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It was a balmy fall evening, and merriment was in full swing at Red Flower Restaurant.

Ying Wu sat in a chair in the corner, playing her pipa. From this spot, she could see her mother taking orders, her father and brother bustling in the kitchen, and several sisters serving patrons.

This was good. Ying Wu was content to have stayed there for an age, playing songs and watching the busy scene. Alas, it was not to last, for as soon as she had that thought, a group of seedy men had entered and were seated.

As she continued watching, the men started ordering...frankly absurd amounts of food. One hundred steamed buns, fifty dishes of bok choy, and a thousand pork dumplings, were they serious!?

When her mother went over to apologize because they didn't have enough ingredients to make such an amount of food, let alone the time, the apparent leader, a man wearing a red bandanna, slapped her.

"Listen up!" he declared. "If you can't make the food, then you owe us a debt. Give us 100,000 dollars or this place is mine!"

"We don't have that much money!" One of Ying Wu's sisters blurted out.

"Then this place is mine now! And I say it needs a renovation!" The man flipped over a table and began shattering glassware.

The patrons, sensing either a brawl or a massacre, ran for the exits. Ying Wu's family seemed frozen in fear. Then some thug decided it would be fun to throw some carving knives at the girl playing a pipa in the corner.

Ying Wu struck a chord and the spirit of her great-grandfather picked up a fallen bench to block the knives. Another chord, and he hurled the bench at the stupid thug. It nailed him in the head, and he fell down, insensible. To bystanders who are not mystics, the chair started floating and blocked the knives, then threw itself at the thug when the chords were played. Nobody picked anything up, honest!

The gang of men seemed even more angered by this. "You witch!" one of them shouted. "You'll pay for this!"

Ying Wu plucked two notes and her great-grandfather struck a fighting pose in front of her.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Jul 18th 2018 at 2:06:16 AM

At one of the tables, a pair of gentlemen continued to eat their meals.

One was a youthful looking dark haired man, dressed in a fancy tuxedo, with a black rose pinned upon his chest. He was handsome beyond any mortal capabilities - there was an uncanny sort of look to him. That this was not human, and any attempt to quantify him as one would fail.

Ergo, he was the sort of beautiful individual spoken of in such works as the Great God Pan.

He sat across from an established looking noble, completely black eyes covered by equally dark glasses, a petticoat and well worn upper class clothes giving an air of nobility to this dark fellow. His long black hair proceeded down his back a good amount, and his skin was as pale as milk.

The first man said to the second, "My this is a different sort of evening entertainment, Lugh."

The second - obviously named Lugh - replied, "And you are certain that this will be where your son will make his entrance upon the stage?"

"I'm certain...oh, oh uh waiter!" The first man called seemingly obliviously to one of the men ransacking the place, "I need some more of that fantastic fish they were serving. Be a dear and get me some."

Restaurant

Matt was not having a good day. He had decided for some inconceivable reason that it would be a good idea to spend his money on some local cuisine instead of saving it and eating some food he was familiar with.

He wanted to open his book, but figured that it would be rude to read in the middle of a restaurant. He was really regretting leaving his hotel room.

Then, he suddenly saw some guy go nuts, followed by a chair lifting from the air to attack the guy and his companions. Wonderful. This was just getting better and better.

His first instinct was to pick up his sword and get in a fight with the men, although the chair could probably do that on its own, but, well, he'd left his sword at the hotel room.

His second instinct was to go for his spellbook. Come on, come on, give me something useful... he thought as he flipped through the pages.

He found a surprisingly ordinary spell for curing warts, followed by a spell that killed all nearby mailmen... That won't be useful unless one of these gents has a side job at the local post office... followed by a spell that could summon any piece of literature by Mark Twain, followed by a spell that summoned a bag of potato chips from exactly 30 years in the future, followed by some other, equally useless spells, followed by a spell that made its target permanently take on the appearance of Sir Oswald Mosley.

And the one that made its target look like Oswald Mosley was the most useful one the book had given him for today. This was going to be a long day...

The spell normally took fifteen minutes to cast and a willing target, but the book outlined several shortcuts. He skipped over the possible problematic side-effects, stood up, and cast the massively-shortcutted spell. It took all of fifteen seconds and some garbled speech in a language that had a passing resemblance to Irish Gaelic.

