Riker
Riker runs through the alleys and sideways as fast as his bare feet carry him. He rushes past beggars, cripples and sick children, ignores the shouting of vegetable vendors, shoemakers and drug dealers. Once, you almost slip as you cross a small trinklet of something consisting water (and lots, lots of shimmering bubbles). From somewhere far, you can hear singing, but it's almost drowned out by honking, chattering and shouting.
Suddenly, you encounter something which is where hard to ignore: 150 pounds of muscles, compromised into a five-feet yaksha with unpleasantly red-shimmering tattoes on his forehead. His black beard reaches down to his breast, and is almost equally wide as it's long. He's wearing torn jeans and a studded leather jacket (the kind which was modern in the early 50s in the States) and blocks your way. He appears so suddenly, that you almost run him down.
"Nahnah, who's in a hurry?," he sneers. His brother, appearing to your right, smirking and closing in.
The others
Sharmila noticeably cheers up as Lucky creates a vision of Sharmila setting a new fashion trend: After piercing, tattoing, branding and skinshaping, Sharmila would be the one who'd earn the credet for bulleting. Arranged in the right fashion, it's going to drive airport securities mad!
After a while, HarleQueen comes back with Pratiksha. The girl gasps as she sees her bahini bleeding (yet laughing) on the street. With a worried expression, she tries to prevent her from further blood loss. "We need to clean this," she then says. "Otherwise she will die of poisoning rather than blood loss. I need you to get some synthahol, and leave most of it untouched, you hear me?"
