"Yeah, get lost!" Someone echoed within the crowd, followed by another, and yet another, and soon a continued chorus of others with similar cries. It seemed that once the first verbal stone was cast, the mob was ready to take a her side. Bronson stood, and for the first time, Ezelkia got a sense of how towering his seven foot form really was. Braeloch, Skjar, Jorgen, and Caspian followed, furious and shamefaced as they took on defensive positions. Then, with a rough growl, Bronson turned tail and walked out, shoving his chair to the ground as he did so, and his crew quickly shuffled along to follow. The only one left was Tito, who, with a stuttered apology, fled the scene to catch up with them. Not a one of them paid for their drinks, but they were gone.
"For the love of it all, I'm glad that's over." Mack sighed. "I'm so sorry to have left you alone with them. What are the chances you'd end up serving the most rotten crowd in this place? They didn't touch you anywhere, did they? Because I'll chase every last one of them down and give em hell if they did."