[@BCTheEntity] [center][img]http://txt-dynamic.cdn.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjgwLmY4MGQxYy5WbWx1WTJWdWRBLCwuMQAA/chankenstein.regular.png[/img][/center] Analyzing the situation Vincent wondered how some had made it through without dying. The man who loudly announced his presence to the barkeep, strong looking, muscular man. The first masked individual he met and their inattentiveness. Someone could have taken advantage of that situation. The pretty boy who had currently walked up to everyone like some desperate attention seeking puppy. The female he met, albeit masked, considering her interaction with said pretty boy she didn’t seem too trusting of others. While she might be more skilled than some of them, he worried what such distrust could mean for her future achievements. He didn’t like underestimating people, but he also didn’t like to give them more credit than what they were worth. Worth. Like placing price tags on the value of a human life as if he knew any better than the toymaker themselves. Price was an arbitrary payment for life. No one could estimate the amount of value you’d get out of your own play time. Sipping on his apple juice Vincent sighed as the bar doors were kicked open. It’s like these people wanted to be killed on the spot. As they did a dramatic pose, and began over exaggerated gestures, like blood splattering and posing. Vincent saw many openings, he was impressed on the groups restraint. He didn’t know how long he could watch a man with white hair in a coat do as many melodramatic movements and convince himself why he was of any use alive. Was this a talent show? Or an important meeting he wondered. Perhaps they were going to get rated by their next dramatic introductions. Except stylish had never been Vincent’s specialty. All though with people on the roofs, loud mouth muscular men, people in Nazi costumes, people in mask, when they were called over Vincent asked for another apple juice. Walking over to the table he handed to the black man ,who had commanded them over, the boxed apple juice. “It’s on me,” Vincent told him. Hopefully this was acceptably flashy enough for them.