There was a flash of weird reddish light for about a second, and when Matt's eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness after the bright flash of light, the thug looked like a maybe twenty-thirty year old version of the old British Fascist, albeit in very, very different clothes than the real Mr. Mosley would wear.

Matt doubted the spell would be immediately useful, but it would be helpful to the cops when they tried to track down the scumbag. Matt was satisfied.

Then, he realized that he felt a bit... off. His body wasn't correctly proportioned. He remembered the one other time he had felt like this...

Shit.

He looked down, skimming through the page to the possible side-effects he had passed over on his first reading. Among the typical explosions, temporary mental illnesses, and possible extradimensional entities the spell could attract, there was only one that affected the caster's appearance.

Roughly translated, it read: "The most probable outcome of casting the spell hastily, however, is that a temporary version of the spell's effects will be reflected onto the caster. Fortunately, the maximum amount of time this will last will be a few months, and it is typically even shorter."

Damn. He now looked like a twenty-year-old version of a notorious British Nazi sympathizer. This was going to be a long day...

Edited by SomethingRandom113 on Jul 18th 2018 at 5:43:17 AM

A young, rather nondescript man entered the restaurant, carrying a stick. He sat down and ordered a cheap meal.

This is a rather pleasant place he thought. And the prices are good.

Then he noticed the rough crew coming up.

None of my business. Ignore them.

Then they started wrecking the place.

Sigh.

He got up, and started walking towards them.

Before he reached them however, he saw an man in old-style clothes appear out of nowhere. Clearly a spirit. Then the spirit picked a chair and BAM! beaned one of the thugs!

You go, Ethereal One!

Taking advantage of the distraction, he jumped into the fight as well, his Bo Staff twirling: Whoosh Whoosh Whoosh WHAM!

"UGGH!!" Another thug knocked out!

But there were still plenty left!

Then suddenly- there was a flash of mystic energy, and one of the thugs turned into- some Caucasian dude? Was that on purpose or a magical misfire?

The young man looked around, trying to spot the source of the spell while keeping an eye on the gangsters.

Edited by Sijo on Jul 18th 2018 at 7:15:02 AM

Well, this was getting curiouser and curiouser. Evidently, some Upper-Class Twits were not concerned with the brawl going on around them at all, and in fact demanded fish. And then a thug got turned into a Westerner by some kind of cosmic fart or sorcery or something!

(These things just seemed to happen, nowadays, with no rhyme or reason and with the ease of breathing. Ying Wu found it best to merely blink and move on. Quickly. Before you got hurt.)

Ying Wu was shaken out of her contemplation of these strange events by her great-grandfather's echoing voice.

"Ying Wu! We have to serve the paying customers and kick out the non-paying ones!" he cried.

"You mean, give them their fish?"

"FIIIIISSSSHHHHH!"

On that note, Ying Wu started strumming an upbeat melody. Great-grandpa went flying across the room and decked the thug-turned-Westerner-for-seemingly-no-reason. Said thug went down.

Ying Wu dashed across the room with her pipa, picking up a dish of fish from the kitchen window on the way to the Idiotic Rich People's table. She set the dish down gently.

"Thanks for coming to Red Flower Restaurant!"

"_{Shhh! They can't hear you!} Enjoy your fish!" Ying Wu said in her best chipper tone. Then a thug went in for a punch to her face.

She strafed to the side, and plucked five notes. Accordingly, her great-grandpa threw five punches. It was like being punched by an octopus, if octopi had fists and knew how to punch. The thug went down, sporting five bruises and very, very confused.

Ying Wu scurried back to her chair and tried to pretend she hadn't ever left it.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Jul 18th 2018 at 4:47:37 AM

Restaurant

Wolfang smiled and waved at the girl, looking at her spirit grandpa for a moment as if just to indicate he could see that, and then started crudely wolfing down his fish. It was apparent he was either hungry or simply really enjoyed the taste.

One of the thugs however was not having how Wolfang basically ordered them to get him stuff, as if they were waiters here too.

"You son of a bitch! Just sitting there chowing down! We're not to be fucked with, you hear me!?" He walked over, gesticulating violently and waving a knife at Wolfang's face.

