The North was cold and pretty rainy. Yorkshire was green and fairly prominent in the farming side of things; this made it a strong contributor to the nation's wealth in these times of poverty and depravity. Tim inhaled the air thick with the smell of manure, hay and other shit you find on farms as he walked into the city of Sheffield. The group wandered the streets and soon found one of many taverns in the city then headed inside.
As they walked in, the smell of smoke hit them. It was all coming from one man sat in the corner with a trench-coat and a pipe.... and he was also wearing a fedora. This guy knew about the pinnacle of modern fashion; the ultimate statement of wealth and showmanship.
"Would you care to join our group?"
Timothy immediately asked, noticing the fedora.
"I may... I may not. I will however, if you defeat me.... in a tip-off."
This was a challenge and a half. A tip-off? Tim was the former undefeated champion of Tradingexpressistan, but against this guy.... he looked like he knew what he was doing.
"I accept."
Tim suddenly said. Everyone gasped and stared at them both and an epic fight scene ensued, including Guile's theme and other shit. Furious tipping began, ending in a huge explosion. No one could see anything... who would come out the winner?
...
Tim.
The other man lay on the ground, crushed by the sense of defeat.
"I've... I've never lost before. Why now? I guess that I will join you on your quest or whatever you're doing."
And so they all left the tavern and looked around for Brandon. They saw him lying on the ground, being mauled by a giant rabbit and on it's back was a lady.
Brandon died.
