The man in the purple suit and the Saniwa goons were--beyond anything else--bewildered. Though, it was to be expected when a fly small enough to punt rolled up with four knives and threatened to fillet them. An eternity seemed to pass as though the Saniwa were waiting for a question that never came.

Everyone who wasn't Marty was nonplussed. The goons did little more than stand and observe the strange little fly man. A few even stood slack jawed. It was unimpressive--that was saying the least. That wasn't even to mention of the audacity of Beelz's partner in uncrime. Though, it seemed like the Saniwa didn't notice her power-stance a chair with their focus entirely on the fly.

The man in the purple suit moved. His shaking hand lifted a cigarette--partially bent and broken--from his jacket and placed it in his mouth. A golden lighter flickered in his hand. The sound of flint spinning against metal filled the silence. A deep breath, then an exhalation.

[b]"Yea. Get 'em."[/b]

It would have appeared that Yam's assessment of Marty's diplomacy was overstating his abilities a little.

As if forming battle plans utilizing henchman to henchman communication, the goons approached after equipping themselves with clubs and metal knuckles rather than any sort of blade or gun.

It was a fight.

One that opened with one of the injured goons charging Beelz with the leg of a table.