The rich man stopped eating and stared at the thug, really showing how young this guy seemed.

Wolfang's eyes filled with wonder, "Do you mean to...to threaten me with violence?"

"Yes! I'll fucking kill you you dumb rich westerner!" The thug moved closer, grabbing Wolfang by the collar and holding the knife in front of his throat.

Lugh did not even move - as if he thought that his employer / friend could handle this by himself. "Wolfang...it is unsightly to play with your food."

Wolfang looked over at him and gave an exaggerated sigh, "Fine. I'll go ahead." He then looked at the thug and simply said, "Okay, {Commit Suicide with your own weapon}."

Police Car on Route

Matsuki Kyonori sat in the back of the car as his partners for this drove the car - he'd been feeling tired lately, so many bad guys brought down but not a one of them was linked to...to him. But today Matsuki felt different. There was a weight settling on him. An evil eye of sorts.

He knew - he just knew that his father was near.

His hand quivered - his feet were shaking.

He hated his father. More than anything else. There was nothing else in the world that made him feel hate like this than his father. He remembered the abuse, the tests, the damage, the bruises, the injections...

Before long the shaking was replaced with cold, calm precision. He was gonna get that bastard, finally bring him to justice.

He had to get over his fear of the man and replace it with bravery.

A Scene of Horror

The thug suddenly raised his knife, backed away a bit, his face screwing up and he seemed to realize his movements were not his own. His arm whipped up, repositioning the knife.

Wolfang smiled, and watched, bringing up his empty wine cup.

The man managed to beg, mostly because Wolfang wanted him to, "P-P-Please! Whatever you are, please no—-don't—-"

He was struggling as much as he could to stop himself - Wolfang let him struggle, let him keep the knife away for oh thirty seconds, and then just overpowered him with a single thought.

The thug brutally slit his own throat and yanked his head back.

Within moments, both Wolfang and Lugh refilled their previously empty wine cups.

"How about we give Fong the pity date. It's on his list right?"

The radio squawked out jokes to Fong and he laughed along with them. His uniform jacket and gun laid on the carseat next to him as he sat in some godforsaken alley, staking out some spot a civvie report had supposedly said was another potential Feng Shui site. This new lead though, of a dustup at a restaurant, that had him going

"Fuck you guys." He drawled into his own radio with a laugh and started his car. "Thank god actual crimes sometimes happen at these spots or I'd be bored out of my skull."

Now, a good sign as he pulled up to the scene of the stickup was that he didn't hear any gunshots or spot any bullet holes in the exterior. The first responder patrolman had reported the disturbance, but he had to get to a more important thing going down a few blocks away; they tagged out and left Fong to clean up the mess. Typical. He could see shit getting real through the windows though. Weapons coming out. Shit. He thought he saw some shit get thrown but it was indistinct. Some guy probably just got that knife wrestled into his neck like that, again unclear from the distance and a bad angle.

Backup was close though, he could take this for now. Fong pulled his radio out. "Bad news, guys, gonna actually need backup here. Easily half a dozen people in there, armed confrontation. Civilians in danger." In one smooth motion he put away his walkie, drew his pistol and, more importantly, his badge, and went in.

Fong kicked the door open and held up his badge with his pistol braced against that arm as he would a flashlight.

"POLICE!" He roared, "HANDS IN THE AIR NOW! EVERYONE!" He swept his vision around. Mostly civvies but there were plenty of gangsters on the floor. One with a stab wound. One carrying an antique staff, which seemed like bullshit idiocy, but on the other hand it had very suddenly become his job to believe in the impossible. He owed it to the chief to do that job earnestly, so...

"Put the staff down sir." He pointed his pistol at the staff fighter, then swept it over to the musician. "The biwa too, ma'am." He swung to the remaining thugs. "May as well make the frisk easier for us later too, pals."

Matt put his hands in the air really high and hoped nobody noticed that he looked like a younger version of an old British fascist.

Fucking cops. With his luck, they'd arrest him, then deport him to the Soviet Union because they thought he sounded like he might possibly have a faint Russian accent...

Wait, could they actually do that? Probably, but he wasn't sure...

Focus, dammit. You don't speak the local language, so you should be trying extra hard to act like you know what they're telling you to do so they don't arrest you for not complying.

He focused on what everyone else was doing.

