THE FIRST TROLL IS KNOCKED TO THE FLOOR BESIDE LIZARD-MAN, AND LIES FACE DOWN AS HER MULTIPLE GUNSHOT WOUNDS BEGIN TO STAIN HER SHIRT THE SICKLY TEAL COLOR OF HER BLOOD. SHE SPITS UP BLOOD, STANDS UP, AND WINCES A LITTLE BECAUSE WOW. BULLETS KIND OF HURT. SHE LOOKS AROUND, DOES A SICK YOUTHROLL OVER THE BAR, AND GRABS A BOTTLE OF THE MOST DISGUSTING, SICKENING BEVERAGE AVAILABLE, WHICH IS OF COURSE, FAYGO. 

SHE TAKES A FEW DESPERATE SWIGS OF THE SYRUPY FILTH.

SHE IS DOWN WITH THE CLOWN. 

WITH A REFRESHED SIGH, THE YOUNG TROLL DOES A DOUBLE FRONT-FLIP OVER THE BAR, PICKS UP HER MACE, AND TWIRLS AROUND WITH IT UNTIL IT HITS THE BALD-TENDER SQUARE IN THE FACE WITH ITS SPIKY BUSINESS END.