2020-07-20 - Worse, or BETTER?

It was near midnight when Devlin was meditating at home and now he appears on bench sitting on a pillow with a lit candle infront of him. Still meditating. He is dressed in a black and red shirt with a logo for a Chinese Martial Arts School that lists Kung Fu, Tai Chi, and Yoga. A black sash is wrapped around his waist with the ends draping to his left. It appears he is wearing what look like yoga pants and light athletic shoes. His focus is very intent on the candle.. as if nothing else exists around him.

How the fuck did Cris get here and why the FUCK is he wearing this scratchy ass turtleneck sweater and ridiculous wool cap. He's too busy checking out his reflection in a brass bell hung on the wall to notice the others pulled to this little fishing town tavern with him. "Screw it, I can pull his look off." He mugs for a minute at his own likeness, before he turns to the woman who is speaking.

OH... this fucking place.
Awesome.

But there he is, near midnight and finally able to take his damn shower in peace. NEWP! Gray Harbor is why you wear PJ's to bed. At least, if not soggy, the boxer is clean, but unarmed and yet still built like a Brahma bull waiting for someone to do something very stupid.. Like some bizarre episode of naked and unafraid is Joey pulling his towel around him. When you are unarmed the first thing you do is get an assessment of who is here, who is carrying, who is focused on what and... well it's kinda optimal even if everyone's not human and he's really armed with a towel and a hat for modesty. Eh fuck it. He puts the hat on.

"Thaaaaa fuck is this mess?"
He's so eloquent.

Strolling up to the bar he notes, "Cruz. On your left." Looking at the woman she gets a long once over but he asks, "Got a whiskey sour?"

It takes a few moments for Devlin to realize that this change in his environment was not due to a deeper focus. He takes a breath and blows out the candle before looking around the tavern. In all appearance for the moment to be calm. He cocks his head a little as he appears to have heard something to judge by his answer. "Hello Coira.. I do not recall a messenger of any sort. Mead please.. and hopefully a few answers."

Ruiz has been putting in extra hours at the precinct lately, on account of being promoted to the goddamned acting Chief of Police. The paperwork's a mile high, and showing no signs of abating. So it's probably no surprise that he'd started nodding off halfway through a particularly large stack of court disposals.

His head comes up with a jerk when he realises he'd started tipping forward in his chair, but he's no longer sitting in his office. Instead, it's some tavern he's never been to, and the woman who appears to be tending bar is no-one he ever recalls meeting. Of course. Because this is a Dream. His gaze ticks away as he takes stock of whomever else might have been dragged in here with him, and he pushes out of his chair slowly. The cop's in a button-down shirt and pants, sleeves turned up to his elbows, tie long since ditched in favour of loosening the thing by a couple of buttons. Because fuck that shit.

Itzhak is here too, it seems, not appearing per se as just...being there, when he wasn't a moment before. He's dressed funny in a cream-colored turtleneck and a tweed vest and trousers, and a gray flat cap tucked over his curls. "...what the fuck, did Carl Sagan dress me?" is what he has to say about this, staring down at himself in disgust. He looks up, looks around, clocking who's here--Cris, Joey, Ruiz, and that medic whose name he doesn't know, okay well we're in good shape there at least--and finally, to the woman at the bar. "...who said? Who are you? Where's here? ...did you say something about mead?"

Cris reaches over to slap Joey amicably on the shoulder, "If I'm stuck here, at least it's in good company." He makes a little gesture with his eyes to Devlin like, get a load of this guy before he realizes that 'oh, he's actually with them' and not some part of this Dream. "Don't worry, I got this." He tells his boss before he turns to the woman, scratching at his chest because wool is fucking ITCHY. "A pint of your finest mead, good lady, and tell us about your quest while we warm our bellies." At a stage whisper he says aside to Joey, "Usually I'm some kind of weird warrior in these things things, I never thought I'd miss my fucking loin cloth." Cris talks like he's some expert because of the total of TWO D&D World of Warcraftesque Dreams that make up his entire experience.

Joey rolls tired green eyes up at the ceiling because he's not going to direct his infinite ire to the barmaid. Nope. nopenopenope. Not getting angry with a lady while pantless. His mama would flay him.

Cris to the rescue. Whoda thought? The hand hthat hits his shoulder lands with a meaty slap. His eyes shift to a side-glance to his Lt. and he murmurs, "Well you're not taking mine. Not without dinner first." Well he's still armed with a bitter humor. "Roz. Cap. You." He recognizes Devlin but not exactly the sort he goes bowling with. This would require bowling. "Nice ears. Where the fuck are we?"