Jesus Christ, this was going to be a long day...

Well, damn! A guy was just compelled to stab himself! Ying Wu couldn't say he didn't have it coming. That certainly explained why the two rich Westerners were unconcerned with the fight—they probably weren't even Westerners but something even more powerful in disguise. Getting the willies in the middle of a fight like this was a serious annoyance. You couldn't know whether the feeling came from the fight or any malicious spirits nearby. Well, at least she knew now.

And—hold on, there was a guy that looked exactly like the thug that got turned into a Westerner. He had an open book nearby, but from where Ying Wu was sitting, it was filled with gibberish. Perhaps it was, you couldn't really tell these days. Whatever. It was hilarious. Ying Wu vaguely hoped the book guy didn't cause more cosmic farts like this.

And then a cop arrived to save the day! Hip hip hurray!

...

...

...

...He called her pipa a biwa.

There was a thunderous silence from Ying Wu and her great-grandpappy. Both turned to face the cop stonily.

"It's a pipa, _{you fool,}" they both intoned with the air of someone who was severely constipated while leaning down and placing the biwa, no, pipa next to her chair.

Meanwhile, the thugs reacted as idiotic thugs did.

"Oh shit, it's a cop!" was the general agreement.

"A cop! Singular! What the heck do I pay you all for! Get him!" the leader with a red bandanna shouted. The thugs all turned and looked at each other. Then three brave fools charged at him.

Edited by JumpingFruit on Jul 19th 2018 at 2:35:56 AM

Even in the chaos going on in the room, Sijo did not miss the fact that someone had just used a "Word of Power"- or that one of the goons suddenly sliced his own throat!

His priorities immediatelly changed: he looked around until he found the guilty sorcerer- one of two Westerners who were eating completely undisturbed by the violence. Sure, he still wanted to stop the thugs, but those who abused magic for their own gain were a greater menace.

But how to deal with him? Perhaps the old food-plate-to-the-face trick would keep him from talking long enough to-

"POLICE!" someone roared, "HANDS IN THE AIR NOW! EVERYONE!"

Oh, now they show up.

Sijo let the staff drop. At least this matter was no longer up to him.

Or was it? Because the punks were ordered by their boss to attack the seemingly single police detective.

Damn.

At the Hong Kong-Guangdong border:

A secret operation was taking place between the area. In cooperation with British Forces Overseas Hong Kong, the Special Branch mounted the op to eavesdrop on a secret meeting with a pro-communist mole planted in the colony and someone from the mainland or someone who traveled via the mainland to conduct the meet.

The area was usually only for illegal immigrants from the mainland trying to set foot in HK to make a better life for themselves or their families. But lately, SB has received reports that the area was used by criminals and suspected terrorists for exchange of information/materials or to get weapons and equipment across the border.

The RHKP Commissioner gave the order for SB to work together with BFOHK forces (and secretly with MI:6 agents stationed in HK) to conduct recon for a few nights and see what was happening. The various observation posts near the border would also assist in recon on the border as an extra pair of eyes.

For the 3rd night, they hit jackpot.

Gurkhas stationed with the 48th Gurkha Infantry Brigade, working with fellow Gurkhas from the 2nd King Edward VII's Own Gurka Rifles and the 6th Queen Elizabeth's Own Gurkha Rifles, have reported possible sightings of the target somewhere in the Lo Wu area in the North District.

(Senior) Constable Mark Lau Chung-kwok of the RHKP was in a covert observation post, positioned in Sandy Ridge. He was working with a British expat, who was of higher rank with a few Hong Kong-born officers. They were accompanied by some soldiers in the Royal Signals and in the Royal Hampshire Regiment to provide comms and operational support just in case.

For the operation, the SB officers were wearing British DPM uniforms with RHKP black berets to conceal their presence in the area.

"We have a report of the target already making contact." Mark showed his British superior the photo of an East Asian man in their RHKP folder.

"How long has the suspect made contact?" The British man asked.

"It just started."

"Right. Tell the Gurkhas to keep an eye on them. Inform the others that we need to capture the man's contact before he can get back to Guangdong."

"Understood, sir."

Mark spoke to a RS soldier and told him that he needed to speak to the Gurkhas ASAP.

