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Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

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187 One of Our All Stars

About Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

  • Rank
    Nicely Seasoned


    Chris Pratt
  • RACE
    Shapeshifter, Metal Mimicry
  • JOB
    Accountant (to the public). Pharos Relic Hunter and Caretaker (and Smuggler)
  • 'SHIP:
    New York, N
    Boone, or “Paddy” as he prefers, is tall and thick. Careless strawberry blonde hair floats between being neatly shorn, or slightly longer and styled however he feels like on that day- usually not caring one way or the other. He takes impeccable care of himself, finding suits a bit tough to wear and prefers casual khakis and button-ups depending on whether or not he is at work. Either clean shaven or with scruff, it’s always manicured and never just a lazy hot mess. Eyes are light, playful, turning on a dime if his temper is tripped.
    Loyal to a fault, Boone is the Rottweiler at somebody’s side when they’ve proven they have his back. On his own, he’s incredibly adept at amusing himself, sliding just as easily into being the center of attention in a social situation. He has a great sense of humor, leaning toward playful sarcasm after a few beers. Oftentimes it comes off as arrogant, in reality he just doesn’t give a shit what people think of him. He does dangerous work, he’s been jacked up by the dice-roll that was the Resonance, and he has no time to make nice when he has a job to do.

    There are severe demons hiding under the surface- regrets and anger at the timing of moments in his fate. Sometimes he can be heard mumbling under his breath to someone named ‘Erin’, her identity known only to his closest friends. A vicious temper is layered on top of it. He has killed, as many post-Resonance have. His was before the world ended. Arrested, never convicted, justified and regretful because it didn't change the outcome of his crashing world. It haunts him, and he makes no effort to forget... cashing in on the pain at opportune moments to trigger viciousness he needs.
    Recently moved to an apartment in upper Manhattan. Simple and clean.

    Recently purchased bike workshop in the industrial Harbor District. Small and secure. Doubles as a "weigh-station" for Pharo business.

    Primer black AEV Brute

    Collection of motor bikes in various states of repair. Large collection of parts. A hobby, but again a cover for Pharo business.

    Firearms- Boone is a shotgun fanatic. Similar to "rat-rods" for a mechanic, he builds whatever suits his fancy and blows crap up. He's warned on a regular basis, but he knows what he's doing... for the most part. He'll know he did it wrong the moment one explodes. It hasn't happened yet, so... yay.


    Metal Mimicry- Iron and Copper

    Boone can shapeshift individual portions of his body to one of his two affluent metals for the purpose of personal protection. He CANNOT move that portion when it is turned. If he shapeshifts his entire arm, his elbow does not bend. His hand, his fingers will not close. Because of this, it is usually a quick change and release, and only small portions of his body. Forearms and hands are particularly useful, as well as his chest. In an occasional bar fight, jaw is a fun change of pace.

    His form can be entirely engulfed by Copper or Iron, essentially a shell- incredibly effective for personal disguise and protection. He can maintain it as long as he can hold his breath. He is conscious, alert, and can see, but cannot move muscles to breathe; eventually losing consciousness if he is unable to find a window to change back. If he is unconscious, he will revert to his human form and is most often presumed dead- something that has saved his ass more than a few times.

    When in Statue form, Boone can continue to shift and allow his entire form to become molten metal, flexible with vicious heat. He can puddle, squeeze through cracks, move and bend, but will retain the heat of the molten metal, burning and singing anything he touches. He is vulnerable to offensive attacks in this form, unable to defend himself except for the dangers associated with molten metal. When not shifted, he can withstand temperatures up to that of his molten form.
    Financial Genius- MIT grad, Finance and Accounting, was working on a PHD when the Nevus hit. It makes him extremely useful in the mundane business needs of Pharo when he's not being a gopher.

    Firearms Expert

    Survivalist- often is in the wild hunting for relics.

    Mechanic- bike specifically, but not ignorant of larger vehicles. He can fix them, with mostly some MacGyver bubble gum and toothpick skills... duct tape my be involved, but they'll run.