"Thank you," Devlin says as he accepts the tankard and then takes an experimental taste. He nods his approval of the drink as he also grabs his pillow. "Well if you needed a break from the never ending paper trail.." he smiles to Ruiz, "This might help or at least be a change of pace." The smile has that hint of Better you than me. He then introduces himself, "Devlin," the name offered both to the other dreams and Coira. He then heads into the room indicated by her.

Ruiz, watchful sort that he is, continues to take stock of the goings-on while the barmaid converses with Joey and Itzhak and Devlin. There's a brief glance shot the medic's way when the man addresses him, but no response regarding the change of pace. Weapon drawn, clip checked, he follows along with the others at a distance if it looks like they're moving out.

Itzhak sees Joey in varying states of undress so often around the gym that he hardly noticed the guy is naked and wearing a towel. That's a pretty normal state of Kelly as far as he's concerned. Cris is dressed as weird as he is, like they're on their way to a conference for eccentric authors. Devlin...he's not super sure he knows him on second glance, but he sounds like he's from their side of the border, so, good. Ruiz he smiles at, awkwardly, like fancy meeting you here, Captain Sexy Interim Chief of Police.

That barmaid is cute. Itzhak absolutely checks her out, eyebrows quirking. He doffs his cap to her (which is something he has no idea how to do in 'real' life, but here it just comes to him), saying, "The only one with a girl as beautiful as you?" smiling a little lopsided smile. But then business calls and like he knows what he's doing, he takes the mug of mead from her with a wink, and strolls into the room behind their, uh, host. With Ruiz having drawn his weapon. Itzhak isn't about to tell him not to.

"Yeah, Jesus Christ, put on some pants Kelly, before you poke someone's eye out with that thing." Not that he, himself, is offering to strip out of his sweater or anything. His bid ignored by the barmaids for mead, he's strolling over to try and steal a drink from one that Itzhak was served as they enter the room. No one should want to do this sober, least of all Cruz. "C'mon Sensei," This to Devlin dressed as he is. Once at the table, he flops down and props up foot in another chair, reaching for a bit of discarded bread.

"First time I have ever heard you fucking complain, Cruz." Words murmured but really he's too tired and disoriented for a friendly argument. Looking back to the local he pauses, and listens. While his face could out scowl a nun there's an eyebrow of interest and a nod, "Yeah, that'd be great. I really appreciate it, man." Looking back to the Barmaid he repeats, "Coira. Nice." The fact that they were cut off from getting the actual skinny not lost on them. Fuck it, he'll bite. He tells the local, "We'll be over here." It's Ruiz he waits for though keeping an eye on Devlin and Cruz and Itzhak running his mouth. Sure sure. It's the Captain gone Chief he's asking "What we thinkin man?"

A pull is taken from his tankard after he takes a seat. Devlin comments, "I can't say that would have been my guess." He then tears off a piece of bread. "No Sheriff around, I take it, to handle something like this for a guess.." He dips the piece of bread in honey. "What did this wizard do? And would be nice to know a bit about him." He smirks a bit, "Some how.. I don't think a Candigram for Mongo will work here.."

Ruiz was going to re-holster the thing right quick, soon as he was sure it was loaded. But when every single set of eyes turns to him in tandem, it forestalls any further motion from him for a minute. Shoulders tense, he looks from one to the next to the next like, the fuck is your problem? And then he spots the sign. And realises what the fuck their problem is. Which presents another problem. Because like hell he's checking his sidearm.

Maybe it'll be fine, if he isn't drinking or gambling. He drops into a seat at the table, folds his arms across his midsection, and stares first at Coira when she starts talking gobbledegook about wizards. Then at the others gathered around. Cris in whatever the fuck he's wearing, and Itzhak in.. okay, that's even weirder. Joey doesn't have pants on, and they're worried about his gun? "This is fucking ridiculous," he mutters to himself.

Itzhak allows Cruz to take a gulp of the spiced-sweet-but-not-too-sweet mead, before claiming his tankard back and drinking from it himself. Yeah, he's well aware of what happened the last time he drank Veil mead. Coira speaks for Ruiz's gun, and Itzhak adds in, "My man keeps his gun." Just like that. That's how it is. Devlin asks the important question, 'what did he do', and he asks another, "What kinda wizard?"