Wolfang turned his head lightly to look at the policeman who so rudely interrupted, and tilted his head a little bit. And then he promptly went on eating his fish. He could feel it - that boy was going to be here soon. Which just meant to Wolfang that he needed to finish up his meal soon so he could get right to the main event of the evening.

Making sure his son knew his fate was still not his own - and following that by calling in a certain somebody.

The chaos in this town was nice and all, but with just the triads and such fumbling around he needed to liven things up a bit. And what better way to do that than introduce a calamity?

Matsuki got out of the car in a hurry as soon as it parked, running at a full tilt to make it to the restaurant on time. On that same token, it was relayed to the lone officer already there that "back up is on its way."

Matsuki remembered the last day he saw his father, and the state his mother had been left in as a result. He swore that day he would bring his father to justice, no matter what his father truly was. He'd just assumed he was some sort of international man of intrigue, but the more he learned in this job the more he realized his father was some sort of unspeakable horror.

And what, pray tell, did that mean for Matsuki himself?

No time to navel gaze, he scolded himself, time for a brawl.

He barreled into the restaurant just in time to see some goons rushing his fellow officer. Running into action, the younger officer clenched a fist and then slammed it right into the face of one of the gangsters rushing at his fellow officer.

Owing to Matsuki's abnormal strength, this sent the crook basically flying backwards, face badly injured looking.

"Apologies for not getting here quicker."

A thug that did not look like Oswald Mosley came crashing into the table of a man who was not a thug, but most definitely did look like Oswald Mosley.

Matt cursed as the table was knocked over, and his meal spilled all over the floor. His book was right in the middle of it, but Matt knew from personal experience that the thing was damn near indestructible and did not stain. Which was fortunate, since if it could stain, it most certainly would be indecipherable from all of the liquids spilled all over it.

He stopped putting his hands in the air, reached down and picked up his book, and wiped some food and sauce off the cover.

The crook got up.

Matt shoved him back down.

He then sat down and began casting a spell that would summon a bag of potato chips from 30 years in the future.

He suspected that it would be his last chance to get something to eat before he got arrested for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. And looking exactly like a 20-something-year-old British fascist.

Edited by SomethingRandom113 on Jul 20th 2018 at 6:45:00 AM

Just when Sijo pondered if he should help fight the remaining thugs, someone else -another policeman, apparently- showed up and knocked one of them clear across the room.

More superhuman stuff, he decided. This is not my lucky day. That damned fortune cookie was right.

Still, he decided to wait and see what happened. Maybe his help would be needed, maybe not. If bullets stared flying however, he would dive for cover. He was a nice guy, not a martyr.

Meanwhile, he kept staring at the eating Westerners. He just noticed something odd about one of them, the one who looked too handsome to be real: there was an aura around him. A glamour perhaps? It would explain his appearance. But that could mean he was not even really human.

Hoo boy. Things could get real messy here, indeed.

He decided to play a wild card.

"Hey, spirit" he whispered, in the tongue of the dead, "I probably do not need to point this out, but if people die in here, it would really mess the Feng Shui. We should do something to stop this violence, as soon as possible. Keep an eye on those Westerners. One of them got one of these thugs to slit his own throat."

Edited by Sijo on Jul 20th 2018 at 12:00:27 PM

Wolfang looked out over the ensuing chaos, now...now this was exactly what he liked. His son embroiling himself, these other people...quality entertainment for the evening. He tapped his ear a few times, and listened in more keenly - and in the process ended up hearing what Sijo said to the old spirit. He stopped sipping at his refilled "wine" and brought the cup down.

His eyes fully open, unblinking, looking around.

A crooked smile showed on his face and he looked over at Lugh. "That gives me a most interesting idea. Lugh, go join the fun. I want the evening entertainment to get a bit more exciting."

Lugh looked over at him and simply nodded, "It shall be done, sir."

The well dressed older man tilted his glasses and stood up, prim and proper, pushing his seat in and looking around.

Matsuki's eyes widened as he saw Lugh slowly approaching - he had no idea what that man was, but the air of sheer nonchalance to him was unsettling. He knew it now, his father was here.

Looking around between fighting off goons, he saw the very image of himself, sitting at the table. He heard a voice inside his head as he stared a bit too long, "Don't stare, boy, its rude."

