Standing on a small backwards facing wooden child's chair, wearing a vibrant yellow tweed suit with brown elbow patches and a poorly matched red and black checked deer-stalker hat, Pan filled his pipe with tobacco, surveying the growing crowd before lighting his pipe and toking on it occasionally, smiling knowingly and nodding at the odd familiar faces as they filled out the small corner of Detroit.

"Hello." he began tentatively

Turning to the young man at his side, fanning him with a large intricate looking oriental type fan, he adjusted his bow-tie, looking for some sort of verification of his adjustment before turning back to face the crowd:

Hunting. We're all a fan of hunting, right? Tracking and killing, it's a rush we can't get elsewhere. Can I get a "Hell yeah!"?

Waiting for a response that never comes, Pan continues:

Well, that's precisely what I'm here to discuss with you folk. I lust for blood. Not just any blood, though. No. Like you, I yearn for a piece of Delaware action. These tattooed buffoons hailing from Delaware are an insult to our operation. They come to our country - to our cities, trying to muscle in on our action, trying to stake a claim to our rackets - mine and yours!

Pleased with his opening statement, Pan arches his back slightly, holding the lapels of his jacket, and grasping his pipe in one side of his mouth, puffing smoke out the other side briefly before putting a fine brown brogue on the back support of the chair and resting an elbow on his knee Pan becomes slightly more serious.

It's a travesty we can't allow to continue. These scum-bags have no honour and they care not for our code of Omerta!

Pointing out into the crowd with the mouthpiece of his pipe, he continues:

I have a friend who is quite eccentric; strange, some may even say. This friend is willing to pose as a buyer for their wares, to lure a larger contingent to our shores so that we can send a message back and make sure that it's known - these shores belong to us, and we shall simply not allow outsiders to muscle in on our operations.

This requires investment, however. If my friend cannot prove to these animals that we're serious about conducting business, they shan't be interested in coming en-masse and will continue to arrive in dribs and drabs, and this is where my appeal begins.

I require what you can spare in order to entice interest. My plan is this - we strike up a deal with them on their turf; the bigger the better, then when they come to deliver their wares, we take the goods, slaughter the delivery boys and their bodyguards - sending back the message that we are in charge here, now and for evermore.

Stepping down from his makeshift soapbox, Pan picks up a bucket and waves a small handful of bearer bonds in the air before theatrically and forcefully thrusting them into his empty bucket

I wouldn't ask you to do something I wouldn't be willing to do myself. Here, I pledge 15 bonds of my own to get the ball rolling. If you wish to contribute, please pass as many bonds as you can spare to me then sign the bucket register which will ensure total transparency. I'm hoping we - as a collective - can accumulate 500 bonds to entice 3,000 of these scum-bags. That should send a sufficiently strong message, however, an invasion of that size requires significant investment. We will all hunt them, so do the right thing people.

Stepping down Pan leaves the donation bucket on his soapbox chair, hopefully.

Strutting out to his familiar corner, Pan puffs on his trusty pipe and leans on an unfamiliar cane - as extravagant as his personality, before clearing his throat to address the small throng of folk, eager to hear how his plot has progressed since last he addressed the streets of Detroit:

Good morning to you fine people, you're looking as beautiful as always!

Taking a moment to wink and point out at the crowd, then allow the pleased murmuring to cease, he continues:

I have some news; some good, some not so good.

If you'll allow me, I think I'll start with the not so good news. As much as it saddens me to admit, my donation drive has yet to find it's feet and I'm still to find even one equally altruistic investor, despite allowing you fine folk a weekend of drinking and debauchery to mull over my proposal. I'm hopeful that this is merely an oversight or a short-term blip on an otherwise fruitful venture.

Taking a moment between the negative and the positive, Pan picks up his cane and eyeballs the intricate handle piece whilst puffing a thick plume of pipe smoke into the air before resting his cane on the ground once again and continuing:

However, as I mentioned - I also have some good news for the hunters amongst you. I have found another gentleman striving towards the same end I am. A determined young man by the name of Otiag.

This philanthropic gentleman has some fine stationary and certain resources which are unfortunately beyond my own means. He has generously offered to letter the local businessmen and influential gentlemen we see amongst us with his rather more official looking letter-headed stationary, and I am hoping to supplement his personal donation drive with anything collected by my own meagre means.

Kicking his bucket lightly with a toe as he places his pipe back in his mouth, grasping it with his teeth before pulling the cuff of his shirt beyond the cuff of his suit - as vibrant as always - Pan nods towards his donation pot, coughing theatrically before rounding up his update with a simple sentence:

We will all hunt them folk, do the right thing.

Rooting around a battered tan coloured purse with a broken strap, snatched moments earlier from a frail old lady, Pan approaches his usual corner and tosses the now empty purse behind a tin trash can as he leans over to pick up a small discarded wooden fruit crate, upending it and testing how solid it is before stepping up to face the empty street.

"Tsk, I must be a little early for my usual appeal update."

Opening up the jacket of his burgundy suit jacket and reaching into the inside pocket, he pulls out his lucky pipe and begins to fill it with tobacco from a small pouch pulled from another pocket of his slightly flamboyant suit before dabbing his brow with the small white linen handkerchief serving as a pocket square. Looking up as he neatly folds and and inserts his handkerchief into his top suit pocket, he addresses the now growing crowd:

"Good afternoon folks. I trust we're all well this fine morn?