"Don't hate, appreciate." Cris tells Ruiz, not nearly as wary as any of the others. Last time he hit a tree with an ax and little creatures exploded into gold coins. Surely all Dreams are like that, right? "More importantly, the question that all my friends here aren't asking is....what the fuck is in it for us, us saving you from this wizard fellow. Don't think any of us are in the market for marrying your first born daughter or anything...well, maybe this one," He thumbs towards Devlin.

Joey listens and lets Cruz run his mouth in his behalf for now. He accepts the clothes and while he doesn't leave teh room to get dressed he does so mostly sitting down as they're in teh middle of the goddamn tavern and it's just kinda rude. These kncukleheads with him he is not concerned about. This wizard business? That's where his focus is while he buttons up his pants minding anything important to him.

"Never punched a wizard before." Food for thought. "So this like Legend of Shao Lin? Cut his wizard beard off or his man bun and he's powerless and shit or?" he lets her elaborate curious about what the altercation was that merited summoning this bag of ruffians.

Ruiz is trying not to smile when Joey brings up cutting off man buns and wizard beards, but one slips out regardless and ruins that otherwise surly look he's almost perfected there. Clearing his throat, he glances toward the window that Coira was gazing out. Two moons, and if she's to be believed, a third not yet risen. Auspicious indeed. Or cursed.

After pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment, he murmurs low, "And if we refuse, and walk away? If we have enough fucking problems of our own?" Which they undoubtedly do.

Devlin hmms as he listens. "Welcome to Deadwood..." he says to himself as he takes a deep breath. He then inquires, "Any information on the tower? Also, does the Wizard answer to anyone? And would they care about something happening to the Wizard?" He looks over to the chief seeing if the man has anything to add.. or may be to see a reaction. Then he looks back to Coira, "I ask as I don't know your laws and the situation. I know it may seem unusual but if you have a friend that can bring us here.. who can say if later someone else doesn't repeat things by bringing us here to answer for stuff."

Artifacts of power? Itzhak looks at the woman, interested. Then he follows her gaze out, to the moons. "We got more'n enough problems on our side of the border," he says. "I'm gonna need a guarantee." With that he steps close to her and offers her his hand. "Let me..." and hesitates, because 'read your mind' isn't exactly what he wants to say. "Let me see."

"Yeah, this is sounding more and more like why should we give a fuck." Cristobal mutters underneath his breath on the tail end of what Ruiz says, taking Itzhak getting up to get a handle on the woman's brain meats as an opening to lean over and snag that tankard of mead again and give it a swig. "At this point, whatever gets us home faster."

Joey listens, shirt put on with 0 pretense or panache. Joey's existence is purely perfunctory to a point of efficient. He is going to regret them asking but a glance to Ruiz letting the grin escape brings a brief, snorted chuckle from the boxer and a shake of his head. He just turned thirty and already he is grasping what 'too old for this shit' means.

When she carries on about bloodlust and ravaging the land he squints at her, "We date?" It is kinda a legit question. The rest of the story comes out and he says with some gruff sympathy, "Families are complicated." The story goes on and feet planted either side of the chair he leans back sucking on one eye tooth.

He gets very quiet. "Can I borrow the sword?" It's a simple request and he takes his mug of mead. "Oh and if you got the address to that hunter? That'd be super great." Glancing to Ruiz there's a silent conversation summed up as: We're paying that asshole a visit.

Looking to Devlin Itzhak and Cris Joey shakes his head, "When else you gonna be able to punch a wizard in their magic bag? It's another religious nut justifying abuse in the name of mystic bullshit. It'll take like five minutes."

"No," Itzhak says, and he never looks anyone in the eye, but he's looking into Coira's eyes now. Her disgust, her fury, he weathers like the tank he is. "That's not what I want to see. I want to see him. Not you."

Ruiz snorts softly at the assertion that it'll take five minutes. "Bullshit," he mutters, cutting a dark look Joey's way. As for him being a killjoy, well. Perhaps he is. Or perhaps he's simply a man who's lost too much in too short a time, and can't afford to lose much more. Maybe he's simply been pushed beyond his limit, and pushing him further might just break him.

He sends a long look Itzhak's way, then starts moving to his feet. He's heard enough, apparently. There's no attempt from the man to see this wrong for himself. Though he's watching Coira plenty carefully, in that way that he has. Like he's peeling back the layers to try to suss out what's underneath.