    Brawler- Boone is big, and there isn't anything he won't do to come out on top of a fight. He does have some sort of honor code, if there is no weapon he prefers to keep the fight fair. The moment his opponent pulls crap, all bets are off.

    Bullshitter- most fights and conflicts never happen, he can talk himself out of almost anything.

    Beer Connoisseur- Boone's mother was Irish and owned a pub before disappearing after the Nevus.
    He was still sitting in the interrogation room when the world ended. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. Not him. He was guilty as hell. Shot two people in cold blood, after he’d beaten them within an inch of their life with a metal pipe. Everything, he’d told the police everything because he simply didn’t care anymore. He was numb, completely an utterly dead to the world as he stared out the window into the sky. He saw it coming, the Nevus. At least he thought he did in the death that he wanted so badly. If he had a weapon, he would have ended his own life. It was why he'd been handcuffed to the table. Mentally incompetent was being whispered everywhere around him as he remained unresponsive to everything and anyone.

    Truth, was that if they let him go he would kill them too. It was their fault. THEY didn’t respond to Erin’s calls for help. THEY lollygagged at the coffee shop (coffee still in their hands when they arrived). Nothing ever happened in neighborhoods like his, of course. A gated community. Security.

    Nothing was safe when the people who killed her WERE the security. Because of him, because of his money. Of course it would have to be in the house- or so they thought. Or Erin would know where it was. They shot her. For not being able to put in the code fast enough to the safe.

    Then the cops did nothing. Said she had let them in, or she knew them, or she was fucking them.

    He was done.

    He took it into his own hands. Knocked their smug faces in with a pipe when he returned home to key into the gate after he identified her body. When he killed them, he killed his existence

    Everything was once at his fingertips. Only child. Sports star, college scholarship. Degrees. Wealth. Even a white picket fence and a dog. They had taken everything when they pulled the trigger and now his world sat in the hands of the morons that failed him. If he was freed, he’d kill them too. The Nevus did it for him. Powers did it for him.

    Eight years a blur, he was approached by "Pharo". Believing he indeed was an artifact, they eventually employed him as a relic hunter. His unique shapeshifting skills, fearlessness and immunity to bullshit made him attractive for their field needs. It was hard to shoot someone that could deflect a bullet. It was even more difficult for zombies to bite through metal. Boone had the brains, brawn and rugged charm they were looking for to snag their wares.

    Recently he’s landed in New York as the world regains some sort of financial stability, "employed" on the budding baby steps of some sort of "Wall Street". For the most part, he’s found equilibrium again, but like anyone else… he struggles with demons- anger, guilt- hoping an old friend can help bring him back from the dead as he finds the interesting toys the changed world has given him to hunt for.

Profile Fields

  • Primary
    Bodhan "Triska" Marin
  • Typist's Interests
    Cookie Dough Ice Cream
  • Typist's Role Play History
    Since when most were in diapers
  • Role Play Sample
    See Primary Character
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  1. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick


    *SMOOCHES* cause I can!
  2. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Grand Opening

    Like that do ya... stick around, I have plenty more thigh slappers... His response to her laugh was a quip, almost snarky at her doubt. Fuuuuuck he didn't like mixing work with business... errr... business. Work with work? ....awww fuck it. Leprechaun….. Got a helluva Lucky Charm at that... Eyes flicked toward to pool tables at the ruckus. Awww fuck off Joe, stop bustin' my balls! A few hoots and a lotta laughter trickled his direction before they again were intent on what seemed to be a wicked competitive pool game. Need one?.....I mean I figured if I wanted to see the place.. needed to come first night in case didn’t make it to the second… So that's your game then.... run me out of town... wait, was that doubt it'd be successful I hear in your voice? Somehow I didn't think the stuffy butt brigade would give two shots, but hey... leprechauns got gold, pretty rainbows and bad movies. We be psychotic little bastards... His smirk and sarcasm were wicked, again the mug was pushed away and slid back. Another roar from the pool table brought a slap on the bar from him. A handful of honest to god unshelled peanuts was scooped up by the meta and chucked at the pool table followed by choked laughter as they plinked over the loser and onto the floor. I bet on you Joe! Now I gotta win back my money, I'm too drunk for that shit! Oddly enough he played off the stereotype well. Part of the charm he supposed... Whoever has the balls to win me back my money gets free drinks and a shag!
  3. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Grand Opening

