Arl's stub automatic roars to life in his hand, kicking familiarly in his hand. The stumbled body guard, is spun around by a series of shots that rip across his chest. A wave of red paints itself across the marble floor as Trask's feet leave the ground and he goes stumbling backwards across the staircase, spinning as he does so such that the heavy stubber makes an ugly metal noise as its nose rakes across the stairs.

(OOC: Two hits. Trask is very dead)

Back at the entryway, Father Milo continues to fumble with the shock maul that he had pilfered, but is unable to so much as back up Shriek, whose whirling blades give the man pause before he can do anything meaningful. Shriek responds with a flurry of attacks, her short blades moving in a series of lightning fast arcs like the dance of some deadly ballerina. But perhaps still shaking off the psychic damage she had suffered, Shriek is unable to make a retorting cut that would hit her target.

Near Arl, Marcella draws again on the warp, disappearing from vision as she moves for an unoccupied region of the landing, searching for safety from Drimmle's gunfire.

(OOC: Pausing here, because I need to ask how Hound wishes to redirect his attack.)

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Pip nods his head over and over in eager agreement. "Yep," he mutters, glassy eyes on his empty glass, "would at leasht be able to buy shome better booze with it." His loopy grin fades to something cold and calculating as he contemplates the drink before him. "Say, you sure have a lot of queshtionsh. Perhapsh, you have a real interesht? Look, no judgement. But say you did... maybe you'd be willing to pay a little more money for a favor?" The buffoonish innocence is gone from Pip's countenance, replaced by something dark and hungry.