Devlin nods as he listens to her and sees her reaction to the demand to see. "Thank you for the information, Coria. And for the record, I believe you. I do not need to see. Yes, I willing to give it a go. Sometimes justice in a feudal style society can be difficult to get." He hmms, "granted.. I feel a bit under dressed for such an occasion. And just like my acquaintance mentioned, a blade or other weapon would be nice. Sometimes power is not lone winning factor in a case as this."

Cristobal is apparently sticking to his guns about 'whatever gets them home faster', but if they're going to be storming the castle, he's not going to do so on an empty tank. He smears a wad of bread into that honey butter and pops it into his mouth, talking around it as he chews. "Yeah, we're totally powerful. Worth at least one of those artifacts A PIECE if you ask me. So throw us some chainmail, slap us on a horse or whatever, and point us in the right direction. Let's slay some motherfuckin' dragons."

Joey watches Coira with that burning determination. Evenly he replies with his head tilting, "Oh, I'm hoping he doesn't. Dying's an important day in one's life. I want him to remember it . The details are important." Did Marcellas Wallace just threaten to get a couple of guys with blowtorches to get medieval on his ass? Yes. Yes he did. That's a fucking promise. His eyes shift to Cruz and back to her pushing himself to a stand. "I'll take that sword and a map." He looks to Ruiz calling bullshit and he says "Find a half hour. enjoy the no paperwork attacked to this part. It's like camping where we get to bear brawl the crazy ass wizard. I'll get you a merit badge." Honestly that they laid hands on the woman and are doing a witch hunt? That's enough for him. "Yeah you got the number to that hunter asshole too?"

Itzhak's eyes go unfocused, seeing what Coira shows him. ...Something about this man, in fact, reminds him physically of Ruiz, which is awful on several levels. He's passive, holding her memory in the rushing of a sea-cave, until she withdraws. Wicked stepmother... he knows this story, they all do. Maybe not in every story does the wronged princess get together a band of heavy hitters and thugs to right her wrongs, but hey, real life ain't a story, and he likes this version better. This version comes with punching.

He comes out of it, looks at her--and bows to her, one of his elegant soloist's bows, hand pressed to his chest. "We gotta lotta work to do." When he straightens, he knocks back the rest of the mead before heading out. He's gonna need that.

Ruiz just gives Cristobal a look at his chainmail and horse diatribe. All slanted eyes and slight sneer before it melts away. And if he notices Joey making a pass at the hot tavern girl, he gives absolutely no indication. Not yet, anyway. Not until or unless it starts slowing them down. "How far to the tower and in which direction? And if you.. have something of his. Something he's touched, something he's left behind. That might make it easier to find him." He's availed himself of a coat from the dishwasher who came through earlier with clothes for Joey, and tugs it over his shoulders now while they prepare to head out.

Well no surprise to Devlin seeing the assortment of weapons, "I'd suggest someone good with guns take the fire arms. Got luck with that high tech toy a while back." He then takes a staff that is just under shoulder height for him. Along with that, he takes several daggers that he sticks into his sash on either side and one hatchet that he sticks in the back. "let's hope we do not have to use these. If you have an aide bag.. I will use it for the wounded." He then adds, "I'm a paramedic. I know how to treat wounded in a battle."

"Fuck yeah, I'm taking a gun. And for the record, all you bastards are going to refer to me as Maestro when we get back home." Hopefully this world also came with some innate knowledge of how to use a flintlock, but hey. How hard could it be? Cris gets outfitted up with that and a few knives before he heads out to meet their mounts, getting on one with the ease of someone who has at least ridden a horse bareback in their life time. "I'm going to call you Cabrito." Pat pat.

Joey takes that sword. A few of them know he's actually adept with more than his damn fist. No one's asked why but that's not really the point is it? The point is on the other end of the beat stick labeled Wizard goes here. They ride and he cam'e help feeling a little bit like Angel Eyes short a cigarillo.

Getting to the tower it's ITzhak he tells, "No negotiating." he gets off his ass, literally, and plods over to the door. it's probably trapped. So was that invite for ribs where he got arrested. It happens. He looks to Ruiz, "You gonna talk cop at him or what?" Oh he's happy to come collecting but he's asking because the guy is in a fucking tower.

Itzhak has absolutely no use whatsoever for a gun. However, he takes a dagger, reminded of...of...he can't quite remember what he's reminded of. (A long black overcoat, lined with knives.) He finds a spot in his stupid Carl Sagan vest for it. Jesus, he feels like a dork in these clothes. But he gets to ride a goat! If that's a goat. "Alexander would love to meet you," he tells his mount, "you look like you're right off a metal album cover. Who's a good Satanic goat??" A Dream where Itzhak gets to meet a weird animal is a good Dream. ...with a few exceptions.