    Quite the little bar….. for a leprechaun…. “Them’s fightin’ words…” Mug tipped up and he put away another. He was a drinker, sure. Sometimes it felt bottomless, and himself no less drunk than if he’d only had a sip. He missed it actually, but the fact he didn’t get shitfaced anymore because of some kind of crazy hoodoo took hold with the end of the world did have it’s advantages… especially in drinking games. People said the worst shit when they were drunk, including secrets. “Seems people that drink alone get called, mmmm…. functional drunks?” He cleared his throat and quirked a brow at her as he slid the mug toward his Blue. It was filled and slid back. A dig for a dig was only fair. “Then of course there’s me, not sure there's a word for that yet.” Smile curled his lips as he surveyed his kingdom. “Suit at the cleaners, eh? What’s the occasion then?”
  4. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Enter the Phoenix

    "When would you ever need to blow something up?" He blinked at her, eyes widening slightly… fuuuuuuuuuu “When would you not?” It would seem like the comment would be in jest, but it truly wasn’t, hard to tell from this encounter whether he was a free spirited survivalist with a dark sense of humor… or a complete lunatic. Probably a bit of both. "I really don't want to spend the night here. I'm going on the move, either way." “Nothing would happen to ya, ya got me,” smile was Cheshire, quickly followed with- “I get it though. I really need to get home. Things to deliver and I work tomorrow. Wouldn’t be too seemly of me to be late to work.” Superglue was taken back and tossed up once to catch nimbly before it went into the side-bag. "Let's go. If you're up for it." “Up for anything,” he really was, but damn his poor nose. Fingertips rubbed at it a bit before climbing back on his favorite beast and kicking up the stand to right it. “Got no helmets… so it’s a ride at your own risk kind of party.” Kicking it to a start, he waited for her to climb on. They would be close to dusk when they arrived, but it was doable. “Where in New York are you going?”
  5. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Grand Opening

    "Well shit." He stifled the shit grin on his face as boots hit the floor from their perch on his desk. Eyes took great care peering closer to the monitor, the laugh to himself amused. Fingers caught the mug off a pile of papers, leaning back in the swanky leather office chair to stare at the ceiling and spin in the chair lazily, finishing the pint. He got up, the slight stagger not from the booze, but the twirl. Stairs were quick, finger to the side of his nose when he emerged from the polished swinging door on the side of the bar. Murmurs and cheers, many glasses finding their way into the air and a full mug immediately in his hand. He took a long drink before climbing up onto the bar, looking out over the small sea of soon to be drunk and happy patrons… some of which came just to catch a glimpse of him and play a round of darts. “Here's to all my friends and lovers. May all your ups and downs be under the covers! But watch it my dears! No matter how beautiful, smart, and full of class… to somebody, somewhere, she’s a pain in the ass.” His blown kiss seemed to be at nobody…. seemed to be. The room lit up with laughter and silenced as the drinking commenced. His boots hit the floor and he slammed his mug on the counter, the amusement again diving into a fun loving laughter, then back to the murmur of personal conversation. He wove through the crowd, greeting, laughing, slapping the back of a few shoulders, until reaching the relatively silent end of the bar… up on a stool next to the offending foot and leaning backward on the counter with his elbows. Attention surveyed his domain. “Nice suit,” he said quietly, sarcasm of course. He nodded toward Hagan, another beer was already sliding toward his hand.
  6. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Vroom Vroom

