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Nor the sound of bullet into flesh or wood was let out from the cloud, the small ball disappearing intrierly. Through the dense area of white one could only faintly see the pale figure from close up such so that only John could have seen it. Sitting throught the white mass was the elegant lightly taned head of a woman. Her hair was of a deep rose red like that of teh man's eyes, curling about her rosly clean cheeks and along her neck. The tips of these locks brushed agesnt her shoulders which were bare due to the very low start of the dress, one of black velet. A slender long hand painted red at the nails rested lightly on the nap of her neck as if in though or interest brushing softly on her skin.

Her bod was of a small yet strong frame as much as could be figured seeing as the smoke only allowed view of mostly her face. She turned to John and rolled her eyes up at him. They were the mostly startling yellow eyes, clear and glittering. She bore very little mackup and that made her natural beauty even more appleaing. Her face was made lean curving just at teh right points and showing a sharp angle where sought elegant.

The woman looked up as if suggesting many things. Her lips parted lightly, those deep red lips, and more smoke rose into the air about her covering her from view.

"I'm not proud at all sir." came the man's voice again. "I'm just doing what I must."

The distrubance in the air cause the air to stiff and the smoke clears away. The man flicks away his f** as it is now burnt out and he sits more back into the seat.
"Wasn't very nice to shoot at me either, might I add."

From the corner of the room, a familiar white cat watches all that is going on with characteristic disdain. It has been recently aggrivated by the same man who now sits surrounded by the people of the town. Thoughts of revenge rush through its paired minds, one a cold and angry intelligence, the other a mere glimmer of annoyance.

Growing bored of the posturing, it hops into the attic and begins murdering mice. It pauses to watch something go past, though there appears to be nothing else but the cat and its late prey in the attic.

With the man's exit John crawls towards a corner of the pub. There he sits, thinking about the man and the mysterious woman.

John, thinking that the Armageddon is now assured, wonders which course of action would be the most reasonable.
He could take his own life, and save himself from witnessing the horrors ahead. He could join forces with evil and gain eternal fear and renown, or earn a place in the hallowed halls of heaven.

John, being neither angelic nor strong of will considers the first option to be the most realistic.
In his depression John orders a large amount of alcohol and plans on numbing his senses.

"...Urgh..."

He says.

John slowly turns to Jazelle, with a pained and tired expression.

"..."

He scratches his head and looks with distaste at the pulp now between his fingernails.

"..."

He uses his longest fingernail to remove the filth.

"..."

The filth is now lodged in his longest finger nail, he extracts it with the edge of his ledger.

"...fine..."

"Hey, wow, look at zhat, 'e used a door."
Angevin seated back down and went "Hmuff."