took the man down.

In the few seconds of aftermath, police whistles could be heard outside the club.

Viktor's eyes glanced to and fro, seeking out any more threats through the haze of smoke from his pistol's discharge.Mr.Tesla...I believe you saved my life, which places me in your debt. Upon hearing the Police whistles in the distance, Viktor suddenly remembered his somewhat dubious immigration status. Perhaps it's time to remove the intended target of these would be assassins from any more potential harm? and ourselves  from any legal entanglements eh?Viktor stated loudly to the group of persons involved in the fracas with him.
Jumping from the bar, he moved towards the nobleman who had ben the obvious target of the attack, with the intention of hustling him out the backdoor and somewhere...anywhere safer...

More concerned with the muffled sounds of police whistles than anything else, Anastasia swiftly stuffed the recently fired weapon into her reticule. She already held the dubious honor of a reputation as eccentric, and her mother would likely take a fainting turn if she heard that her only daughter was involved in a barroom brawl. But then, her mother was the type to take a fainting turn if her new pouffe didn't match the drapes, so that wasn't saying much.

Carefully stepping over fragments of broken glass and other detritus from the scuffle, Anastasia moved over to check upon the target of the attack, and the man whom had shoved him out of harm's way. Peering down at them where they lay, her voice was somewhat lacking in concern. For her mind was now far more occupied by the prospect of further investigating precognition, now that she had witnessed it efficacy firsthand.

"Are you quite alright down there? I would be rather irritated if I involved myself in this debacle only to find you dead."

"Gah!" Dash shouted, as the tingling heat washed across his back, "Son of a..."

However, just then, the old gentleman -- now laying underneath Dash -- stirred.

"Ow!  I do beg your pardon, Sir -- ah!" Dash said, as he rolled off the gentleman and onto his hands and knees -- all while more shooting and commotion was going on abouve -- "But my rough abuse of you was -- ow-ow-ow! -- neccessary in order to prevent your rather shocking assassination."

Rising to his knees, Dash saw a tall, thin, dapper gentleman create an impressive energetic display with a serving tray, as well as the last remaining bruiser dropping to the floor.

"Perhaps it's time to remove the intended target of these would be assassins from any more potential harm? and ourselves  from any legal entanglements eh?" said a dapper fellow, waving around a pistol as he jumped down from the nearby bar and started towards the now-recovering older gent.

"Hold on now, my good man!" Dash said in his distinctive New England accent, grimacing as he stood to his feet, then assisting the older gentleman to his, "This is London, not Saint Louis! The authorities are on their way. The miscreants here have been dealt with, everyone here saw who did what.  Why should we go any place?  I'm sure the police -- excuse me -- the constables will wish to verify the story of what has happened.  No, no, we are quite safe here, I'm sure."

Dash turned to the older gentleman.

"How are you, Sir?  Again, I appologize for the rough handling."

Remi breathed out a long breath, watching the man before him fall to the ground, his blood dripping from him scimitar. He would wipe the blood off the steel using the assailant's coat, stopping to look down at him. Remi's face was conflicted, showing a mix of anger and guilt. Finally he spoke aloud in his tongue "Nalla nsamhasste. ₁" Remi then slid the scimitar back into his sash, taking time to realize that his right hand was still in pain.

His palm had a nasty burn on it, certainly going to form a blister. With a sigh he rifled around the bar to find a handkerchief, wrapping the wound, grimacing only slightly. Then he heard the whistles of the Police outside. Oh no, no no no... This will not fare well for me. Remi also made his way over to where Victor was, saying bluntly "I agree with Victor, we should leave. It does not bode well for a fellow such as myself to be in a situation like this." He stood with his wounded hand hidden behind his back, and the other resting on the blade.

Remi was clearly not at ease.


_{1 We forgive him.}

"Oof! *sputter*" was Lord Kentigern's comments to being tackled and knocked out of his chair to the floor.

Once he regained his feet, it was clear that he was outraged, almost to the point of apoplexy.

"This is... preposterous!" he fumed. "No, no, not you, good sir," he hastily explained to Dash. "It would seem as if I, perhaps, owe you my life, sir!" He extends his hand to Dash.

"Ruined, almost choking to death and now nearly assassinated... all in one day! It's an outrage!" he continues to rant, though it's clear he's using, perhaps unintentionally, his anger to mask his dire straits and fear.

He glances around at the rest of those involved in the little fracas just as someone else rushes into the club and pulls up short when guns point at him.

A moment later he is followed by a pair of constables, who begin to arrest him upon seeing the two bodies on the floor. They look around at the rest of the club's patrons, and eye Remi suspiciously.

