Malakii finally moved more than the usual and casual over the shoulder look, as his hand stretched outward and his fingers wrapped around the empty glass before the other patron. His lips did not part to explain why, nor did he look directly at the oddly attired creaturesque man, but instead he wiped the rim of the glass of the last droplets of liquid and ran his fingers beneath his nose. Just a small sniff and his eyes opened in surprise; a shock to his senses no doubt, as he bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood and moved slowly into a more meditative state. His hands clasped before his chest as he leaned towards the bar and closed his eyes, but the men who had just entered paid him no attention at all. They were glaring each and every one of them, solely at the bartender now huddled behind the counter too terrified to move. Whatever their motive, or their reason for being there, the barkeep wasnt equipped to handle them.

He shuddered and shook; his heart and breath matched up in a frantic race to a deathly finish, as terror overcame fear, and sickening dread washed over his features. Two of the uniformed men stood at the entrance and waited, while two more went to the back door and stopped. The leader; the soulless looking eyes of darkness embedded in a mortal mans head, walked calmly and slowly to the bar and rested his elbows on the hard wood. The last of the men; seeming distracted and new to the job, constantly twitching and looking about with paranoid spasms, hung close behind the obvious leader, but he did little more than grit his teeth against their shaking and his own nerves.

"Where is OUR.... Shipment?"

The leader spoke; lifting his eyes from the bar with a casual smile on his face. The bartender however was not smiling as he tried futilely to react or speak without stuttering and fainting.

"Sir its... its... its...."

His words were cut short as the black-eyed man reached across the bar in a flash; gripped him by the collar, and slammed his face back downward into the bar. Only to whisper the same question again, and draw out a small knife from his belt. 

"Where... is.. our... shipment mason? 

The thugs actions were too fast for a mortal man; too direct, concise, accurate for the average soul, but beyond that Malakii could feel even more going on. Each of the men who had entered took normal and calm breaths; as if perpetually patient and focused, but their hearts were now beating faster than he thought possible. Their muscles twitched and flared as they seemingly grew larger beneath the confines of their clothing, and the leader's brow was now slowly building a line of beading sweat. They appeared as though enraged and calm simultaneously; something monks and temple-goers had tried to do for eons, and yet it was apparent they were not mentally focused enough for it to be so. Something else was causing it.... 

The smell!... Malakii had sniffed the last drink the other patron had taken; the rim soaked with something he had never before witnessed, and now he was certain that whatever had been so enticing in the glass of strong brew his fellow drinker had consumed, was what these men were awash with. The same lingering odor of liquor hung on them, but each held the sickly sweet perfume that Malakii had now burned into his memory as well. In his state of semi-consciousness, Malakii did not move, nor did he act or react, but instead he focused so intensely on what was happening around him, that he could feel, hear, and smell everything nearby. From the blood running from the bartenders nose, all the way to the dripping sweat falling from the thug's brow.

"Sir, It.... It was stolen from the back room.... about four days ago... I had it under lock and key, but when I...."

The thug had obviously heard enough from the bartender, as he lifted the mans head by the tuft of dull grey hair at the back of it, and again slammed it downward. This time however, the mans body went limp from the impact, and a glass of vibrant blue liquor fell from the shelf behind the bar. As it exploded on the ground near the unconscious, and presumably dead bar-keep, the leader of the uniformed men rose up to full height and laughed...

"Clean up this mess boys.. no witnesses... burn it to the ground"

He whistled a light tune; smiling the entire time, as the two at the front door moved aside and he made his way out into the open air. He disappeared like smoke in the wind once the bar's door was closed, and now all of the other thugs were staring wildly at the two patrons still casually perched at the blood spattered counter...