So the Low Bar was closed for renovation. Rebuilding, really, if you wanted to be accurate, since the Saints of Detritus had redistributed most of the place across a half a hive dome. Anyone who wanted a hit of Wild Snake had to stand in line outside Father von Kurtz's Communion Kitchen and say a prayer for their soul. Nobody was happy about it, but unhappiness doesn't get you drunk, so muttering a Throne Hail seemed better than nothing.
The Delaque weren't taking it lying down, of course. The shifty S.O.B.s threw a few credits around, paid people to look elsewhere, and as soon as the line cleared, they started shooting.
