In front him, in front of the table, stood an 18" tall tabby, blonds and blacks seeming to patch together the fur in great clumps. Bottlebrush stopped to watch the drunkard, elation and primal rage sprawled across his feline face; judging by display of fear and alarm, he could see that the coward finally understood his precarious situation.

With an abrupt snarl, the cat's body suddenly began to twist gruesomely and change. A chainmail shirt burst from his skin. The fur parted as it receded towards the top of his head, exposing the blood-drenched iron links. The shapeshifter rose up on his hind legs as his flesh and bone expanded painfully outwards. His forelegs lengthened and grew into arms as his forepaws expanded and sprouted fingers. His hind legs lengthened and shed thier fur. The black fur on his rear paws became leathery and separated from his skin, becoming actual boots.

With a flick of his wrist, and a small measure of concentration, Bottlebrush brought forward another of his daggers, the twin blades of energy growing menacingly from his right hand. The coruscating energy of the flourescent teal dagger only served to make the incorporeal weapon more menacing.

The small shapeshifter examined his prey, and mentally noted that, while he did have the naginata in hand again,a sharp blow to the haft or head of the polearm would probably sever the dangerous pointed end from the rest of the weapon. Knowing this, he merely waited for his opponent to respond to his "sudden" appearance.