Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

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Everything posted by Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

  1. 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!
  2. 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?”
  3. 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?”
  4. 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.
  5. 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.”
  6. Vroom Vroom

    He was impatient. Always this crap. The brute set the price, set the time and place, if they didn't agree... fuck em. There were always more bidders, always more buyers. Still, he was entertaining their bullshit. Why? No clue.. maybe he was going soft. Arms crossed and he sighed as he leaned on his propped bike, squinting up at the sky. "This could happen some time today... or not. Your choice douche canoe." Now he was getting pissed. He checked his watch, he had made an appointment, one he really wanted to get started on. "Fuck this, I'm out." Time was already pushing...there was another stop to make before he made it back to his warehouse. Mr. Bike would be there just as he got there at this rate. Leg swung over the beat up Triumph, and the engine roared to life. *npc* Wait! He revved it two more times and started to lift up his foot. *npc* Wait! Foot came down, the shotgun slung on his back spun off and cocked on point. "You fucked the deal. This was not a negotiation. My price stands. Don't call. I'll call you." He fired, but not what they expected. A tire hissed. "Have a great day gentlemen." Shotgun secured, he rode off. They could shoot him and take that fucking ugly thing, not likely. These jerks were newbs. Newbs thought they were badass and try to negotiate. Fuck that shit. He had much more fun to deal with at the moment, and it certainly wasn't these crackerjacks. Plus, he was pissed. He'd be on time back to the warehouse to meet his "partner", but barely.
  7. 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. Oops I Did It Again

    July 5, 2019 ...night, west of NYC [boone]Dude… you fucking shot me![/boone] It hurt. A lot! How the hell did the fucker manage that?!? Boot kicked the guy's leg once, he was dead at least. Shotgun pumped and he shot him again just because, leaning down to pick up the odd looking thing on a string that the man refused to give him. Well, he would have given it to him if he’d given him more money. Could he at least do a job where the stupid trope bullshit didn’t apply? For once? ‘Cause… that’d be great. The Colossus wannabe winced again, fucker blew a hole through his damn shoulder. Fingers reached behind, groaning in pain. It hadn’t come out. Damn it! Talisman stuffed in his pocket –it better not do anything while it was in there- he slung the shotgun on his shoulder and straddled his bike. Blood was already down to his elbow. Damn it! Pulling a button down out of his pack he wound it tight about the shoulder, cell already dialed. He could call Pharos….. buuuuut this wasn’t a Pharos job. Just outside the city, the reception was spotty. Voicemail. [boone]Heyyyy! Alistair. Buddy. We haven’t chatted in a while. Well, okay a really long while, but I need a favor. I have a pub I just bought in Manhattan, beer is good. If you ever want to retire from the job as a gender-bent Storm cosplayer I’ll give you a partnership… just bullshitting. No really, you have great hair for it. I need a favor. Not, the pub thing, but I will totally do that to repay you.[/boone] he rubbed his forehead with his fingers. [boone]I got shot. Now.. before you get all concerned, because I hope you would at least a little, the guy totally Han Solo’d first. Um, if you have like.. a healer or something in your gig, that’d be great. I could explain… but yah, not exactly on... never mind. Better I don't tell you,. Send them to Warehouse 22. Harbor. About that pub thing, I was serious about it being a payback ‘cause. Anyway. Sooo.. how are you? I’m good.. except for the shot thing.[/boone] He frowned at the phone when it ran out of time and beeped. Well… here’s to hoping the message got through. Sliding it into his back pocket, he revved the engine once and was off home. Here's also to hoping he didn't bleed to death on the way home., and that quiet thing in his pocket next to his goods stayed a quiet thing in his pocket next to his goods.
  9. Brandon and possible Affiliations

    Altheia also knows that Boone collects suspicious weird things from and sometimes for bad guys. He never told her that he works for Pharos though I don't think. But, Boone may just stop by because he's Boone. "Hey Ms. Doc, I have a splinter... ooh shiny"
  10. Brandon and possible Affiliations

    Boone is a crack Pharos relic hunter, also deals black market under the table and knows Altheia. I got some ideas but need to close up a few threads first- it's possible that Altheia and Boone' s threads could dovetail in now that he's been introduced to Altheia.
  11. 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?”
  12. 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..
  13. 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.”
  14. 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.”

    So Boone is financial tycoon. He bought a bar. Who's in for shots??
  16. 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?"
  17. 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?
  18. 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!"

