Stepping into the concert hall, Bojan stopped momentarily to watch the perplexing spectacle of a man talking to himself--maybe rehearsing, he guessed?--by holding a shoe to the side of his ear, so that the heel was placed just over his ear, and he was speaking into it in such a convincing manner that Bojan had to peer closer, to make sure that the man was not using one of the devices that the Dirige often employed for short range communication at their headquarters in Purgatory.

Ah, Bojan thought. He was starting to get the gist of what was going on here now. Vesdel Vivisan must have done something to the man and something had gotten . . . dislodged. The man’s mind was trying to cope, Bojan guessed; it needed to explain away what had happened to preserve its idea of what was ’real’ and what was ’imagination’. It was one of the side effects of mind control, and that thought made Bojan remember Basil and how Vesdel had been manipulating him too.

It was unfortunate, but there was nothing the veteran reaper could do for the man except offer him a temporary distraction: Bojan approached the desk and slapped the flat of his unprotected hand’s palm atop it.

“Excuse me,” he said, only lightly grinding his teeth, “I’m here to see a Mr. Vivisan. Could you direct me to him?”

Typically, it was preferred to not involve civilians too heavily in these types of disturbances. Local governments complicated matters greatly, and a region in panic often made it harder for later agents to perform their jobs as guides efficiently--and that lead to quota problems, and then administrators would start docking pay and punishing people, and it would all just go down hill from there. Bojan would play along for as long as he could, but Vesdel was his top priority and he’d drop the act if he had to, and that meant very bad things for Richard indeed.

"Mmmnnrrr..."

The sound of the slap had stirred Vesdel from his sleep just long enough to catch Bojan ask for a Mr Vivisan. Shit, they were here, and they would start looking too, he needed a way out, luckily Mr Rowler would buy him some time as he was programmed to lie about his whereabouts. That and he didn't tell him his name.

"Mr Who?" The man held his hand on the receiving end of the shoe, putting the imaginary Tommy on hold long enough to snap at the intruder. "How the fuck did you get in here!?" All the doors were locked! He locked them, at least he should have, he must have been a crafty thief or something to sneak in without him noticing. He brandished the shoe like a knife before he realized that it was a shoe, and he was only wearing one. It took awhile for him to process that things were amiss but it was over ridden by something.

"Hey! I-I need to find Tommy. I need to make room for, for that guy..." He began shuffling through the papers again. So many dates, so many sheets, but they were all perfect. They were all arranged in an orderly fashion that made perfect sense on the schedule. Why should he change it? Why indeed.

"WHY!?" In a sudden outburst he threw his shoe onto the ground and approached Bojan. Maybe he'd seen it before, maybe it was a side effect of the mind control, but this guy was getting aggressive. "What's going on!? Tell me what's going on!"

The veteran reaper squared his shoulders and looked hard at the other man with a hungry, violent stare. His expression was a telling sign of barely contained fury, a fierce, boiling anger that was threatening to wash out over everything around him, leaving nothing but cinders and ash in its wake.

Bojan Myaskovsky was not someone to be intimidated.

"Fine," he growled, harshly. "We'll do this the hard way."

No amount of sympathy for Richard’s situation could stop what was going to happen next: Bojan charged forwards like a coiled spring, all the tension and restraint leaving his body, and he brought his protected hand up in a contemptuous, backhanded swing that, if true to its mark, would catch Richard right across the broadside of his cheek.

Things were coming apart, this was bad. He needed a way out and fast, unfortunately he picked a room with no exit, up a flight of stairs that led directly towards the desk where Rowler and the Reaper would be waiting to kill him. Maybe he could make it out the window?

It wasn't that far down, but the question was whether or not his frail body or his frail instrument could make it. There was a small shed not too far down underneath the window that might break his fall. He didn't like the idea too much but he didn't want to stick around to see what would happen if Bojan caught up with him. Strapping his accordion to his back, he began his careful shimmy down the window, hoping the downstairs conflict would buy him enough time to escape.

~~~

The reaction was almost instantaneous. As soon Bojan's hand made contact with Richard's face he swung his fist towards Bojan's. He had no idea why anymore, but his frustration and confusion grew into anger as soon as the sting of the backhand hit his cheek. He had no idea what was happening but he decided he didn't like it and would try to end it right here and now.

Were Bojan Myaskovsky just any attacker, Richard may have actually stood a chance, but no, Bojan was a veteran Reaper, a Follower of Death, and he had over twenty years experience sending souls and fighting some of the most horrific, otherworldly monstrosities to ever plague the world.

And he was not amused.

Having just cuffed Richard, Bojan simply brought his extended arm back and up, and caught the man's anger-fueled swing half-way, reversing the block into a grab as he snapped and rotated his wrist and sought to claim control over the man's limb.

Needless to say, if successful, Richard would find himself in a very bad, unenviable position: Bojan would pull the man forwards and strike him with the opposite arm, this time closed-fist, and then swing him over and to the side, to be released and sent sprawling out across the room drunkenly.