[center][color=bdaf17][b][h1]July 29[sup]th[/sup], 2371[/h1][/b][/color][h3][b][color=bdaf17]6:45AM[/color][/b]
[sub][i][color=bdaf17]Royal Family ETA:[/color] 36 Hours[/i][/sub][/h3][/center][hr][hr]
[@Lady Amalthea]The bell of the front lobby rang again right as the cheerful morning greeting had left Lola's mouth. Looks like either somebody was looking for a place to use the bathroom urgently, or the weaponsmiths had their first customer for the day.

"I hope I didn't arrive too early, but I saw the door was unlocked," called out the distinctive voice of Florina Hale, or Flo as the Mark sisters knew her from the lobby. Florina was a refined woman with skin the color of coffee that had had a tad too much cream added, high cheekbones, wild, thick hair that had more than a minor amount of grey streaks and a steely gaze through eyes as dark as coal. She was one of the odd regular customers the shop had, making a visit at least every other week and almost every other day at most. Flo was marked as one of the even fewer non-noble members of the regular customers and she actually paid the asking price for weapons to boot. 

Normally she would choose the late, late afternoon for her visits, right before the storefront would close. Perhaps the imminent arrival of the Royal family urged her to fix some (or create new) irregularities in her schedule. Regardless, she was the type to wait quietly and persistently if impatiently until served. Dealing with her was not an urgent need, but one of the Mark sisters would need to see to her eventually.

[@Nallore] The man Anthony was waiting for stepped through the door of the coffee shop. His name was Lenard Marx and he was kind of a dumpy guy who had early balding issues reaching back to high school days. Luckily for him, the fashion of the day made his constant adornment of wigs socially acceptable rather than just an obvious cover-up for his lack of hair. He stood by the doorway, looking around for a few seconds before he spotted Anthony and made his way over to the table.

"Hey man, how's it been going?" Lenard covered a yawn with the crook of his elbow before blinking a few times. Clearly he was still not 100% awake yet, but he was here and interested in getting a conversation started. Well that and a hefty cup of coffee.

[@FantasyChic] Brandon had just set his drink down when two more people entered the bar. The one who seemed to take the lead was a man in his mid-to-late 50s and behind him was another who looked like he was in his early 40s. They both wore suits and definitely were not the usual fare who would show up at a bar this early in the morning, and they attracted the eye of just about every patron who still had their wits about them. The elder of the duo stepped forwards towards the counter, ending up right next to Brandon.

"Are you the owner of this bar, ma'am?" He asked as more of a courtesy than a serious inquiry. Both men reached into one of their pockets and pulled out what looked like wallets, they flipped it open to reveal police badges, a detail that most of the bar didn't miss. "NCPD. We're just here to ask some questions, if you've got the time, ma'am." Neither of them appeared to be hostile, nor did they appear or be aware of, or care about the many daggers being glared at them from behind.