    *chants* Site event! Site event!
  20. Oops I Did It Again

    He stopped chewing at the narrowed eyes, chipmunk cheek still managing to allow a smirk. The usually drunk accountant had picked up his plate and was leaning against the counter as he ate. It was just more comfortable, he hadn’t sat down for a breakfast that he could remember since the world went to shit. Before that... Detroit mornings were beautiful, penthouse high rise or RenCen. Their glass house… smirk lit his lips again as the weirdness was brushed away. “Grandpa lived to 92. Shot of whisky every morning on his oatmeal. Though…. “ he looked thoughtful. “It could have been the oatmeal, dunno.” "That is just beyond weird and crazy you know....Such a weirdo," “Have you met me???” He listened to her trials and tribulations with her work, a quirk in his brow as he ate. Coffee… he reached over and clicked the switch on his coffee maker. “You don’t have to be a healer just because you can ya know… ARMA and all, I get it… but I make shotguns and bikes, talent for it. Good at it. I’m an accountant and Pharos fetch-boy by day though.” That was about as much as he would divulge. Director Ward… jackass. He had a bullseye on his back from that ball buster. Dick. “So.... You aren't able to, form it over your chest .... say.... if you were gonna get shot?" He looked up at her from his plate, same quirk in his brow. “Yah. I can do some crazy ass shit… but yah. Problem is I can’t move and it takes focus. So… protecting my chest is great and all, but if I have to duck right after I can’t do it.” Hand went up again and he wiggled his fingers, then a gold seemed to coat from his fingertips to his wrist. “Can’t move it… it’s like a candy coated shell.” It soaked into his skin and vanished as he reached to grab a coffee cup and pour one for himself and her. Cabinet opened and he put a splash of whisky in his. Jebus…. he never really thought about how much he drank until now… "You ever think it would be a good idea to try and not get shot as much," He laughed, grabbing the coffee cup by the rim instead of the handle and glancing at her over it as he took a drink. Bacon crunched again as he popped it into his mouth. "I'm not gonna be around every time to heal you, ya know. I could be.... busy.... doing something else the next time Ali calls me in the middle of the night," His face fell a bit more serious, lips pursing. “My work is dangerous. I go… out into nowhere in the middle of the night. Sometimes for weeks. I’ve seen things that people don’t even realize exist. I deal with shitty people that back out of deals or want more in return than they originally asked for. People are dicks. That’s why they keep me around, I’m also a dick and have no problem shooting them in the face in return.” He kicked back the rest of his coffee. “But… it’s a risk I signed up for. Been shot in the field a few times, bitten by shit, stabbed a couple times… lucky enough to be close to safe holes. One of these days, I’ll die out there.” It was such a stark confession, and he seemed to have no qualms about it. “I’ve already come to terms with that. I’m gonna live like I wanna live.” Cup swirled a bit to get the rest of the liquid together and he knocked that back too, turning to rinse off his plate and his glass- into the dishwasher. He had one. Yassssss… “The world is not safe. If you died tomorrow you would have lived through the end of the world only to play it safe now?” He leaned on the counter again, arms crossing to tap his thumbs on his biceps. “Fuck that. I’m going out shooting…” Expression quirked. This was soooo.... domestic. Again the weirdness in his chest. WEIRD. “Moving on.” Phone rang again. Expression turned dark as he glanced at it on the counter. He snatched it and snapped it open. “I said, Fuck. Off.” Eyes snapped to her, closing the phone. It was a different expression, the vicious Hyde to the normal smartass Jekyll. Movements also changed, purposeful, powerful. “Get in the bathroom,” he hissed, already moving, slap of bare feet drowned out by the racking of a shotgun he'd grabbed at the same time there was a knock at his main door.

    *breaks out the good stuff* Awww hell... all my stuff is the good stuff
  22. Enter the Phoenix

