“Well, I wasn’t at Evergreen so I’ve not got much information to help with how the hundredth and seven works. Likely around that time, I was causin’ some trouble with either Legion or Condemn which puts me on more than a few folk’s shit list.” Remmy chuckled a bit then became more serious, a little gloomy than his usual cheer when he continued. “Sentinels aren’t exactly like the rest of the groups you’ve met already but we’re not saints either…”
 
At the last comment, his hand tightened over the glass he ordered as he turned to face the bar counter. His mind had wandered over the role he played during Simon’s captivity and again he was silent for a moment. In that time his eyes looked behind the bar, and peered into a dirty mirror were a few assortments of bottles were displayed. Its grimy surface reflected back the scene within the bar as he noted for the first time what tension from their reckless conversation had sparked. Remmy’s body stiffened at the rise in argument which he quickly realized had only one foreseeable outcome.
 
He leaned into Coltrane and Simon, his eyes still fixed to the dirty mirror, then whispered softly. “Brah, we might want to consider makin’ a fast exit…right now. Thin’s are gonna get ugly soon.”
 
Before either of the men could give a questionable look to him, the man in the back table took a swing at his dinner companion. That was all it took, a stupid mention for a swing and all hell broke loose. 
 
“Motherfuck-” Coltrane quickly ducked his head to the right as a tin mug filled with what was presumably whiskey swished past his head, towards the direction of the two men fighting just a little ways behind Remmy, obviously thrown by another pissed-off patron who’d taken offense to the scene ahead. Kicking his chair back, Coltrane made a frantic gesture for the exit as the society around them broke down but before long there was an already half-drunken regular who had probably taken offense to the fact that Coltrane was one of the few men unscathed compared to everyone else and decided to start another fight for the sake of fitting in with everyone else, and in the blink of the eye Coltrane found himself dodging yet another foreign object headed in his direction; in this case the clenched fist of a drunk.

Avoiding the first blow, Coltrane swung his elbow around towards the drunkard’s jaw with a degree of success but the self-perceived invincible man bounced back with even more furor moments later and managed to land a blow which left a darkened mark on Coltrane’s left cheek. Provoked, the ex-con threw his weight against the drunkard as he attempted to lay a second blow upon him and was able to seize the man by the collar of his jacket before shoving him aside stumbling into a row of chairs in an act of what was clearly self-defence. Addressing his two new companions, Coltrane gestured to the door “Fuck it, we need to leave.”

The drunkard stumbled backward mere inches in front of Simon. He heard the clattering, screeching wood of chairs and tables shoved aside and followed Coltrane’s lead. Glass, blood, and booze glistened on the dimly lit floor as Simon carefully stepped by patrons downed by too much drink, abuse, or both. He eyed one who lie prostrate, the back of their head shining in the dark. Scowling, Simon wove through the clutter until he felt a shudder at the base of his neck. 

Simon caught a glimpse of another drunk roaring toward. He ducked, and surprisingly, Coltrane responded with a turn of his heel. The drunk swung a half filled bottle high, but the ex-con took a boxer’s stance and parried. Instead, the bottle flung loose from the drunk’s grip, shattering, and sending bits of glass and gin over the still crouched Simon. Without a second thought, Simon propelled himself shoulder first into the core of the drunk. The two had only just tumbled onto the floor before Coltrane grabbed Simon by the collar. Remmy at point, the trio worked themselves into the line already streaming from out the bar.

While the two had been occupied with the drunk, it took Remmy sometime to seek out a guaranteed path through. However it was anything but safe as the three could easily see the mayhem edging into their path. Bar patrons, mostly burly and sloppily kept, were now tearing into each without restraint. Men were flipped over tables which soon after split in half with a loud crack. Chairs went flying into backs and all around, heavy hollering and shouts were heard. Remmy, Simon, and Coltrane kept their heads low while they wove in and out of the discord towards the line. The closer they got, the more hellish things had seemed to become. The line had sluggishly begun to trickle down as each man within in it made it outside. 

