Graves managed to take four steps before a woman appeared out of thin air directly in front of him.

He immediately turned paler than death.

The woman was not anyone Kolminye recognized, with no qualities that really stood out or marked her as "unique" in any way. Her long chestnut hair fell messily about her shoulders, the apron that she wore over her plain dark blue dress was stained from various types of booze, foods, and sauces, and her figure was perhaps a bit too thin for most people's tastes. A regular person, more or less. However, her eyes and her smile had this almost supernatural warmth to them as she walked through Graves. He turned around and saw a younger him grab a mug of beer from the woman's tray, laughing like a devil.

"Sir!"

Her voice was as clear as a bell, and sounded as gentle as one despite her yell.

"Ah dun' worry about it." He dug into his pocket and took out a handful of coins. He placed it on her tray and gave her a gentle push on her shoulder, "I was just gettin' thirsty and impatient. My buddy's late."

The woman rolled her eyes, took the money off the tray and held it out for young Graves to take back. "I would like that drink back, please. It's not yours. I'll bring you yours in a bit."

"Yeah? And what're you gonna do about it?" Graves snorted and grinned at her.

"Please give it back, sir?"

"Really? Y'think sayin' 'please' is gunna do anythin'?"

The woman nodded, "I do. Please, I need the drink back. The other customers are getting impatient."

The two stared at one another, neither willing to back down just yet. Eventually Graves blinked and brought a hand up to his eyes, cursing under his breath. "Dangit! My eyes are dryin' up!"

"You shouldn't have stared so long, then."

"How in th' hells are you still starin' at me?" Graves squinted up at her, his eyes starting to redden from the strain of keeping them open for so long.

The woman smiled and delicately took the mug of beer away from him, her fingers brushing across his. "You learn how to deal with rattlesnakes when you come from Piltover."

"Rattlesnakes, eh? That's what I am t'ya?"

"Absolutely. Mean, poisonous, they give you the worst stinkeye, but nothing wrong with them. Just don't provoke them and they're nicer than puppies." The woman giggled at her little joke and placed the mug back on her tray. She placed the money on his table, then reached up and scratched the scruff that Graves had once called a beard. "Later, puppy."

Young Graves watched the woman walk away, with a bounce in her step as she navigated the tables. She was genuinely happy doing what she was doing. He watched her hand out the mug of alcohol with a smile and an honest apology, and go on to do her work. He leaned over the bar and growled at the bartender, "What's her name, buddy?"

"Hm? Who?"

"Her. What's her name?"

The bartender looked up from cleaning his glass. He looked around until he found the woman he was being asked of. "Oh! That's Kera! Nice girl, but don't get on her bad side."

"Eh? She's got those fancy Ionian martial arts or somethin'?"

"Her? What? Nah, normally wouldn't hurt a fly!" The bartender leaned over the counter, staring at the smiling woman. "Just...ah, let's just say t'trust me, alright? If y'prefer your arms in their sockets, that is."

Young Graves nodded. His hand had already slipped behind the bartender and he had already relieved the gentleman of a a couple of loose coins from his back pocket. "Heh. Yeah. I get yer drift."

He didn't, not really, but there was no point in pushing the question any further. Graves was about to order a drink when he noticed something from the corner of his eye. An errant hand made its way over to the buttocks of Kera. His brow knitted, he grinded his teeth. He wasn't here to cause trouble, oh no, not this time. He was here to wait for Fate to come around and meet with him, although he had technically walked away from where they were supposed to meet. Still, no reason to cause troubl—

"Sir!" Kera slapped the hand away from her rear. "That is beyond improper!"

"Oh come on!" The man laughed, mockingly shaking his hand. "You were the one that attacked me! I didn't do nothin'!"

'I can gut ya, boy,' Graves snarled in his mind. 'Not too sure how that pertains to his line o' reasoning, but that voice is one annoying mother f—'

Kera gave a quick curtsy to the man while saying, "I apologize for the slap, but you were about to be rude. Please, do not do that."

The man got to his feet and as he did he staggered about, showing the effects of moderate intoxication. "Look, look...how about you apologize to me properly?"

She stared at him, waiting for him to finish his proposition.

"A kiss on th'cheek?"

Graves' nostrils flared. He looked over at the bartender and asked, "Y'got a stool?"

"Yeah, plenty of 'em," the bartender affirmed while he took a quick glance at Graves. He was busy pouring a mug of beer, and had to point at one of the various bar stools with his chin. "They're called bar stools, yer in a bar, you can assume that."

"Nah, nah. Somethin' smaller, like fer a table. Knee high?"

