[right][h2]Morgan's Catharsis[/h2][@Tlazolteotl][/right]

Morgan takes a gander at the bartender before turning his attention to the others in the bar: a girl wrecking up some poor dolls, a hero lady with a turtle-necked dress asking to leave, some kind of scientist, and another girl anxiously huddled up in the corner of the bar. An interesting cast.

[color=brown]"Well, 'scuse me, lady. I don't mean no harm."[/color] He plucks the last wooden chip from his chest and picks himself up. [color=brown]"Would've loved to use the door."[/color] He grunts awkwardly; a bit of a headache, but outside of some wounds on his chest and the former, he's strangely fine. [color=brown]"You see, there was a bit of a mess outside..."[/color]

He considers the earlier shoot-out, the explosions and all, and shrugs. The inside of the bar was populated enough, no real fear outside of a single customer; as far as he knew, the battle was over and he was blasted into the afterlife.

Morgan trails off, dusting himself off with metallic arms. 

[color=brown]"'Spose I wouldn't mind a whiskey or two."[/color]