He slides off it before it can shake him off--a man who spends his life with big snakes has to have a feeling for these things--and narrows his eyes at Joey. But he merely mutters, "You're the boss," and looks up at the tower.

Ruiz gazes back at Coira flatly, meeting that brittle look with smoke and granite. He's still watching her when she returns with the brooch, and holds his hand out to accept it, chain draping between his fingers with a hiss of linked metal. It's turned over once, then again, his eyes narrowed as he gazes at the thing. Rubs his thumb over the winged animal articulated on the front. And power seeps out of him, quantized charge flooding circuit after circuit, shunting into the trinket in a feedback loop that arcs and sputters and finally dissipates.

The tower it is, then. And he knows just where to find this asshat. He'll even pick out a pistol, and one of those lovely long guns, but he'll absolutely not be climbing onto a goat. He's got two feet and a heartbeat, thank you very much. Once they've reached the gate, he pauses, turns and shoots Joey a dirty look. "Do you ever shut the fuck up, Kelly?" He already knows the answer to that. But he takes a big breath, makes sure their medic is in tow, and goes up to bellow at the door, "Abre la maldita puerta!"

Does that answer your question, Joey?

"Be adult about it.. Nice sense of humor you have there. Not like you have acted that way with her. However, if you can convince my companions to talk it out.. I'm good with that." Devlin's tone is perhaps a touch sarcastic. He holds the staff at his side, "Frankly.. I think my goat friend has more sense than you. Still.." He shrugs.

Dismounted and gathered with the others, Cris seems to take a position in front of Joey, like whatever is going to happen it's going to have to go through him first. "Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries!" He yells back to the voice that seems to surround them, then muttered, "I always wanted to say that." Then again louder, "Yeah, let's talk. That sounds great. Why don't you come down here so we can do that face to face, because this disembodied voice thing is WAY over done, man."

Joey lookst o Cris. DId he really jsut say that? "Nice delivery." The rare and elusive compliment from Joe Kelly. come down. Eh fuck it. Joey walks over and take s his size 10.5 boot (borrowed) and grips the handle and tells the door to open before he twists his knob right off. Funny, not the first time he threatened to break the guy's knob today. He's on a roll. And if he has to kick it down he's letting himself the fuck inside. "Knock knock, Avon calling, bitch."

Itzhak gets the stupidest smitten starry-eyed expression on his face when Ruiz bellows that order. He looks at him standing there all handsome and fine with a gorgeous long rifle over his shoulder, like a fucking boss, and hearts practically emit over Itzhak's curly head. Ruiz would tell him to get his game face on, though (if Joey Lee Kelly didn't whap him one to the back of said curly head first), so, uh, yeah, doing that, game face on. He feels the touch of the wizard's examination and hisses something foul in Yiddish, eyes widening because he can feel it, he can feel the intrusion learning things from him that he doesn't want to share. He snarls and the ground trembles, shuddering in the grip of his power.

He would tell him to get his game face on, the cranky Mexican. If he weren't so busy trying to figure out how to get that door open. Thankfully he's got a couple of physicalists along with him on this little outing, and and when their host refuses to open up in response to his summons, he steps aside to let Joey work his magic. With his boot, if need be. De la Vega's not above adding his own to the mix, either; they're getting inside that tower door by hook or by crook, and he's drawing his rifle as they cross the breach, and loading a round into the chamber. "Stay behind our medic, Rosencrantz," he tells the fiddler in a low voice.

Sometimes a bit of combat experience is a good thing, and this time Devlin reads our aging chump like a dime novel. "You just had to piss them off.. well.. piss this off..." The ol'e paratrooper knows that the unexpected can be a hell of a weapon. So in a graceful motion, he switches he grip on the staff and throw it hard like a javelin as he pushes it forward with Physical at the old man. May not be pointy.. but if it connects, should make further actions difficult for that old fart.

"Bro, you've been watching one too many Marvel movies and you are strange, but you're no motherfucking see-the-future Doctor Strange." As soon as Mr. Wizardpants so much as twitches with that staff, Cris is stepping full fold in front of Joey and mustering his protective force with a bow up of his chest like a bull rearing back with its horns. There is a yell of strain as the force wind knocks into him like he just took a baseball bat to the sternum and he gets flung backwards. That's going to leave a mark. At least it'll be on him instead of Kelly.

