"Larsen, pally, where are you going?" my character says, clapping one arm across the other man's back while seizing his elbow in his other hand and applying gently a pin known to prevent its recipient from being able to brush his teeth in the morning. "Such a long time...let's talk in private," my character mutters, steering the sputtering Whipsnade into a convenient alleyway.
"All right, what's the take?" my character says, impatiently tapping his foot, when they are out of sight of the troop of Shore Patrol nasties heading to the tavern. "Dorothy and I are having dinner later, and I want to go to a nice place for once."
"Why my dear Mr. Ramen, I have no idea what you're talking about..." Larsen rumbles composedly. "I myself am on my last few centicredits. Alas, matching quarters is a lucky man's game. I would have had better luck with three-card monte..."
"Oh, knock it off, Larsen. I've never seen you wander out of a bar fight poorer than you started."
"Ah...well...a first time for everything..."
"Look," my character says, "we can stand here and argue about this, or we can split the take and get out of here while we still can. Or didn't you notice that you were being followed, and not just by me?'
A slight sound from the entrance to the alleyway causes both of us to spin around. Larsen grabs the plastisteel top of a garbage receptacle and holds it up as a shield. My character reaches inside his trenchcoat and takes out a towel, rapidly twisting it into a nasty rattail.
Fred "Obligatory Bar Fight" Ramen