He gulped, the shaking momentarily returned - such was the result of just hearing his father talk for the first time in years.

Matsuki didn't entirely lose concentration, which a Triad goon learned when he backhanded said goon rushing at him from behind.

Another cop arrived! Hip hip hurrah! It seemed that the backup was beginning to get here. That was good.

Meanwhile, the Westerner-who-got-turned-into-another-Westerner summoned a bag of potato chips. Somehow. So he was the one who caused the cosmic fart. Huh.

Ying Wu's great-grandfather whooped and beat up goons to the tune of a cheerful folk song about picking flowers and chasing butterflies. He heard someone talking to him.

"Man, silly boy, I died in here and it didn't mess things up any. That said, I am doing things!"

"The word should be WE!"

"Yes, we're doing things!"

Both great-grandfather and great-granddaughter kept an eye on the Westerner who was getting up from the table, however. Was he about to start something?

"Assholes." Fong growled, and kicked a chair across the room to slow down the remaining goons coming for him. With time bought from everyone else's shit though, he had plenty of time to sight and pop their leader square in the knee to down him, then keep backing away from his cronies. Someone else pulled out some chips and another asshole fucking stood up and approached them. He was losing control of the situation; Fong needed to reassert himself. He snapped to the white guy. "Stop where you are! On the ground! Everyone in here is being taken into custody. You will be released as soon as police reports can be filed." He jerked his head at his backup, the foreign kid he'd seen around the bullpen. "Kid, you doing okay? You got a pen and paper on you? We're gonna have to get some statements." He scowled. "Hell of an arm you got, by the way, thanks."

Sijo had to shake his head at the spirit's response. Oh well just because you're dead, doesn't mean you're enlightened, the world had plenty of wandering spirits to prove it.

"Were you forced to commit bloody suicide?" he again 'said' in speech only spirits (usually) could hear, "Because that's a bit different from dying peacefully surrounded by loved ones, you know. Bad Karma, to use a Buddhist term."

But then he noticed one of the 'Westerners' had gotten up and was heading towards them. To attack or to help, impossible to know, his face was unreadable.

The older policeman continued to bark orders and act as if anyone would listen. Well good luck with that, he had already submitted and did not intend to do anything else unless forced to by circumnstances. Which he had a feeling, still might happen.

Matsuki

"Yeah I got some in my backpack..." He then wheeled around and punched one of the goons hard enough to send the thug down with a concussion. The young man then looked over at Lugh as the dark clothed noble made for one of the deputy leaders of the crime group.

Something told Matsuki what was going on was going to be exceedingly sinister.

The criminal lieutenant seemed to start shouting at Lugh, followed by Lugh's shadow...

Lugh stood there and as the criminal he was about to be entangled with rushed at him with a spike inlaid bat, Lugh's shadow reared up, sprouting about a dozen mouths full of teeth shaped like razor blades.

The man had no reason to doubt what he saw - and indeed knew no better - screaming and trying to run. This did not save him.

One wrong trip on a chair he had not seen - had it been in his sight? Or had it somehow slipped from notice? - and half the man's head and most of an arm was ripped clean by the "illusion".

Lugh however was not done. He pressed a palm against the dead man's head, or whatever remained of it, and intoned, "Come forth from the depths of Naraka - Enku, your breath aflame, inhabit this designated earthly form as I call you forth."

Matsuki took a step backward - Lugh straight up murdered a guy, granted a criminal, and then...said something to the corpse.

The body got back up, quivering, purple flesh generating out of the wounds, mouth hanging open, smoke starting to generate from the throat.

The new left eye had a red sclera and a black spade shaped design at the middle. The creature - an Enku, a specific type of Preta - wheezed and then blew a burst of flame into the air.

Wolfang meanwhile clapped energetically, enjoying the show.

A sudden gunshot rang through the air – a piercing noise that would make any nearby ears ring – as a bullet impacted with the ceiling, carving a neat hole into it and sending a small shower of dust onto the floor.

It was a warning shot, clearly. Specifically from the man who had just entered the restaurant. He was dressed in a heavy trenchcoat over a slightly crumpled black suit and tie, pistol still trained upwards as he scanned the whole room over with a severe expression.

Spirits, creatures, innocents, and not-so-innocents galore. Typical.

