Mercator sitting on the table with his feet not quite reaching the floor, grinds another cigarette into the wood of the table and immediately lights another smirking and quietly chuckling at the bloody battle before him. he watches an apparent young man do a very interesting teleport slash, 'too much flourish, those scythes make it too complicated, very impressive though.' Mercator thinks to himself as the young man promptly cleave a man in half, Mercator laughs a healthy belly laugh as the body parts bounce off the floor and wall. 

he shifts his focus to another who seemed to simply be brawling with brass knuckles and a length of rope, as Mercator assesses him all he could think of was 'Vanilla mortal' right up until a Saphirim shouts his name to get his attention. 
"AKSELI GRAYSON AERSTEIN"
'Akseli, ill have to keep that in mind. someone socializing with an angel could be trouble...' but then the two women draw his eye, slaughtering their way through a crowd of mortals, the pair killing with brutality yet efficiency. right up until one of the women simply uses her fists to pound a man into submission and executing him to the muttering of "Amen". after this gun shot, the sounds of battle seem to quiet down and the final mortal survivors retreat from the bar.

Mercator jumps up on top of the table and claps his hands loudly but slowly. after the third clap he holds his hands together. "well done! Bravo!" Mercator glances over to the bar and teleports behind the counter. "Let me buy you all a round. you must be thirsty" he says as he reaches for the most expensive bottle of scotch in the place. Mercator also sets out an appropriate number of glasses, minus one for the Angel.