The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle.
The streets of Victoria glistened under the pale glow of gas lamps.
Puddles breaking with each passing carriage wheel.
Inside a narrow bar tucked between a bakery and a pawnshop, the air was thick with pipe smoke, spilled ale, and the low hum of men's laughter.
*Clink.
Mugs struck wood as the bartender slid another round across the counter.
The fire crackled at the far wall, and the warmth of it battled against the damp cold that always seemed to cling to Victoria at night.
At one corner table sat six men.
A mix of old and middle-aged.
They had come not just for drink but for the nightly sport of tearing politics to pieces.
One old man with a crooked back and a beard yellowed from smoke slammed his mug down.
"I tell you, the Parliament is useless!"
The table erupted.
"Ha! Useless is too kind a word!"
Shouted a man with thinning gray hair.
