Post by Melody Arachne on Mar 30, 2007 15:04:29 GMT -5
Melody shakes her head, moving to the bar and snagging a pint of vodka from beneath, along with a belt pack of clinking pistol clips.
"I prefer a nice little shotgun myself, but they're damned hard to carry around." She kicks the latch of the cellar trapdoor shut, nudges Lachryma's shoulder as she passes. "Keep an eye on things, would you? Don't open that trapdoor unless you're sure it's human."
She takes the stairs two at a time, pushes the shutters open to step out onto the rooftop. "Right ... vodka, ammo ... " She peers over the edge at DJ. "How in the world did he get outside again? I'm beginning to think that guy has a death wish." She sets the clips and bottle down, moving to the edge of the roof and picking up the stowed rope ladder.
"I'm gonna toss it down around the corner, Sport. Do what you gotta do and then run for it."
She moves to the edge of the roof, hooks the ladder to the pipes sticking out of the heating system, and drops it over the side of the building. Wooden planks clatter as it uncoils, ending about five feet from the ground.
"Try not to get bit, there, DJ ... I still gotta charge you for FAKs..."
"I prefer a nice little shotgun myself, but they're damned hard to carry around." She kicks the latch of the cellar trapdoor shut, nudges Lachryma's shoulder as she passes. "Keep an eye on things, would you? Don't open that trapdoor unless you're sure it's human."
She takes the stairs two at a time, pushes the shutters open to step out onto the rooftop. "Right ... vodka, ammo ... " She peers over the edge at DJ. "How in the world did he get outside again? I'm beginning to think that guy has a death wish." She sets the clips and bottle down, moving to the edge of the roof and picking up the stowed rope ladder.
"I'm gonna toss it down around the corner, Sport. Do what you gotta do and then run for it."
She moves to the edge of the roof, hooks the ladder to the pipes sticking out of the heating system, and drops it over the side of the building. Wooden planks clatter as it uncoils, ending about five feet from the ground.
"Try not to get bit, there, DJ ... I still gotta charge you for FAKs..."
