The Symphony was, for a moment, rich in colours and patterns as every Malakite in the room slowly turned to resonate the stranger who had just stepped into their bar. He was clad in black - black jeans, black shirt with its collar turned down, black snakeskin cowboy boots on his feet. Black wide-brimmed hat. If he didn't have holsters at his waist, he probably dreamed of it.

"The Eighth Virtue?" he asked in a drawl. "Is this the Eighth Virtue?"

The air in the bar was filled with the sound of blades being drawn and safeties being removed. The bartender, a Malakite of Fire named Butrich, spat on the counter to show his contempt, then scrubbed with a rag. "This is the Eighth Virtue."

"Finally," the Balakite of Fate drawled as the other patrons started to close in. "You wouldn't believe how hard it was to get information on this. Thought you guys were willing to share with fellow - hey, don't point those at me - what're you-"

Butrich sighed at the Malakite who'd fired and pointed to the door into the back of the bar. "You killed it, you clean it up. Mop's that way."