    "You have it all wrong my friend. I know absolutely nothing about any of this. I can help hand you a tool or clamp a bracket in place or give you a guidebook on interpreting these schematics but that is about it. I'm the tool monkey here, just around to hand you stuff. I have no idea how any of this even works." Smirk was deep on the tinker’s face as he was finishing the organization. “That’s the best part sometimes. Besides, we all start somewhere. What if you get this beauty out in the middle of nowhere and I’m not on speed dial? Doesn’t matter how perfect something is, it’s going to break down eventually… but not for a long time. Question is when, and how are you going to fix it? Gotta know how your ride works...” "To be quite honest, I'm almost sure I'll just get in the way, and if I ever do, please say something and I would rather leave you to it, okay? I want to help you, not slow you down; you know?" Head shook, he was actually a pretty gifted teacher. He was a talker when he worked, either to himself or anyone that was there with him. He highly doubted the man would get in the way. “I doubt you would. I actually encourage people to see how their stuff is built… so far mostly it’s been because people nowadays are pretty keen on not investing in something and getting screwed over. They pay money, they actually want to see it’s going somewhere.” He paused to look over his organization. “If you’re really interested in watching it come together, I would encourage you to come over and help. There are sometimes though when I can’t sleep… I tinker. I wouldn’t expect you to get out of bed at 3am to head over, but when you can it’d welcomed.” Portable board was flipped to the cork side and he started tacking up diagrams that had come with some of the pieces. Some were new, some older. Detroit had a wealth of things just sitting in warehouses and rotting away. It wasn’t called the Motor City for nothing. Getting it was the hard part, and he had connections. That’s why people came to him. Clip lights were clicked on to illuminate the puzzle. Hands found themselves on his hips as he studied it. “Everything starts at the ignition. From there, it’s just a domino to the next step.”
  7. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Oops I Did It Again

    “I would totally drink in the morning, but my life doesn't allow that. I need to pretty much be one hundred percent aware one hundred percent of the time....If I went into work drunk I'd be fired on the spot," “Yah, don’t do that…only losers get fired,” like HIM. How many times had he been fired? Demoted more like. Son of a bitch it felt like being fired. Pharos was so dumb sometimes, and all their stuffy butts. "I have no doubt that it does, but that doesn't mean you don't need to work for people that at least mildly treat you well and respect how you work," “Okay mom,” he winked at her as tossed some pillows back where they belonged in his 'living room'. He did have some shit to do too, but they could wait until he was good and ready. They could demote him again for non-report, but he thought they were starting to realize that it didn’t really bother him and that kinda sucked. "And i was asleep when I got the call. So you are very very lucky I came over...... I love my sleep..." “Yahhhhhh… not often someone gets the drop on me, so thanks for that.” The grin on his face as he typed in his info was slowly moving toward a smirk the faster his thumbs moved and he tossed the phone back. “Thank ya Ms. Doc,” he crossed his arms and leaned in the doorway. “I would say I hope to see you again soon, but I’m hoping not under the same circumstances… you know what I mean.” Smirk had finally oodled it’s way onto his features, reaching up to try and smooth the muss of hair that always seemed to fall in the right place. Jaw was scratched… he needed to shave before heading in to get his ass reamed out. A little wave preceded his duck back into his “house” to get ready for the day.
  8. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Enter the Phoenix

