Guinevere Fouroux takes a sip of her own drink, watching with concern as he downed his. "It's all right... most of it came out, I think, but don't worry, I'll--" Motion out of the corner of her eye catches her attention, in time to see a blur of fur and teeth leap in her direction. All she can think to do is duck, glass crashing to the floor as she fumbles for her gun, pulling it free just as a hard body crashes into hers and sends her sprawling.

Sounds of him passing through the doorway would quickly be followed be a low growl that rose in pitch as he launched into Guin, heavy form crashing into the slender female with all the male ocelot's weight. Sharp, dagger like claws extended from his fingers and attempted to bury themselves into her flesh, one at her thigh and the other hand aimed for her waist to assist in pulling her down. If he managed to land on his mark or not seemed not to matter as he readied to sink those teeth into her. Either he hadn't noticed her hand shifting for her weapon, or didn't care..he seemed totally consumed in apparently eating this woman.

Forgetten Tomorrow didn't pause for a moment then, the glass would fall to the ground shattering against the carpet as he moved back behind the bar. His motions were smooth-- the elephant gun was pulled free from behind the bar-- it was always locked and loaded so he didn't need to worry about putting a bullet into it. His right hand moved slower coming to the back of the gun-- his finger creeping out to wrap around the trigger. There was a grunt. "Wrong -FUCKING- place to barge in asshole."

Guinevere Fouroux cries out as something sharp pierces her thigh, but she doesn't stop to think, heart in her throat. She hears Forge's voice but can't see a thing, buried under a wall of fur and muscle and the smell of blood and decay... she flings herself to one side, trying to get out from under him or knock him away enough to bring up her gun, remembering the routine as she'd been taught. But she can't -see-, and whatever it is is right on top of her, so she points the gun up and finger tightens on the trigger. "Get OFF of me!" she gasps.

Ugarte let out a harsh snarl as he lunged forwards, long curved incisors aimed for the woman's throat/shoulder area, claws tugging against Guin's flesh as he used his grip for leverage. The scene unfolding closely resembled one of those predatory cat attacks you might see on National Geographic. Hopefully he would manage the bite before the gunfire erupted, he was hungry..and if this attack turned out to be fruitless...he'd have one hell of a time hunting with a few holes in him.

Forgetten Tomorrow watched Swara's head lunge and his finger would pull upon the trigger of the shotgun. The room would erupt with the loud sound of the *BANG* as the smell of gunpowder filled the room. His body would slide off the top of the bar-- he had been leaning over it to get a decent shot at Swara's back. The barrel of his gun was smoking then.

Guinevere Fouroux struggles to steady her gun with one hand and push this man... thing... off of her with the other, but neither is working. Adrenaline rushes through her and she doesn't feel any pain, not yet, even as she feels sharp, tiny daggers sink into her shoulder. Instinctively her hand jerks up, pressing the gun into his chest, but before she can shoot the world explodes around her. Her gun hand spasms, squeezing the trigger whether she intends to or not--but her ears are ringing and the sound is lost.

Ugarte let out a murr of pleasure as he felt blood wet his pallet, and he seemed to suckle upon the inflicted wound even as she struggled beneath him. It would seem as if the grip he held would never slacken, at least until that deafening retort echoed off the walls of the small lobby and suddenly he found himself heaved forwards and to the right as a white hot fire tore through his side in a explosion of crimson gore, the slug passing threw him and embedding itself either in Guin if she was unlucky, or the carpeted floor very close by. The shot from behind, as painful and possibly life-threatening as it was, actually aided in taking Guin's shot point-blank in the chest, the smaller pistol round slicing threw the meaty muscle near his arm pit and lodging itself in the back of his shoulder guard. He let out a mixture of a pained cry and a hiss as he collapsed face down next to Guin, blood already starting to pool about him and stain snow-colored furr a pinkish red.

Forgetten Tomorrow moved around the outside of the bar and he would release his right hand from the butt of the gun holding it in his left hand. He wasn't even thinking of Guin at the moment and the possibility that she could have been shot. He would swing his arm up and then bringing it flying down trying to slam it into the side of Swara's head much like a golfer off the tee.

Calee Lykin heads straight for the hotel, after all they had a bar, and she worked there, surely they stocked cr

Prepare yourself for some cliches.

Two steps forward; one step back.

Apparently saying that you want an apartment, being the first caller, and being told you were the first appointment mean nothing when dealing with "respectable businesses" as rental property managers. Somehow magically, even though we said we wanted the apartment and were first everything, it was rented out last night. I guess a bird in the hand is really worth a heck-of-a-lot more than two in the bush with an egg and a promise. Hrmph. I told you I never have luck with the larger businesses.

The next-most-promising prospect (which was slightly out of our budget) turned out to be a ridiculous joke mini-Brady Bunch mock house that included your wood paneling, some kind of French chalet roof thing over where a stove should have been (but wasn't...no fridge either), and Yes, that is a piece of faux foundation in your living room. I could deal with the dizzying wallpaper and cave-like paneling. I can even deal with the grimy bathrooms and strange fake stone panel in the living room (I think it was just sitting there?). But renters just don't have appliances. Renters don't carry around a fridge and stove from home to home. And for that much money, they shouldn't have to. It was nice and secluded on top of a treacherous mountain though, and at least I wouldn't have to leave in winter (or be able to).

The remaining hopes are two that popped up today. In a fit of anger at big-business trickery, I pulled a u-turn at the sighting of a "House for Rent" sign in Tazewell (Cows live there too. Lots of them.), saw the quaint 1930s house/cottage (yes, off of route 460) with awww-forcing stone-esque siding and fell in love (as I have with almost everything that was halfway decent), called the lady and she said that she has a lady that was making her decision today and if the sign was still up tomorrow to give her a call back. That is extremely fair, so I am still hoping that I have an ounce of good karma left after drastically damaging it with blood stains first thing this morning by speeding about five miles over the speed limit and killing a radiant but rushed robin on the way to the first appointment (tears followed). I also met a nice woman with the help of this weeks Bargain Finder with a three bedroom, two bathroom, absolutely perfect if not a little pricey (I'm at the point where I'm not above spending a little more money now) townhouse in the town we want the most. It would be ours and we could be moving in soon-soon-soon, but the people living there, after giving their notice, said they might not move after all but will let the landlords know later. Those are our only two.

I called a lady with a long list of interestees in Rosedale. I will possibly have a viewing if everyone in front of me says no when she gets the keys from the last tenant.

That one night of sleep was nice.

No creepy feet people, thanks.