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Butters and Tyard start to head down Trinity Square as they make their way to outside the Royal Concert Hall. This essentially meant walking through an open commercial square before heading down Forman Street: A path of cafes, food places and restaurants. I mean that's one interpretation, the other is they had to walk a gauntlet where they would be vulnerable at all sides for at least a good 3 minutes, which will undoubtedly feel like: 7 hours.

Despite this uncertainty of Trinity Square's openness, the pairs pilgrimage was actually uneventful. The square wasn't completely empty, with a few humans in clusters here and there and even the occasional Monster. Maybe everything will be fine actually, Butters even tries to walk with a spring in their stride, a pep in their step, whoop in their stoop! They look over and see Tyard's anxiety ridden face before deciding; okay maybe now's not the time for whooping or stooping.

Now is also not the time because everything wasn't fine and it was about to get very not fine very quickly. Butters got the first inkling this was the case when they picked up on a cacophony of footsteps, seemingly in too big a number to belong to any of the people they had just passed. Butters turns to the tapir, who clearly hadn't cottoned on to the approaching mob... Actually do tapirs have ears? I mean they have to right? Anyways again; not the time. Butters lets out a huge sigh of resignation as they turn around and prepare for whatever was about to befall them.

Butter was expecting to see the footsteps belong to some cops, but it was worse. A crowd of humans who looked like they just fell out of the gentleman's club was heading their way. Football shirts, chequered coats with flat caps, bald and white, all the "hahaha I'm in DANGER" signs were there. But it somehow gets even worse; some of them wearing Boycockets, while they were rubbing the side of their thumb alongside an enamel pin: A green silhouette of a hunter aiming a rifle on one knee. Butters recognised this as the signs of members of the Huntsman Humanist Association (HHA). Now the lack of cops makes sense, they didn't need to be here of course. Not when a bunch of Poor Innocent Humans, that just so happened to be armed to the teeth, have military training and make sure to typically out number their victims 1 to 20, are willing to 'defend themselves' against 'predatory' Monsters, at the first signal.

Butters grabs Tyards wrist, who was now quaking at the scenario he now found himself in. Through backing up slowly away from the crowd, they had found themselves in Forman Street. Before they could even begin to visualise an escape plan to make it the rest of the way, a Monster who was sitting on the outside seats of one of the restaurants got out from their seat and put themselves in front of Butters, clasping the chair they were sitting on in their paws and they address the mob.

-Awwhhh no, the poor wittle sapians' are so vulnerable and smoll they gotta gang up on two little kids to stay safe? Yeah fuck ooffff.

At this point I must stress that Butters is incredibly 25.

-Kids!? These K I D S are suspected of man handling an old woman and killing a police officer. One of the Huntsman replied.

-Well good on them! The Monster replied. You got the cops here prodding us every weekend practically begging for us to react and what do you think were gonna happen? That is if it even did! Aaaaahhh you fucks call us wanting to be left alone 'Violence' you wouldn't know Violence if it smacked you in the head. Actually, fuck the treaty let's find out!

The Monster then twirls around for momentum before launching the chair they were holding into the crowd. It clocks one of the Huntsman in the front of the crowd square in the middle of their head, knocking them on their arse with a satisfying crash.

Butters could hear an audible sigh coming from their side. This was followed by more Monsters than they even knew were nearby, coming from the inside of the restaurants and even one or two from the top of the roof. This crowd then gets between the Monster who threw the chair and the Huntsman.

-Jesus Hank, you couldn't just keep it to yourself for tonight? Butters could hear a voice from the crowd say.

-Why have we gotta keep it to ourselves? They bloody don't! The Monster replies.

Butters could spot someone pat the Monster on the back as the brace themselves. This seems to have acted as permission for the mob as they started charging forward towards the Monsters and to put it layman's terms: A proper punch up.