To those spiritually inclined, they would note a glaring aura of surrounding whiteness on the outline of the newcomer, rippling out of his form in tendrils of light like it was leaking out of him. A nauseatingly high-pitched, piercing tone accompanied it, one that occasionally flared in volume only to settle down again in a repeated fashion.

Its chaotic, impatient fashion was in contrast to his impassive face, although there was an edge of clear irritation to his voice when he spoke up.

“Care to stop for, oh, half a second? Breath, even? Let everything sink in? Because I wanted a cup of Chun Mee, and I'd rather wait until someone has the decency to tell me what the hell's going on before I pull the damned trigger.”

Edited by Enirboreh on Jul 22nd 2018 at 1:29:31 PM

Hong Kong-Guangdong Border:

"All units! Action, action!!"

After Mark got the confirmation that an exchange was made, the Gurkhas immediately rushed into the scene to confront the spy and the person who infiltrated the border region from the mainland.

Police Tactical Unit Alvis Saracens were immediately mobilized with armed PTU officers ready to use their AR-15s when needed. Choppers from the Royal Hong Kong Auxiliary Air Force flew overhead to deploy Royal Hampshire Regiment soldiers to secure the cordon and provide support in case things go FUBAR.

Mark and some SB officers in DPM and RHKP berets made a mad dash to their targets. They were armed with AR-15s to blend in with the main PTU unit.

They surrounded the two men, ordering them to give up and put their things down with their hands up.

The British SB officer noted that whatever was in the duffel bag, they needed to examine it at once.

The older cop was barking out orders, but Ying Wu ignored him for the moment.

Ying Wu's great-grandfather made a shooing gesture in Sijo's direction. "I died terribly and painfully of a curse. And I think this place is just about done for anyways."

"HOLY—" Ying Wu screeched as the Enku appeared, warping the poor thug's corpse terribly. She fumbled a few notes, causing her great-grandfather to fade away, swearing a blue streak.

"C'mon! I taught you to play better than this, girl!" More mumbling, and he faded away.

Then another cop(?) barged in, demanding to know what was going on. Ying Wu had the willies.

"Some thugs smashed up this place because it's a Feng Shui site and they want to own it. Then everything kind of went to hell," she said shakily. "Should I go and see about your cup of Chun Mee?"

The thug leader and the rest of his gang all piled out of the side door while this was happening, screaming like the world was ending. (To be fair, it probably was going to. Later.)

Ying Wu's family cowered in the kitchen, having bolted and locked the door.

The Enku promptly rushed at Ying Wu - deciding to go for the one with the "tastiest" seeming energy. It didn't like the older cop, and the younger cop radiated a sense of murk and disgusting darkness. Pretas mostly had to subsist on the grime of society - so of course seeing Ying Wu it went for her.

It promptly breathed a torrent of flame at her once it closed the distance enough.

Lugh just stood back and watched, adjusting his glasses.

Shen blinked, apparently surprised by Ying Wu's willingness to serve him despite what was going on, before shaking it off and shrugging in acceptance, lowering his gun slightly.

“Sure. Why not. I'll have to remember to commend your service locally. Still sells tea despite being robbed. That's the stuff legends are made out of right there,” he stated, his monotone making it very difficult to tell whether or not he was being genuine or slightly sarcastic.

He let the thugs barge out, stepping to one side as he cleared the door for them – only to curse at the sight of the Enku lunging for the girl, quickly positioning in front of its flame and crossing his arms to deflect the blow away from him and the girl. He winced as it nicked through his protective field, before lifting his gun and clouting the Enku across the skull backhandedly, aiming to stagger it so he could recover enough to better shoot it between the eyes.

Still, he remained adamantly positioned in front of the girl, protectively shielding her. Anyone who'd happily give him tea in a matter of life and death was good in his book.

Edited by Enirboreh on Jul 22nd 2018 at 2:51:56 PM

"Thank you!"

Stilling the strings with her hand, she began playing a peaceful and slow melody. It spoke of fullness and gratitude, of lying in sunlit fields. It spoke of warmth and family. Of human life.

It said that the thing could have these things, if it just laid down and rested...

Edited by JumpingFruit on Jul 22nd 2018 at 6:49:14 AM