The bartender raised an eyebrow. Graves slapped the coins he had stolen from the man just moments before and motioned to him, "Come on, buddy. I just want a little ol' stool, just to sit on. Got bad knees, y'know? I need a special seat fer m'knees."

"Isn't a smaller seat worse for your knees because of the added tension due to your body weight being pressed down onto your joints compared to alleviating them of said weight via a higher seat or at least a seat that doesn't force your legs to bend too much?"

Graves stared at the bartender, unable to contain his surprise at the man's word choice. "Why the hell does a bartender know half the gibberish yer sayin'?"

"The missus has bad knees."

"Fine, whatever, are ya gonna gimme the stool or-"

Graves was not able to finish his sentence due to a resounding slap that echoed throughout the bar. Kera had backhanded the man while her other hand vigorously rubbed at her lips. She spat on the ground and glared at him, "How dare you, sir!"

"Gnah! Mah nose!"

"I barely tapped you!"

The man got up, blood streaming from his nostrils. His six friends stood up at the same time he did, all glaring at her. The drunkard`s hand moved back, his fists slowly curling down into a fist.

'Right. # $! it.'

An entire chair flew through the air, struck the man's face and made him spin from the impact. The chair ricocheted from the force and hurtled to a seemingly random direction. Its trajectory ended when it collided with the frosted iron mug of ale of a tall, burly man making his way towards the group as quiet as death itself.

"You spilled my drink," he growled, the beer froth flowing over his calloused knuckles.

'Calloused knuckles? Is that even possible?'

The bear of a man crushed the metal mug with one hand and glared at the troublemakers. With heavy footsteps that rumbled like the knell of funerary bells, he covered the last bit of distance between them.

"Wait, he threw the chair!"

"And you were messin' with Kera," the bear of a man growled, his speech slow but every word pronounced flawlessly. He reached down and picked the fallen womanizer off the ground, then promptly heaved him out the window. Shattered glass fell about, and a slight groan was the only sign that the thrown man was still alive.

Three of the drunkard's friends went for the thrower while the other three charged straight at Graves, who was smiling at them.

The first unlucky one was in perfect range for Graves to perform a nose shattering headbutt, instantly knocking the man out. The next one that attacked the young Outlaw missed Graves with his drunken haymaker, and instead punched the bartender who was staring with his jaw agape at what was happening. Rather than being laid out for the count, the bartender got back up from the floor with a loaded shotgun in hand. With a solid click of the barrel, the bartender took aim and fired at the man, unloading a barrage of rock salt into his chest.

Graves laughed, this was more his scene. He looked at the bartender and gave him a thumbs up as he commented, "Nice shot, bud—"

A bottle crashed down on the back of Graves' head, the glass shattering the moment it made contact. He turned around, and despite the blood the flowed from the wound, was more angry than injured. Graves glared at his attacker with a murderous glint in his eye. "Y'dun goofed, boy."

His hand shot out and wrapped around his aggressor's neck. Graves pulled his free hand back, curled it into a fist, and started to fire it repeatedly into the poor man's face. Blood splattered about messily, teeth flew out by the handful, it was a relentless assault in an obviously one sided fight.

A soft hand grabbed Graves' shoulder and tugged him. "Sir! He's had enough!"

"Not yet he ain't."

"Sir—"

Kera pushed past Graves, tray in hand, and slammed it into the face of a unknown, fourth man who had a knife in hand. He reeled back in pain, grabbing at his face and stumbling into the large bear of a man from before, who now breathed heavily down his neck. The man-bear grabbed the hand holding the knife, raised the weapon up to his mouth, and promptly bit the blade in half. He spat it out and dragged the poor fellow outside with him.

Kera let out a sigh of relief and looked at Graves pleadingly. "Please, let Bojack take care of them. You're better than them. Don't do it."

Graves stopped. He thought about what she said, and frankly, he disagreed with her. But hell, why disappoint her? He released his quarry and rubbed the back of his head roughly. "Eh, if y-" He winced once he remembered that he had a large gash in his head. "Gah! Friggin' frackin' son of a monkey wh—"

"No!" Kera pressed a finger to his mouth. "I will not tolerate foul language in this establishment! Y'hear?"

"...Yes ma'am."

"Good. Now stay still and let me stitch that up for you, sir."

Graves watched her walk towards the bar and rummage underneath it. He took this opportunity to look over at the bartender and shrug half-apologetically, "So... Yeah, sorry about th' mess, but in my defense—"

"Ah don't worry about it. Bojack will get payment from them," the bartender grinned sadistically. "Bojack gets payment from everyone. No one touches his little angel when he's around."

"His angel?" Graves chuckled and pointed out the door. "Him and her? Really? That seems..."