    "Sure thing, Paddy. I'll just sit here and we'll talk about how to steal stuff and detonate gas tanks. The usual, right?" “You mean people don’t talk about that?” brow cocked, “How the hell you out here and don’t know how to blow shit up?” Chewing slowed, taking another bite as she sat down. He patted over his pockets. Some lessons needed learnin’ after he fixed her hand. Where was that damn tube? Argggg… always needed stuff when he couldn’t find it and when he didn’t he was always dropping the damn thing. Crap, did he drop it? "Well, thanks. I've had this rifle as long as I know. Its pretty good at making things on the opposite end stop moving." “Those make great tinker toys,” he said, popping the last of the sugar into his mouth to chew it on the side like a chipmunk. Where the hell was that tube?? He policed his wrapper into his side bag, then dug his hand around it for a moment. “Love those, all sorts of mods you can do to make things stop moving, that’s the fun part. Myself? I like boomsticks. They’re a bit on the loud side but nothing sexier than the rack of a shotgun.” Fingers snatched something from his side bag, the little green tube with the orange cap something of great value apparently judging from the Cheshire Cat grin… could have been the talk of guns, or still pondering explosions. "Anything you can do for the hand?" He held up the prized tube between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s crass, but it’s better than any stitches out here and keep a slice from flopping around open like a Pez dispenser.” Superglue. “Choice of champions for professional asskickers.” He handed it to her. Suuuuuuper glueeeeee. “It’ll sting, but it works.” "I just want to get there before night, that's all." “Well, we could do two things. I was planning to hunker down here tonight. Top floor is actually quite cozy and beastie proofed as best it can. Make some food, get a good night's sleep. Or, we could make the last leg to New York by the skin of our teeth by dark. Not gonna leave you to walk. Walking sucks especially if you have a ride prospect. I’ll leave it up to you….I’m not a crazy serial killer.” Lie. Sort of. He killed bad people. Plain and simple. “I’m an accountant… and I own a bar, this is just one of my thrill seeking treasure hunting missions. Because… accounting is boring.” He got up and brushed himself off. “But first, while you finish your Snicker’s break. How to blow things up.” The meta cleared his throat. “Observe, gas tank. Reservoir, anything gas related,” he gestured to his bike and the large rusted reservoir tank next to them. “Gas, is not flammable. The vapor is.” He knocked on his bike tank. “Full.” Then the reservoir. “Empty. Shoot a full tank, you spill fuel, nice for slowing things down but no fireworks. Shoot an empty tank, or aim high, you release vapor, you fire again to nick it… boom.” He slung his shotgun back over his shoulder. “Nick it. Make it spark. Will save your life someday, or amuse you. Maybe both. And now you know, and knowing rocks like G.I. Joe." Hands fell on his hips a moment and he squinted at the sky. “What’s the verdict boss? Do we stay or do we go?”
  9. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Oops I Did It Again

    He squinted at her morning beer face. Hahaha… making the world working drunks one person at a time! “Sorry… forget that most people don’t drink in the morning.” At least she ate first… that would help, especially if she had to work. No alcohol breath to speak of. "I really have no doubt in my mind that you aren't. You're probably the most crazy and in a way brave person that I will ever meet, but I wouldn't even allow them to hire you again. They really don't deserve you," “Makes life interesting.” Brow cocked slightly as she set her beer down. Alcohol abuse… what a waste. Apparently his mention of work made something spark in her brain and she went to pick up her phone, probably to check the time. He tipped back the rest of the bottle as she came back, leaning on the counter, bare ankles crossed, arms following suit. It was definitely a two beer kind of morning. "I actually need to get going... I've got 30 minutes until my shift at the hospital starts...." “That’s a snazzy gig,” he smirked slightly. “And here you found time to patch up little old me.” "Also. That beer is totally all yours if you want it." She didn’t have to tell him twice, snatching it. Maybe it was a three beer morning. “Of course,” he tipped that back too. Three beers before lunch within a half hour, that seemed about right for all the bullshit within the last 12 hours. Setting it in the sink with the others, he pushed off the counter, grabbing his own cell. “I can walk you out at least… gotta do the locks on the door for ya or you'll be stuck with me forever...” He flipped his cell open and handed it to her as he undid the locks and snapped the floor chock down so the door could actually open, peeking out and looking both ways into the alley. Hand was held out with a ‘gimme’ motion for her phone in return as he made sure there were no other asshats hanging around outside. “Put your number in my phone, make up a cool name for yourself… like…. BringerofAwesome or AssSaver or some shit, makes it more fun with caller I.D.” He in turn would do the same… and they'd be phone buddies! This shit was getting serious..
  10. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Enter the Phoenix