Joey narrows a scowl at the wizard. "For one, that ain't no proper wizard dress. For two? You dented my dude. NOT OK." The sword gets heft in his left hand. Really it's because prison teaches you rules about how to do the 1000 yard stare down like a finishing school for criminals, but Cris had to bring up Dr. Strange and Marvel shit and he's prancing around and just took the brunt for him so ya know? He deserves something. Right. Death march it is letting the explosions and blasts and doors blow up.

Don't look! DON't look!!!!!

Okay death glare on lock he pulls his presence to him off the room and rolls up there rolling that sword up almost Kendo style. "You think your stupid vision and treating us like that is what makes us become the thing you fear?" That swing stabs with purpose there. "Reap the whirlwind." Okay he might have watched Young Guns again the other night but damn they give good presence.

Ruiz knows what the so-called wizard is going to try to pull, before it ever comes to pass. And he's got his shot all lined up, but he doesn't take it. Because he has to be an idiot and shove himself in front of his boyfriend, who isn't quite quick enough to get the fuck out of the way. The wind strikes him full force in the chest, probably breaking a few ribs in the process, forcing the air out of his lungs in a noisy grunt as he stumbles into a wall with Itzhak gathered half into one arm.

And then he draws the pistol Coira gave him, that he'd damned well better have primed and loaded properly, and fingers the trigger as he tries to get a bead on that goddamned wizard.

Itzhak isn't quite quick enough, when usually he's damn near impossible to hit. Anybody can have an unlucky day. He snarls, "Javier!" as his idiot fucking boyfriend takes the hit for him, grabbing him to steady him as they both slam against the wall. Itzhak arrows a look over Ruiz's arm, an awful lancing glance at their enemy, no pity, no quarter. A wooden match wriggles from his pocket into his hand, and he cracks it in half with a tiny snap. A much louder CRACK thunders in the tower as the wizard's staff shatters.

Ok, missing with his thrown staff does not phase Devlin. He moves at an angle up to the wizard and makes a snap kick straight into the man gut, "Lets see you talk now..."

For a moment, Cris' shoulder fall as that wave of sympathetic power washes over him. A flicker of doubt in his eyes, was that chick actually lying and they all missed it? Is this really some lonely old man living his life in exile?

Ah fuck it, he really wants that artifact, even if it turns out to be a gold encrusted goat turd. Dante deserves something shiny.

One of those knives he armed himself gets flicked out, only instead of simply muscle propelling it, he uses his glimmer to make sure it hits its mark, right in Mr. Wizard's (damn that was a good show, I wonder if it's on Netflix) gut.

Joey has no time for this. For fuck's sake he's a goddamned hitman for Felix fucking Monaghan. He's been told there's a guy in the basement shoot him so I can tell you how to do his job. Is this against the Geneva convention" Eh probably. Might it bring about the end of their people? Well they're not his people and really if it's going that way best to be on the lady's good side.

The pleading comes. He braces for it and tunes it out. Everyone's got their reasons and adding insult to injury he takes the wizard's man bun like all wizards seem to have, and cuts it off. "If it makes any difference? I don't know you. I don't want to know you. You sent a hit man after a little girl. So she sent one after you. We...are the monster you created..." There's a pause and he adds, "Also your door is broken."

Itzhak's released against the wall with a shove, teeth bared at the fiddler in a guttural snarl of reciprocal challenge like come get some. Then all of Ruiz's focus is on the wizard they came here to end. The pistol in his hand, the bullet in the chamber and the gunpowder propellant that'll cause it to burst from the barrel in a sharp crack of report.

He hesitates. Just for a moment, he's uncertain. The people he came here with: Joey and Cris and Itzhak, they're on the wrong side of the law more often than not. But he's a cop. He swore an oath to serve and protect, and is that what he's doing here?

The thought is shaken out of his mind. And with the others helping him out by holding down his target, pinning him in place, it's a relatively straightforward feat to find line of sight, squeeze the trigger, and put a round in the poor man's gut. He doesn't stand a chance; it rips through his body like butter, tearing into vital organs, flaying him open as surely as any magic would have.

Itzhak would very much like to come get some, from the hot and furious look he gives Ruiz coupled with a growl. But the fight's still on, no time for flirting. "She was a little girl," he tells the unfortunate wizard. "She didn't. Do. Anything. How many other little girls did you try to kill because they were born on a day you didn't like?" His Song is running high, a silent symphony in full roar, trembling to be unleashed again; the staff was only an appetizer.