Post by Leon Silverblood on Mar 2, 2007 23:01:17 GMT -5
Leon dives onto the bar, sending a couple of drinks crashing onto patrons and the tavern floor. He scrambles and in less time than it takes for the brain to remember to blink an eye, he comes away with the rocket launcher, grinning and backing away from the bulk of the group, looking left, right, and behind him to ensure he's not being snuck up on.
He moves back near the doorway where he's hidden a large hip pouch and throws it to the bartender.
"50 syringes. Life is more precious than death, and far harder to come by around here."
He caresses the small rocket launcher and has a heated, subdued, discussion with Castor and Pollux, the two lesbians still hanging from his bandolier. He lights the cigarette, making a bitter-beer face as he gets used to the flavor of tobacco seemingly from Ancient Egypt. After a few drags he turns to Lachryma.
"A gold plated Kalashnikov? That's just bad taste. Now gold slugs? That's how you show off the money. At any rate, I prefer the Chinese version, or, in a pinch, the Military Arms Corporation's American born forty-five caliber answer to the Uzi."
He tries very hard not to sneer at her as he says to the barman "Replace everyone's drinks, of course, -Sorry, guys!- and consider my syringes a suitable replacement for this long-arm, here. "
He steps to Melody, admiring the bottle and it's label, which reminds him of home for some reason. "Share a shot with a bazooka-wielding psychopath who plays with barbies?" His hand is on her shoulder, and trails down her back to fall back to his side as he looks at the bottle again, then back to her.
He moves back near the doorway where he's hidden a large hip pouch and throws it to the bartender.
"50 syringes. Life is more precious than death, and far harder to come by around here."
He caresses the small rocket launcher and has a heated, subdued, discussion with Castor and Pollux, the two lesbians still hanging from his bandolier. He lights the cigarette, making a bitter-beer face as he gets used to the flavor of tobacco seemingly from Ancient Egypt. After a few drags he turns to Lachryma.
"A gold plated Kalashnikov? That's just bad taste. Now gold slugs? That's how you show off the money. At any rate, I prefer the Chinese version, or, in a pinch, the Military Arms Corporation's American born forty-five caliber answer to the Uzi."
He tries very hard not to sneer at her as he says to the barman "Replace everyone's drinks, of course, -Sorry, guys!- and consider my syringes a suitable replacement for this long-arm, here. "
He steps to Melody, admiring the bottle and it's label, which reminds him of home for some reason. "Share a shot with a bazooka-wielding psychopath who plays with barbies?" His hand is on her shoulder, and trails down her back to fall back to his side as he looks at the bottle again, then back to her.