    "Do I look like someone that knows how gasoline, let alone motorized vehicles, function or in what circumstances they explode?" The laugh was genuine…. oh lawdy they were both gonna die. “We need to remedy that” "I don't think I've accidentally hit, armed, or triggered anything, and if I have, I'm not aware of it." “Let’s find out, shall we?” Sig’s safety clicked on and it went back into the waistband on his spine. He was already moving. No boom booms today plzzzz… proximity moved incredibly close as she backed away and he leaned underneath and ran his hand along the tank. Nope… all good. “All good…” he echoed from his thoughts. “I was really just worried you were trying to snarf my snacks too… people always stealing my shit out here...” He dug around in one of his bike’s side bags and tossed her a Snickers as she seemed unsure what to do. “Dun worry, I washed my hands,” he had, it was only proper. Back of the place had an old slop sink. He had all sorts of little goodies hidden around this joint. It was a favorite crash stop before the last leg to New York. "I"ll just.... go?" Wrapper crinkling, he took a bite and sat on a small grassy berm next to his bike, unslinging his shot gun and leaning it against the tank. “Nah, pop a squat and eat the Snickers… you’re not you when you’re hungry. Snickers satisfies.” He was calm now. All was right with the world. Snickers. No boom booms. Some company, something he really missed when he was out in the middle of nowhere getting shit for people that would rather demote him than have a beer with him. Pharos stuffy butt bosses… eyes squinted off toward the distance. “Got some stuff inside for your hand. Keep a stash of first aid crap at all my stops just in case I get shot while walking the Earth like Kang in Kung Fu… maybe his name was Caine… I don’t remember. I get shot a lot.” "I'm Phoebe, by the way. Phoebe Sheridan." “Boone Fitzpatrick, some people call me Paddy, but Boone is fine. Drop my name and it’ll get you a beer in any bar in New York.” He chewed a moment, looking after her. “You gonna go before I teach you how to blow up a gas tank? Always a good skill out in the middle of nowhere. Hand might need stitches too?” He could smell it, blood against the rifle in her hand, something probably to do with his weird with his meta weirdness. Iron. He could smell it. “Mighty nice rifle you got there too Pheobe….” He finished his candy bar and stashed the wrapper, leaning his forearms on his knees. “Aw c’mon, don’t skitter off. I don’t bite, just not a fan of getting blown up,need to take care of that hand... other crap out here can smell it that ain't harmless like me.”
  11. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Oops I Did It Again

    She was moving around in there. Damn it. That was why he didn’t have a significant other, he couldn’t have one, he couldn’t protect them. DAMN IT. It was a spilling anger, prickling over his entire body, riddled in panic and fury. He couldn’t shoot the invading fuckers in the head, he just couldn’t, but he wanted to… and they deserved it. Didn’t they? He needed his crazy life. Needed it to keep him sane as weird as that sounded. Fuck being serious. Fuck it with a duck. After downing the first bottle, it wanted to leave his hand. It wanted to be smacked against a wall and shattered into tiny bits because it would make him feel better. People did NOT come to his home and threaten him, did NOT. "Well. That was interesting...." He was quiet. A big mouth with nothing to say for the moment. He was not used to having someone in his space after his home was invaded, at least not someone he wasn’t kicking the crap out of for forcefully invading it. "Mind opening one for me," Eyes blinked at her, the redirect pulling his thoughts from a spiraling dark place. Smirk was immediate. “Always ready to open one.” Thumbnail did its fun metal party trick and took both the caps off. He was way too fucking sober for this time of morning. "And you aren't their best fetch gopher..... they are just assholes. If someone doesn't abide by your rules. Fuck them.... they don't deserve your expertise......" “I actually am,” he raised the bottle in a quick acknowledged toast before taking a long swig. “…I go anywhere, to get anything. But, you’re right on the other account. Fuck them and their stupid crap.” Did he have to do anything today? He didn’t think so. “Let’s get this place cleaned up. You probably got places to be.”
  12. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Enter the Phoenix