Kera popped out from under the counter, protesting loudly, "Bojack? No! He's like my uncle!" She walked over, needle and string one hand and a pack of bandages in the other. She motioned to Graves to take a seat, which he did so reluctantly.

"Like yer dad? Meaning what?"

"Meaning... Well, I was born on the streets. I don't really have parents."

The bartender was sweeping up some broken glass when he added more information. "She came here when she was six years old, Bojack took a likin' to her, and she's been here ever since."

"...Is Bojack...yer brother or somethin'?"

"Nah, best customer."

"Then why would—"

Graves' eyes went wide the moment the needle was stuck into his flesh. He grunted and gave Kera a dirty look. She bowed her head and apologized in an honest tone, "Sorry, sir."

"Nah nah, don't worry. Just be more careful. I'm a lot more tender than y'think."

"You're already a puppy, how much more tender can y'get?"

Graves burst out in a fit of laughter. He scratched at the side of his face, "Man, wait till Twisty hears of this."

"Twisty? Who's Twisty?"

"Malcolm? Malcolm!" Fate's voice could be heard from outside. He sounded beyond irritated. "Dammit Malcolm! You had one job! One! Stay outside and watch the damn horses! But nooo, let them potentially get stolen and have a drink instead! My guess is you're probably in here. Let's see if I'm right!"

"And that there would be Twisty."

Twisted Fate looked around the corner and threw his hands up. His hat was tipped back enough to reveal his expression of anger, shock, and confusion as to how this could happen. "Oh look, I'm a psychic! I used my wizard powers to guess! What's the scene that I come upon? Some... Thing that looks like a man outside is slapping some ijits fer cash, with broken glass everywhere, one guy's face looks like he was smacked by a chair then by a chargin' wagon, let's skip over the unconscious stooges in here because you, Malcolm, are the star here! You're in here, being bandaged up by...!" Fate blinked as he made eye contact with Kera.

His anger instantly dissipated, and he smiled at her. Fate took his hat off and made a wide sweeping motion with his leg as he gave her a polite bow, "Why, hello there ma'am. Sorry you have to see me as flustered as I am, I didn't mean to disturb you. My most sincere apologies."

Graves rolled his eyes and chuckled to himself. Typical Fate, every time a woman grabbed his attention for a second, the charm started to pour out. And if charm were water, then he'd be able to fill an ocean with it. The Outlaw rested his cheek on his knuckles, happy by the fact that his buddy would now be too busy flirting to yell at him for now, which would more or less dispel the majority of his anger.

"You didn't disturb me, sir." She smiled back at him, a light blush in her cheeks, "But thank you."

Kera finished the final stitches, patted the back of Graves' head with the bandages to clean up the rest of the blood and stepped away. "There ya go, puppy."

"Th' name's Malcolm. Malcolm Graves." He got up and rubbed the back of his head. He brought his fingers in front of him, stared at the speckles of blood and shrugged, "Right, now that I'm done with the bleedin', let's get goin', Fate."

Twisted Fate gave Kera a wink while replying, "Of course, puppy. Let's come back here afterwards, eh? Gotta help pay for some of the damages that you gone and done."

"I wholeheartedly agree, Twisty."

The two men walked away, laughing all the while. Fate looked back and gave Kera one more smile before they turned around the corner, where Graves grabbed him by the neck. "Call me puppy again and I'll friggin' strangle ya, got it?"

"You let her call you that."

"Can you say no to those eyes? Come on, man! Besides, she looks like she knows how to have a bit of...Hm..." He stopped, and thought about what he was about to say.

"A bit of...what?" Twisted Fate sighed. "Does she know how to keep a bit of money in her pocket? A bit of fun? A bit of knowledge in regards to how people should stay in place and not frickin' wander 'round like a two year old?"

Graves shrugged and rubbed the back of his head ashamedly. "Nah, nah, nothin' like that. She looks like she's a good one t'talk to. We really should come back here after the job."

"Malcolm, I was just havin' some fun. We're not-"

"Well guess what? Y'said we are, and we are. Drinks here, after the job, on me. Got it?"

The scene faded as quickly as the first had come and gave way to the darkened room once again. Kolminye tugged along the magical tethers that anchored her in the portion of their memories that contained Kera and turned her spell to examine their current state; Twisted Fate was tense and obviously displeased with what was taking place, but Graves... The Outlaw exuded a mix of shock, anger and murderous intent as he fixed his eyes on her. It seemed that he still had a lot to learn about League authority, then. At least Twisted Fate knew his place by now.

Kolminye gave Graves her most contemptuous smirk and threw the room into the next memory.