Casually Coromaur reached within a tailored silk vest, a garment whose value alone potentially eclipsed his outpost, and withdrew a stylized mini-comm. Calling up the security feeds he studied the scene now taking place inside the pub. The damage alone was impressive, but nothing that could cause him any major setbacks. He did keep an ample stockpile of bar stools for just such events, and freight-loaders were easily promoted into bartenders. By the look of things he would need both, his patrons though were another matter. Those without sense enough to have escaped the carnage had discovered the meaning of collateral damage. The bulk of the dead could be dealt with easily enough, their ships and possessions easily liquidated, and the few wounded he could see tended to for a compassionate reputation. One that no doubt he could leverage into new ventures and opportunities for later use. At least the holo-panel out front still functioned proclaiming the place a pub.
Circling each other a trio of grim figures dominated the center of the room, each one awaiting some trigger to ignite further conflict. A graceful, well-toned Pathenian stood tall and aloof, his ears pricked up full over his head. Gripped tightly by elongated fingers was a ceremonially etched flare blade, it's edges a crimson glow like a magnesium flare. By his side, keeping pace with him swayed a curvaceous Altain of the Krynean tribes, her jaw set firm. She kept a Gauss rifle trained with a steady aim that betrayed a professional and intimate familiarity with the weapon.
Set across from the vicious pair was set a stoic figure, a solitary Lobain, lean and dirty. His canine ears were back and an obvious cyberarm held an antique large-bore breach loading heavy pistol aimed at the pair of assailants. It's barrel covered in a unusual series of archaic runes. "I meant no disrespect," the weary wolf barked, tension clear in his tone. He had to find some way out of this stalemate. "All I did was offer the lady a drink!"
"How dare you insult our intelligence and worth with such a pitiful debacle," purred the Pathenian. "You may have offered to purchase her a drink, but you slighted her slighted her by choosing an unfitting beverage!" With a snarl the Altain snapped, "You offered slag! Let me kill him." Removing the safety her agitation became clear enough to be felt, like a rising temperature from a sudden blaze as her hue shifted to deeper ember-orange. "Some fruity pink number no doubt that fizzes." She spat as her eyes narrowed, already her trigger finger a hair from firing. With a roar she declared, "I only drink Vernian Brew!"
Seeing the rapid escalation, Coromaur decided to apply his own brand of delicate and calming touch to the situation. Pressing the appropriate command sequence hidden mounts in the ceiling deployed turret mounted cannons that immediately trained on the three combatants. Immediately he recalled what the very same cannons had done to a rioting mob of Purgist Party members when they attempted to halt a group of Type II's trying to flee Praxis VIII. Marked by his own unmistakable grin of satisfaction, Coromaur activated his hidden features and watched as to his surprise all threw remained standing after the initial blast. A quick order issued had a full security detail charging into the pub only moments after a second barrage violently shook the pub.
Shaken and disoriented all three remained standing as the wave of peace-keepers poured in to detain them. A whirl of motion, the Pathenian moved like an acrobatic dancer, dropping nearly half a dozen unlucky foes before he himself was overran by sheer numbers. His Altain companion proved her deadly and accurate aim, as well as capable claws as she felled no less than close to eight misfortune individuals before herself being the victim of overwhelming numbers.
Oddly the Lobain himself proved to be his own worst enemy. As several security officers rushed him he fired his archaic side-arm. In a blinding ball of white energy five attackers vanished, vaporized by a sudden explosion of psionic power. The cost of which, however had managed to drain some measure of vitality from it's weapon's wielder, knocking him out cold.
An readable mask instantly found it's way onto Coromaur's face as satisfaction secretly fluttered about inside him. "I want this pub back up and operation within 5 minutes," he ordered with an unquestionable resolve. It would be done, he was sure. His orders always were. "Restrain and detain this one," his masterfully crafted boot prodded at the unconscious Lobain at his feet. "He has business with me." Among the commotion several members of the security detail gulped fully aware at the statements hidden implications.