    Her being on his bike was making him twitch… not just because it was his, normally he really didn’t give a shit. It got bumped, scraped, had gone down and slid across busted pavement. Hell, stepped on by a Were… fuck, he’d even had sex ON the bike before… whoops, invading memories. The twitching stemmed from her taking the liberty to fuck with it AFTER he'd made some pretty powerful modifications not long ago, and to top it off people that took liberties were hiding things, overconfident, and he almost always ended up shooting them in the head. He really didn't want to shoot anyone in the head. Not today anyway... over this. “And hey, if you do try to shoot me, you might hurt the bike. Especially with all the gas..." “I don't miss... and gas tanks don’t really don't blow up from bullets.” Voice floated absently from around the corner. “You watch too many shitty movies…” "Your stuff is safe with me.. Got all I need in my bag." No it wasn't.... It wasn't his stuff he was worried about, it was the damage his stuff could do- namely the kaboom his bike could make. He had to make a call, lip was chewed as he finished up. Shame. "I ought to mosey along. I don't want to scare you any more with my witch-like charms, that's all..." “Stop fucking with my bike.” He’d rounded the corner calmly, like a wolf peering around a tree, Sig in hand but at his side pointing to the ground. He wasn’t a moron, especially when he was outside of the safety of the city. Being out in the “wild” was no joke, and he gave people the benefit of the doubt with a gentle ease of smartassery. She didn’t take the hint, now more force was required. The fact that if she kept poking around she was going to blow her ass up, right next to the external reservoir gas tank and he would be collateral damage, WAS A BIG REASON to step up the impact of his request. His bike had a kill switch code for a reason. It was his ride, but it was also a weapon. It was dangerous as hell out here, and everything had to be a weapon… See…. he wasn’t all that bad of an asshole. He was helping people not die... “You need to get off and back away from it because I don’t know what the fuck you’ve hit… “ He hoped that would be enough of an explanation. “If that goes, that external tank next to it will go too. Bullets don't blow up tanks, but fire does. I really don’t want to get my ass, or yours blown up today.” His voice was as serious as it got. “I figure with as long as it took me to take a piss, if you’ve armed it we have about thirty seconds. Don’t take too long to make a decision.” Cuz... that would really suck. "Then we can have lunch and learn lessons about how everyone that does business out here in fucksville has all their equipment armed.... k?"
  13. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Oops I Did It Again

    "I'm not just a healer you know. I may or may not have another side of my ability...." “Everyone has two sides.” It was so true. Some, a gentle variance… it was only natural. Some, a vicious bi-polar existence. "I wonder if you practiced enough that maybe you'd be able to eventually move.... Ya know. Practice makes perfect," “I’m just a meta, I can’t learn to twitch my nose and do more things” he swallowed the last of his OJ. “No more fun for me, I have other manifestations of the crazy train, but that’ll be it for life. I’m good with it.” "I think that you aren't as much as a dick that you think or believe you are. If you were a complete dick you would not have been how you were last night." His laugh was fully amused. “There’s a great deal of trust extended when you do a friend a solid. I’m afraid your boss is an old friend, and he knows what an asshole I can be… but it was also a favor to ask you to come here. I don’t want to fuck over good deeds. Bad karma. Plus I’m a good man whore. Not the kind that are true asshats. I have standards to my man whore behavior, which includes not taking advantage of good deeds... because that's how you end up with exes that smash your car window with baseball bats and set your clothes on fire.” Ya..... so that had happened a few times. “I also believe that everyone should do their best to stay alive and lead a fulfilling life," The statement hit a nerve, every smartass inhibition drained in a snap second. “I think it's more of just making sure that I have more life to live. Yes. I may have lived through the end of the world, but that doesn't mean I'm going to go running around like a crazy person," “Some of us enjoy it,” he said simply. “Crazy is all some have to keep from losing their minds completely.” Aw fuck it, he was too sober to be pondering life, grabbing a beer from the fridge. When he did, he got pissy, and when he got pissy he picked fights that never ended well. When his phone rang he was in the middle of a long swig of his favorite stout. Speaking of picking a fight. Thank god she didn’t second guess him as he slammed down the bottle and stalked to the door. Fuck this not listening to the terms of the deal. Shotgun was great, but…. he put it on the rack. He didn’t even bother checking the cameras, bare toe flicked up the door chock behind the door that was mounted in the floor to keep assholes from forcing the door completely open. Locks were clicked and he opened the door a foot, firing the contents of an entire Sig clip into the warehouse wall above their heads across the alley, tossing it to the side, grabbing the shotgun, racking it and putting it on point. “You come here again I will fucking kill you.” There was only one, and he was still ducked down, covering his head. Door slammed and he stalked to the damn safe, flipping through the code and pulling out that ugly ass necklace charm in a small jewelry bag, returning and opening the door to the chock stop to toss the damn thing out. “Go away, you're interrupting my peaceful, asshole free morning.” The click wasn’t surprising. He should have known. Another asshat with his back against the wall on the outside, waiting for the Irishman to lean out the door enough to get an aim. The first finally found the balls to stop cowering and snatched his shotgun when he put his hands up. “Not a good idea fuckface,” bare feet stepped out of the door and into the still dim early morning…. because he didn’t want them inside. Normally? It would be an all-out brawl at that moment. He didn’t want them firing inside. This is what happened when he had friends over. He was not meant to have a social life outside his bar. The best weapon he had right now was his mouth. “I shoot straight. It’s you motherfuckers that always want to change the stakes when you get a hard-on for the stuff that I risk my neck to find. You got your stuff, early I might add, by coming to my place which is never part of the deal. Interrupted my first beer of the day. You don’t get to get pissed for getting shot at.” The aim was pulled off him. “Thank you,” he snatched his shotgun back. “Dipshits. Go away. Don't call me again. Find another gopher.” *npc* "But you're the best fetch gopher" "Fuck off Jimmy. Point that gun at me ever again and I'll shove it up your ass." He stepped back in, slammed the door behind him and locked it again, shotgun on the rack, picking up his Sig and setting it on the coffee table with a huffed sigh. Where the fuck was his beer?
  14. Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Enter the Phoenix

