[color=silver][u][h3]Willamar “Will” Shriver | 8:15PM | London Pub[/h3]-Bloody Good Bar- Event[/u][/color]
[@lovely complex]

One moment holding his glass of brandy, eyes scanning the contents of one of the papers set out before him…the next, pushing his chair back from the broken table, and the man who had crashed through it. Coming closer to check on the man, it seemed apparent that he was alright. Unconscious, coughing up blood and teeth onto one of the papers (dammit), but alright enough.

Brows rising slowly at seeing the small posse of men approach, Will stooped a moment to grab the papers where they had thankfully not scattered too wildly, and held a hand up as he folded them, stowing them away in his jacket pocket, “Stop, I have no quarrel with you.” That worked to stop them for only a lone second, seeing him calm and speaking clearly, but they advanced all the same. He, on the other hand, had taken a quick sidelong glance.

The barman wasn’t at his place before the counter…drats, the man always took care of his business. Eyes back to focusing on the group, seeing as there was some distance between them; Willamar took the moment to duck along the side and behind the counter. Ah, there he was…the barman was unconscious on the ground, broken bottle by his head. Taking a moment to check and make sure the man was alright...all the same, the man wasn’t certain how the man would feel about having his firearms handled by even the most civil of patrons. Then again, his blooming headache was killing him.

Standing up behind the counter, Willamar held up the barman’s scattergun up over his head with one hand, really feeling its weight before cupping his free hand to the side of his mouth. Speaking with a loud, clear, and very stern voice that commanded attention, [color=silver]“Take it outside.”[/color] One of the disgruntled patrons took a step closer, and with a swift motion, the rifle was pointed his way, cool eyes not even locking onto him, [color=silver]“Now.”[/color]