<strong>Name:</strong>Adam Smith<br/><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Gehenna, Ariel's table/bar, then a different table<br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>None<br/><br/>Again, Adam nodded. He rose, shifting his mass up from his seat. His gaze lingered on the angel, and when he looked at her it seemed, for a fleeting moment, that he could, in time, come to experience the feelings and undergo the shift in personality required for contrition, and to be washed in the blood of the lamb. Then he looked away, with some effort, and that sensation fled from him and the existential certainty that he was destined for the flames of perdition, and that no one would grip him tightly and raise him therefrom reasserted itself. In some ways, he yearned for the destruction of body and soul. An end, once and for all.<br/><br/>The man lumbered away, dragging his feet and weapon across the floor, and walked directly into the group of young men that the elf had been thrown into. The young men were pawing the merchandise, but they were not flashing bills. It seemed like they were trying to order off menu, and something that would probably end up with the elf girl more damaged than she wanted to be. The price they offered was hardly what it was worth. Adam advanced, and the young men were all too engrossed in the elf girl to pay him any mind. Finding the 'leader' of the little pack, Adam grabbed his hair with his free hand and smashed his face into the bar. There was a noise that accompanied the breaking of the young man's nose, and maybe a few teeth cracking. As Adam released the young man, he slid to the floor in a limp heap, lower face a mask of blood and mucus.<br/><br/>"Wrong move, fucko!" The heir to the throne of douchebag said, pulling out a Desert Eagle. It was gold plated and chambered for .50 AE. The guy held it sideways, tilted at a slight angle. Adam did not know, or care to know, whether it was because the weapon's weight was too much for the aggressor's wrist, or part of the affectation of being a g-money thug player. Adam grasped the young man's hand, and squeezed. The aggressor gave a cry of pain, and tried to prise Adam's fingers away, but Adam was unyielding and ungiving. The young man was down to one knee as the bones of his hand started to fracture underneath the pressure Adam was exerting. There were tears on his face. Adam eventually released his grip, and took the weapon from the weeping young man, who cradled his forearm from which a useless sack of meat and shattered bones hung limply. The group decided to show the better part of valor, dragging their friends away to seek a bokor's services.<br/><br/>The elf girl remained, looking at Adam like a deer in a headlight. He nodded towards a free table, and she went to it. Her gait was awkward, and fear made her stumble in the high heels that flattered her long legs and full, firm, rounded backside. Not that Adam noticed as he followed at his trundling pace. Adam placed the gold-plated gun on the table, disengaging the hammer and engaging the safety. He would pawn it later on. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a roll of bills, secured together with an elastic band. But, in all, it amounted to three grand in various denominations. The elf girl jolted as she saw him, and looked at Adam with an expression that said she plainly thought she had gone from extremely bad to so much worse. There was also blood on the money. Drops, finger prints, patches stained. He put it on the table between them, and nodded towards it.<br/><br/>"There's  . . . there's blood on it." She said, to which Adam nodded, acknowledging her statement as one of fact. Then he tilted his head, as if to inquire. "It's . . . it's okay. It'll . . . it'll wash off." Her lower lip trembled. "W-what do you w-want me to do?" The elf girl asked, looking at Adam. The run-in with her boss amounted for 90% of her terror. It was hard to top Zarkhov. All that really set Adam apart from other piles of meat was that he wore a mask.<br/><br/><strong>"Bring your friend over. Talk to him."</strong>Adam said, raising his empty hand to point with one finger at the girl's boyfriend. The girl looked at Adam in disbelief, but he tilted his head again, signaling impatience. She complied, and soon whatever the two had to argue about . . . they were arguing about.