Punch Drunk

At Milly's tavern Tony sits at a stool, hunched over the bar. He stares down his drink with a glower as he thinks, gears grinding visibly in his head. After last weekend's events, the Daeva was still sore over getting his teeth handed to him- figuratively- by those goddamn werewolves. He sits there, replaying the fight in his head and watching his beer.

*No stirring of the beast heralds the man who takes a seat at the bar next to Tony though his face and attire are familiar. Clad in a worn swiss army coat and a beat up "guitar hero" t-shirt, MacGregor smiles as he regards the other Kindred who seems to be moping into his beer. His tone is friendly and manner one of casual ease*

Heard ye had quite the dust up, Mr. Fratelli...cannae say as I envy ye. How're ye feeling?

*Seeing that the greaser doesn't feel like talking, MacGregor takes a moment to look around, observing the various patrons. His eyes seem to just pass over people, never resting on someone for more than an instant. Nodding to himself, he rises and makes his way towards the door without another word*

While they certainly grind, noone could ever accuse the gears of grinding swiftly in his head. Tony blinks, finally registering someone IS talking to him, even if it takes him by the time they are nearly out the door. He shakes away his fog, swiveling in his seat to give a wave to Andrew, "Oh. Oh! Oh yeah. You shoulda been there let-me-tell-you." His sudden outburst gets a few sidelong glances, but nothing a what-are-you-looking-at glare couldn't encourage to avert.

*The Scotsman stops by the door, the rising and falling of his shoulders indicating laughter before he turns and heads back towards the vampire. His manner is relaxed. If Tony's brush with waking oblivion a second ago caused him any irritation, it's nowhere to be found and he resumes his seat next to the man*

All's the same, I'd rather have been elsewhere. Which I was. Doin' some research for my new betters an' peers. I trust then that we won?

Tony coughs awkwardly, "Well, we all got away and noone went down for the long count, so, uh..." He raps the bar in consternation, "Well, we'll call it a draw."

*What is said, or not said, as it were, seems to cause MacGregor to pause for a moment in thought before responding*

Animals run rabid an' nobody returns to dust...I call it a good night. 'Course now the questions are, how do we stop 'em for good an' where are they all hidin'? I dinnae suppose our Regent has expressed a plan on the matter...

*suddenly the vampire smiles in good natured reproach*

Ye really got yer arse handed to ye by a walkin' rug?

"It was a big rug." he scowls, "Three of 'em were on me at once, hell. I'd give you the blow-by-blow but, uhhh", he glances around at the kine populating the bar and shrugs, "maybe later on that. As for that plan, well," Tony thinks a moment before saying fairly unhelpfully, "I know some folks were puttin' together maps or something."

He cracks his knuckles, "Spoiling for a round two, though."

*He nods at the news and absently throws a handful of change on the bar, mumbling about whiskey to the bartender before turning back to Tony*

Have a few of those myself...maps, not fights. Cannae say I haven't seen a few in my day. I've seen ye hold yer own when things turn tae the sour. Who else in town do ye think has the sand in a tussle? May want tae form a pack of like minded and capable sorts to form up whenever people get less than pleasant...

Tony glances around, "The crew I was with was pretty solid. Well, 'cept Hector." Tony rolls his eyes a little at the shrieking seneshal's 'part' in the fight. "But I guess a rug doesn't care if you can re-for-mat his email." After a pause, he adds, "Youse saw the wheelchair guy already. Hell, if biggest mistake I think is that we didn't bring any, uh..." the Daeva gropes visibly for the polite code word for the Gangrel clan, "'Savages' along. Hard to find one that can't hold their own."