[color=lightgreen][center][h3][i][b]Day 1: 17:30:05
The World's End Pub
Village of Pristupin, Libor Province
Republic of Polavia
[/b][/i][/h3][/center][/color][center][b][h3][i]Keodis Novikov[/i][/h3][/b][/center][hr]

The moment time ticked to a stop, Keodis crossed his arms. Not to be aggressive, or obstrepperous to his captors, but for another reason entirely. Watching the confrontation happen, he slowly undoes the velcro on his bulky wristbands.

[color=8dc73f]"WIZ-TAC, this is Battlemage Actual, we've got HVT confirmed. Moving to arrest. We'll be twenty mikes to primary extraction." [/color]

Fucking amatuer. Letting us all know you think we're done for. With the straps on the bracelets loose, he lifts his hands slowly, watching the floating vodka bottle over listening to the soap-opera next hostage over. The moment that bottle even wavers, shit will be kicking off. With the resident precog... yup, not in attendance to the stickup, there WILL be hell breaking loose here soon. All that needs to happen is one. Little. Distraction.

Suddenly, the Holding Witch at the back started to look like she convulsed.

[color=f7976a]"Idi Nahui!"[/color] Oksana yelled, in perfect, prim, Polavian, well and truly, a [color=f7976a]"Go Fuck Yourself"[/color] delivered in a manner that felt almost too cinematic.

The entire bubble of time burst.

[h3]Showtime.[/h3]

As soon as the bottle started moving in the air, Keodis' hands drop and one slaps the muzzle of the box-fed machine gun away from the firing line into his chest. Stepping inwards to make the gun worthless, he punches the other man in the armpit the moment he lifts a hand, and keeps engaged  to make sure that machine gun isn't used.

Struggling for a few seconds in their own scuffle, the moment his opponent kicks out at Oksana, Keodis seizes on the opportunity. One hand grabs the carry handle on the body of the gun, while the other spaces him for a shoulder tackle that sends his opponent stumbling back into the mob. If he broke his fingers hanging onto the grip of the gun... eh, they have mediwitches for that. Turning around, Keodis caps his whisky, and shoves the bottle into one of the enormous pockets on his cargo pants. Looking back, he looks across the state of the room.

Hold Witch: Still disoriented, has a gun, still a threat.
Battlemage Actual: Mobbed by Polavians, shocked and vodka-coated. Safely ignored.
Breacher: Human shield of Borys.
Former Gunner: Getting up, has a secondary weapon.
M4-Witch: Covered in acid, aim-opENINGFIREGODDAMMIT

Thinking quickly, Keodis slides off the armbands, and takes a pitchers stance. He takes a quick breath, before throwing one armband at full force at the M4-Witch. Now, here's a fun fact about those armbands. As you can guess, they're not decorative. When Keodis worked with Reactor, his main weapon was a modified version of a crew-served weapon that he carried around. A Mk. 19 grenade launcher weighs about 70 pounds without ammo, and about 90 with a full belt. Keodis wanted to stay in shape, so he got special armbands that had compartments for weighted sandbags, that he could use to keep up the arm strength needed to use his weapon if he ever needed to. All in all, each armband weighs about 45 pounds.

At about 82 mph, the M4-Witch is clocked in the side of the head with 45 pounds of sand and kevlar. She goes down like a dropped pig carcass in a meat processing facility.

The second wristband meets a similar fate, being flung (much more gently) into the face of a drunk Polavian who goes down just as hard. Stretching out his arm, he huffs softly while finishing off his whisky glass he abandoned at the beginning of the encounter. [color=crimson]"I should have stayed in fucking bed this morning."[/color]

Pushing off of the bar, he rushes at the now casting Former Gunner, grinning wildly as he grabs the stool out of the telekinesis and pulls hard, straining and eventually snapping the object out of his control. He proceeds to break the chair while swinging it into the side of the Former Gunner.

Looking at the dazed and bruised spec-ops fighter, a near-slasher grin spreads across Keodis' face. He grabs the poor soul's plate carrier with one hand, while looping his other between the man's legs. Lifting the man up on his shoulders, Keodis hikes the man over his body, and slams him vertically face-first into the bar in a standing brainbuster. Dusting his hands off, Keodis grabs the M249 by the handle, which was conveniently next to the now laid-out form of it's former owner, and starts walking around the side of the fight.

This plan is utterly derailed as he is summarily superman tackled out a window by a drunk Polovian, who he proceeds to punch the daylights out of. Rolling the slightly overweight man off of him, Keodis stands up, brushing off the glass shards on him, and looks down the street to see Borys' form swinging a bottle of... is that fucking Medilandia? Poor bastard didn't check the label before leaving. He walks over, pulling the intact whisky out of his pants pocket.

[color=crimson]"Well, that was... a way to wake up. Need a drink?"[/color]

[h2][color=crimson]"God, I fucking love Polavia."[/color][/h2]