Yet, the sight the three had met hadn’t been much of an improvement; Coltrane’s eyes widened as he spotted a militiaman outfitted in pieced together military gear struggling to wrestle back his rifle from two other strangers who were trying to snatch it from his grasp, and elsewhere he could see several others involved in their own struggles and fights, some more one-sided than others. It seemed that pretty much anyone who looked like an authority or military figure was open season as far as these people were concerned, but neither Coltrane nor any of the others had time to contemplate this.

No time to think, to pause, to reach out. Simon moved with the surging masses outside the eatery. Raised fists and drunken chants, they had no time to contemplate this. He held his hands up with the image of old world boxers in mind. He heard a low whoosh and watched a heavy set man stumble past. Like a bowling ball, the heavy man tipped and rolled into those nearby. He watched it happen, but when Simon felt fingers clutch his ankle he felt a strong chill. As if on cue, those around Simon stomped. Something popped and collapsed under his boot. Simon went gaunt, looked around, but saw only faces taken by the rush.

Remmy shoved a large, sweaty man to the side, who tripped over a broken chair and crashed into the floor. However the Cajun didn’t seem to care as his arms wrapped about his side. His teeth gritted against the pain which flooded his side and made him winch against it. His breath became heavier before his head darted just to see Simon’s foot snagged. Before Remmy could rush to help, his eyes shifted to the movement in the mirror. Within it, a man garbed in military uniform raise a chair to his exposed back and face turned in fury to strike him down.
 
There was little time as he reacted quickly, pivoting on his foot to face the man. His hands came up and stopped the chair in the middle of the action. Remmy’s body tensed from the agony rippling across his frame. His fingers tightened and gripped the legs tightly, slowly pulled the chair from the soldier’s grasp. In a quickly movement, fighting through the hurt, Remmy jerked it to his side then kicked out his leg. A crack followed by the man’s yell, notifying the Cajun his foot connected with the knee. The leg crumpled leaving Remmy’s would be attack cradling his leg and on his side. Flicking the chair to the side, the bayou man turned back towards where he last saw Simon fall only to meet a bottle being cracked over his temple. He wheeled only to be stopped by one of the few still intact tables. Blood oozed from a nasty cut where the bottle broke over his noggin, small red lines dripped into his eyes blinding him as he tried to hastily wipe it away. The guy was readying for another assault, his hand rose what was left of the bottle high.
 
Remmy was helplessness. One hand steadied his balance while his body struggled to fight off those who pushed past, the next shove harder than the last and all seemed to threaten to knock him onto the ground. However, his luck held out yet again.
 
A gun fired rang out. It hard to tell where it came from or who fired it, but it didn’t matter. A panic spark among the patrons within the bar’s chaos and in moment, the crowd was rushing to the door the trio had. Remmy grunted the moment his body was swept away in the mass and to the outside. His hands waved side to side, sometimes hit someone and other times thin air while he tried to swim against the current. Mustered the strength remaining, he had jerked himself sideways and finally collapsed on all fours. His hand reached for his throbbing head as he tried to stand. He failed twice, miserably, his body shifted to his side. 

Scanning the surging crowd for any sign of his would-be companion, Coltrane’s efforts were to no avail as he found no sign of Simon among the masses. Instead, he looked back towards the collapsed heap which was Remmy and quickly rushed over towards him, quickly drawing the wearied man back to his feet with an almost apologetic glance for having not kept an eye on him earlier, before pressing on through the crowd with his other companion in tow. Eventually he was able to weave his way through an alley and from here he knew there’d be a short route back to the residential area where the two of them could grab some rest at Coltrane’s trailer before heading back out to find Simon. A few riled-up individuals met them along the way with jarring gazes, though they either backed down at the sight of an already frustrated ex-con and his weary companion or simply weren’t interested in acting. “Simon’ll turn up, sooner or later. You look like you could use some rest, anyway,” He muttered to Remmy, clearing his throat awkwardly “We’re not from my place now, just another block up.”