#Chapter14
Oliver Brand was not an unreasonable man, and as though to emphasise that point, he slid me a finger of whisky over the bar counter, offering a somewhat nervous smile, his eyes bouncing around at the mass crowd that had gathered behind me.
Without turning, I necked the liquid, savouring the burn. /"Hit me again,/" was my only command as I slid the glass back across the counter. Adhering my request, another was soon poured. I didn't turn, despite the hundred-plus people that waited for me to; true power lay in the subtle details, and making sure they were all aware that they were on my time was a method I often enjoyed.
Their emotions stained the air of the large, somewhat dingy, bar, burning across it in such a multitude of variety. It seemed to alternate and adapt with each person, but still, the base emotions were the same.
They feared me.
Above all else, they feared me.
