Post by Padre Romero on Feb 25, 2007 0:38:41 GMT -5
A man enters, he's covered in every possible putrid perfume the city can offer.
His body is caked in blood (Whos isn't these days), but his hands looked like they've been doused in oil and gasoline. His face looks like an oil soaked rag covered in what could only be sewage, and his tight-fitting clothes (though normally black), have taken on a slightly greenish hue. His graying hair is fleck with asbestos and...you're not quite sure...some kind of smoking red paste.
"Well, Well, I see the hole of the city hasn't quite caved yet!" He says, closing the door behind him and standing in the middle of the room. He seems absolutely elated dispite his condition...his voice sounds like cured leather soaked in brandy.
"Can anyone here dig up a speck of brandy...mine's all tapped out...am I shafted?"
There's something very odd about his choice of words...he seems like a man with a concussion or a very strange sense of humor...you realize why he's so happy...he seems to be laughing at you.
"Well, I thought the city had hit rock bottom...but I'm far from stone dead...cert ian ly Ive found some here who stilll has that old maltonian fighting spirit...quite ready to rock and roll are we?"
He hardly seems to be talking to be talking to anyone in particular, just doodling a little design on a table and talking to himself....
"And of course, there's blood on the streets..but no property to buy...the old maxim isn't the same, the only thing we've got is the gun, and naturally ally al al el et em em temtemterieleltemmene..."
He babbles softely to himself and stares at the celing...
His body is caked in blood (Whos isn't these days), but his hands looked like they've been doused in oil and gasoline. His face looks like an oil soaked rag covered in what could only be sewage, and his tight-fitting clothes (though normally black), have taken on a slightly greenish hue. His graying hair is fleck with asbestos and...you're not quite sure...some kind of smoking red paste.
"Well, Well, I see the hole of the city hasn't quite caved yet!" He says, closing the door behind him and standing in the middle of the room. He seems absolutely elated dispite his condition...his voice sounds like cured leather soaked in brandy.
"Can anyone here dig up a speck of brandy...mine's all tapped out...am I shafted?"
There's something very odd about his choice of words...he seems like a man with a concussion or a very strange sense of humor...you realize why he's so happy...he seems to be laughing at you.
"Well, I thought the city had hit rock bottom...but I'm far from stone dead...cert ian ly Ive found some here who stilll has that old maltonian fighting spirit...quite ready to rock and roll are we?"
He hardly seems to be talking to be talking to anyone in particular, just doodling a little design on a table and talking to himself....
"And of course, there's blood on the streets..but no property to buy...the old maxim isn't the same, the only thing we've got is the gun, and naturally ally al al el et em em temtemterieleltemmene..."
He babbles softely to himself and stares at the celing...