Waiting on a collective response, Pan lights his pipe and takes a couple of quiet puffs before beginning:

I realise you're all probably sick of hearing my voice and the appeals of someone who is essentially a stranger to you all, but I come here today because I've clearly not made myself quite clear enough to a sufficiently large crowd; something I hope to change by frequently preaching about the merits of this particular scheme."

Pausing briefly for dramatic effect, Pan takes an unusually large toke on his pipe and begins to cough and splutter. Wiping his watery eyes, he continues in a strained voice:

"My apologies people, that one went down the wrong way..."

Clearing his throat, Pan regains his composure and his voice:

"As I was saying, I don't wish to bleed anyone dry, nor do I wish any one person to shoulder the responsibility of funding this extravaganza alone - least of all myself. However, I wouldn't risk my time or indeed my reputation if I didn't truly believe this is a worthwhile venture.

I trust we have all had our own run-ins with this Durden filth previously, so we're no stranger to this particular band of dishonourable scum. I know that none of us are innocent of being fond of shooting them in the face. Honing our skills on these low-brow, knuckle dragging troglodytes is a pastime many of us share, and I know the vast majority of us take great pleasure in partaking in it.

That's precisely why I come to you once again... this venture I have proposed is in very real danger of collapsing without support. Sure, you could use your bearer bonds to locate a single mobster who has fallen out of favour with their boss but why locate one when you could potentially locate six? I put it to you folk, that is a far better use of your hard-earned bonds.

The more participants who step up to the proverbial plate, the lesser the burden everyone bears. It really is a 'one for all and all for one' type of situation. I'm willing to do the organisation completely gratis - purely for the love of the pastime, are you fine folk willing to contribute or simply wanting to selfishly tread water until the invasion arrives?

And as always, remember this; we will all hunt them, do the right thing.

Slinging his suit jacket over his shoulder as he stumbles out of a local whore-house, looking dishevelled and tired, Pan takes a swig from a bottle concealed within a crumpled brown paper bag. Closing one eye and peering into the bottle and slurring quietly he begins whispering to his disguised bottle of bootlegged scotch:

"Yoo hoo... is there anybody in there?"

Laughing raucously at his own joke before upturning the clearly empty bottle above his mouth, groaning disappointedly and tossing it aside, he hangs his suit jacket up on an exposed pipe on the gable end of a disused apartment building block and leans against the wall, sticking his thumbs under his elasticated braces and resting the sole of his brogue against the wall, trying to find his balance.

Surveying the area for an audience, he shrugs and begins talking to nobody in particular.

"Well... it'sh been an emotional week folksh - a real roller-coaster for me."

Pausing briefly to stifle a hiccup and thump the centre of his chest with a loosely clenched fist, working out a small burp, he looks up - almost surprised that he succeeded without vomiting - and continues with his train of thought:

"I decided to address you fine folk for the first time in my criminal career with the hopes of acquiring a sufficiently large number of bonds to set up a trap for that Durden gang. Those menacing dogs.

Allowing his head to bow slightly before overreacting and jerking his head back up, Pan eyeballs the street around him lazily, pouting his lips and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt needlessly, whilst continuing with his companion-less conversation nonetheless:

"I had hoped for a grandiose reaction, not to mention the recognition and gratitude which would inevitably follow; perhaps a street to be named after me, or at worst - a parade to be thrown in my honour for for bringing forth such a large contingent of Durden scumbags for the assassins amongst us to hunt.

Unfortunately, the response received was so underwhelming that I've been forced to shelve the idea before it becomes any more embarrassing for yours truly. With only one single offer of assistance to show for my fairly monumental efforts, I've resigned myself to contributor as opposed to organiser.

Like the old saying goes; you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. Whilst you lovely people may enjoy shooting Tyler's men, it's obvious that you're not so keen on pledging funds to entice their arrival. Without a decent number of contributors I'm unable to arrange an invasion of any significance, and for some reason, that is proving harder to do than I had envisioned. I don't know if it's due to a basic lack of trust, a lack of funds or down to a more selfish reason such as expecting someone else to pay for something that we will all benefit from, but as I said; I can't - or more specifically, won't - pay for the community to hone their weapon skills out of my own pocket with almost zero assistance.

To that end, I've sent the majority of the bonds I had saved and intended to be used for this venture to Otiag and used the rest to fund a night with the beautiful young ladies in the fine establishment around the corner. I can highly recommend their liquor and services of their very accommodating waitresses... if you can find the funds to pay for it, that is. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a thirst which requires quenching and a pipe that requires smoking, so for now, I shall bid you adieu.

Before I go, however, I will say this - should anyone arrive late to the party and wish to contribute to this venture, I would suggest you contact Otiag as soon as possible."

Picking up his jacket, Pan begins staggering off into the night, humming a jaunty tune to himself as he begins filling his pipe, spilling more tobacco on the pavement than he manages to stuff into his pipe.

I would say it was more with the timing tbh as Otiag had already put a request in for a durden invasion.

Also alot of folk have been stock piling there bonds to set up there head quarters or to help with the rebuilding of our way of life so at a guess its timing i would say.