Lord Kentigern steps forward then.

"I am Lord Kentigern! These two... assassins!" he snarls gesturing at the bodies, "They tried to kill me! It was only because of the heroic actions of these gentlemen... and lady..."--he bows to Anastasia--"that I still live!"

His knod and arm wave seem to be broadlly referring to everyone in the club.

At that point, another constable enters; this one is a sergeant. Explanations are quickly made.

"Does anyone know these men?" he asks, pointing at the bodies.

As he looks around to see if anyone responds, he notices Mercy who has been 'hiding' behind Tesla.

"Mercedez Kincaid!" the sergeant frowns in disapproval. "I might have known you'd be mixed up in this!"

Mr. Twain steps forward, and addresses the sergeant. "You, sir, should get your facts correctly aligned before you jump to fanciful conclusions faster than that celebrated frog of Calaveras County!"

This comment brings a laugh from several of the club's patrons.

"Miss Kincaid was as innocent a bystander as myself and Mr. Tesla, though I must confess my own innocence was lost somewhere on the Mississippi many years ago."

A few more laughs... but the sergeant seems impressed as he recognizes Mr. Twain and obviously knows the name of Mr. Tesla.

"My apologies, Mr. Clemens," the sergeant replies. "Trouble seems to find Miss Kincaid whether she looks for it or not."

Matthew recoils in horror at the sight of the guns, corpses, and... <Some kind of electrical gun? Possibly an energy weapon, though it could magnetically accelerate projectiles instead... oh, right. Dead people.>

"Ohmygoddeadpeopleokwaitpleasedon'tshootmeIdidn'tseeanything!" He quickly spits, attempting to back out the door just in time to bump into a constable. Said constable promptly began to arrest him, leaving Matthew confused for a moment, and then a little bit annoyed. And, scared of the men pointing guns at him, of course. "Wait, I just got here, they're the ones that were shooting each other!" Ow. His handcuffs were tight. "Look at their guns, and look at ALL THE GUNS I DON'T HAVE." The young man continues to protest as the police roughly attempt to pull him out of the club, when a man steps forward. To Matthew's defense? Probably not. <And here we go, I get framed for the whole thing...>

Or not. And apparently the man was a lord too. Matthew would be more impressed if he wasn't in the middle of being arrested. <Wait, what was that about assassins?>

Matthew kept his mouth shut for a few moments as the sergeant entered. Oh, and Mark Twain was here. And Nikola freaking Tesla. This place was definitely some sort of brothel... "Ok, yes, erm, we've established that I didn't do anything." He said, craning his neck to look at the constable behind him. "So, handcuffs off, please?"

Utterly unimpressed by the apparent incompetence of the police force, who saw fit to arrest a man clearly uninvolved with the incident, Anastasia took a seat at the nearest table without concern for who might already be sitting there. She had had half a mind to accompany those who were leery of the police, but that option was long gone and she probably wouldn't see much trouble over this. Probably being the operative word.

Feeling slightly magnanimous following her successful experimentation with the crystal ball, Anastasia voiced some of her own insights about the identity of the men.

"I would hazard a guess that they were professionals, given that they fired even after I drew the attention of the entire room to them. Also considering the fact that they didn't stand down even when faced with several armed individuals."

Casting a swift glance at their now discarded weapons, she continued.

"They must be well funded too, I don't believe those guns are things one could come across on any street corner."

Viktor turned his back on the coppers as they entered.  He retrieved his pint of ale from the bar and took a deep pull from it, while at the same time nonchalantly holstering his sidearm. He listened to the conversations of conjecture about the assassins taking place, as well as the intended target, who had identified himself as one of Britain's high noble class exonerating all of them with his story.

Remi never looked at the Constables when they came in, doing his very best to not stand out. No easy task for a 6' tall Negro with swirling tattoos, a large sword, and a strange hair-do. Regardless, Remi made his way over to Victor, keeping his back to the rest of the Club. He would pick up a random glass that had booze in it and take a drink. Remi whispered, "What do you think the chances are of us being able to slip out of here... unseen..." Remi would trail off, watching the reflection off his glass.

Grimsby slipped quietly into the club, and carefully took in the sight of Kentigern, the assassins, the electric guns, and the very mixed company. He knew his duty lay with Kentigern, but his fascination with the exotic lured him to Remi.
Keeping one hand in his pocket just in case, he slid over to the tall man and remarked courteously in Arabic "Peace be unto you, O mighty one. May I ask what brings one so far from the sands of the south to this great city of the unbelievers?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:51, Sat 12 Oct 2013.