    "Hard for people to take advantage of folks who are armed... but maybe I do indulge in a little head-exploding and skin-wearing in my spare time. You never know." He smirked, patting through his pockets to check everything and make sure he didn’t need to do anything else while he was stopped. Cocked, locked and ready to rock… or something. Eyes watched her from the corner of his vision. Face eater. She had to be a face eater. She was too nice, too quiet, too easy to put the rifle away… "I'm not lying about going to the city, if that means anything." Don’t sit on the bike. "Nice bike." Don’t sit on the bike. "How fast will it take me to New York?" SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHIT snacks! She sat on the bike. MOTHER. TRUCKER. She was a flippin’ scammer? Face eater. Both???? Brow quirked as he rinsed the canteen and poured it out, then watched the spigot as it filled. He had to stay calm. Most people he would have shot in the face by now. Sit on his bike…. the thought made his neck bristle. That bike and him had been through everything! Thick and thin. Skin of their teeth. Well… most of the time it just fucking broke down on him and burned his ankle… it was held together with bubble gum, toothpicks and duct tape... metaphorically... BUT STILL! “Why’d you have to go and do a dumb thing like that for,” he muttered particularly to himself. "I was just starting to like you 'cause you didn't point a gun at me... for that long, or shoot it." He filled a second one without a word, then shut the spigot off rather roughly. “I would have taken you there if you’d a asked nicely..... or at least shared my candy bar before I left. Ima gonna need a Snickers I think.” Canteens were slung over his shoulder and his hands moved to his hips. “Seems we got ourselves a stand-off here…” She’d never get it started. Kill switch pattern. He wasn’t an idiot. Well, he was until some face eater out west tried to steal his bike. Almost got his ass smushed by trolls in Ohio before he was able to find it again. That was, unpleasant. Learn Boone… learn from your mistakes! “Might wanna get off before my fingers go and find themselves a nice HAPPY trigger that would persuade you to reconsider your desired mode of transportation.” Face was stern for a moment, then crumbled a complete shitstorm of smartassery. He composed himself after a final snicker. “Happy trigger…” the naughty joke bubbled up another chuckle.. “Even I shouldn’t have said that. Aw fuck, just get off my bike so I can go take a piss without worrying you’ll cut my fuel lines. I got some food I can leave with you if ya’ll need it. You know what... just stay there and don't touch anything, my teeth are floating. Lady present, I'll do my thing elsewhere. Be right back... maybe. Depends... sometimes it takes a moment... aw hell, just don't touch.” He stepped around the corner and out of sight. "Don't touch. I mean it!"


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