    "You carry unloaded guns on long-distance errands? Doesn't seem too 'badass 'to me." He laughed out loud. Oh she was a sweetheart… or he was just a complete ass, the point of no return- all Christine Daae’ or some shit. Or, completely able to seem innocent enough which meant he was probably fucked… lost his touch maybe? Cripes, why in the hell did he remember songs from a Broadway show to boot? He really was losing his edge. Or tired. Drink, he needed a damn drink. HE WAS SOBER... that was the damn problem. “No… nah… sorry, just fuckin’ with ya. It’s totally loaded. So is the Sig on my ankle.” Face was full of smartassery, but attention was keenly on the rifle that had relaxed slightly over her shoulder. This crap is how he got shot. Did he want to get shot, because this was how he always ended up getting shot. He realllllly did not want to get shot today. So he blabbed. He knew he was somewhat charming, or at least capable of completely diverting attention from the fact that he was ready at any second to defend himself, and he had another loaded gun at the back of his waistband. "What? Waiting for a Boyfri-" Smirk flicked upward as she caught his humor. People either liked it… or they didn’t. "I'm all alone out here. Looking to head to New York, actually. On foot." “No. No no no no,” he started, finishing up with the bike. “See you never say that to people. Either you’re lying and you’re going to do something crazy like make my head explode and wear my skin like a puppet OR people will take advantage of you.” He rifled around in his bag and pulled out his canteen. “Are you lying?” He craned his neck slightly to look past her. He was pretty sure she was alone, which meant she was telling the truth. How the fuck was she still alive? Head exploding. Dammit. She was a head exploder or some magus shit. “This place does have some good water,” wary eyes flicked to her. Both hands went up again, the canteen clearly in his right hand. “I’m gonna go over there and fill this up, just in case you were thinking of shooting. Just water.” Footsteps took him to the back of the building, still within sight distance. The spigot from the building squeaked on and he let it run for a few moments. “I planned on crashing here tonight and riding in tomorrow… ‘cause I’m sunburnt to hell and have no ginger super powers to stop that. But, if you’re hanging here… I can definitely move along. After, water…”
  23. Enter the Phoenix

    Oh great, they were in the building. Crunching glass gave it away… which meant, kaboom if they really wanted to. Contrary to every Hollywood movie ever, gas tanks didn’t explode when shot. Now filling up a gas tank and have a shot fired and missed to hit the metal stairs next to him… fucked. Totally. He didn’t feel like getting fucked today… wait… err.. nm Every few chews on his gum he whistled a bit to himself, fingers tapping on the large rusted tank he was leaning on. "Where are you from? New York? What group?" Jaw slowed slightly and then stopped moving. “The group that doesn’t like getting shot…?” Both hands came up next to his face to show there was nothing in them. He nodded toward his shotgun leaning on the tank steps. “Not loaded.” LIE It was so fucking loaded. So was the Sig on his ankle. “Just makes me look badass to hot chicks.” Jaw moved on the gum… uck flavor was gone already. Fucking Fruit Stripe gum. Greatest thing in the world for the first couple moments then it was like chewing a balloon. He hocked it off to the ground on the right. “Is it… is it working??” Brows came down, the sound of his tank becoming full. “I’m gonna reach over and stop this crazy train before it floods, don’t shoot me please?” He didn’t wait, pulling the hose and putting his thumb on it, holding it up and taking his thumb off. The rest drained back into the big tank. He rinsed the hose in a nearby spigot, nothing ever got the smell of gas off it completely but it was enough to put back into the bag and back into the sidebag. Tank cap screwed back on, he lifted the shotgun and slung it back crossway over his shoulder. One leg over the bike, he sat on it and crossed his arms. “New York. Heading back in that direction from an errand. You lost? Waiting for a boyfriend… cute boyfriend? Somebody else?” The grin was Cheshire Cat, really… really hoping he wouldn’t get shot again.
  24. Oops I Did It Again

    She needed to start saying what she was thinking. People had too little time on this earth to be smirking and grinning all to themselves. Her brain was churning, that was for sure. "Mmmm... I love OJ. Favorite morning drink, right there," “I prefer whisky on my oatmeal, but O.J. works too…” he mused, used to moving around someone in the morning. From the outside, it looked smooth and rehearsed, on the inside it was weird, and strange. Odd. It brought back things he didn’t want to think about. "And I'm not too sure I'd ever use that line to get into a place.... I don't really go out too much to drink and have a good time. I'm usually always good for a night at home with my wine bottle. Unless I am looking for trouble. Then I'll go out," Chuckle was deep in his chest, genuine. “That works too.” "Always working, huh? Well that's kind of sad. Though I suppose if you think about it I'm always on the clock too...." “Not sad, I just found a way to make work something I enjoy. If you’re a slave to someone elses dime, what’s the point?” Speaking of… damn phone. He knew exactly who it was before he even looked, and when he returned he was really hoping things weren’t heading straight for the trash with a screaming fire alarm. One thing he really hated, sirens. Alarms. The sound of something screeching over panicked thoughts was a trigger on a powder keg of crazy. "We were just about to have some delicious breakfast. I do believe..." “Exxxxxcellent…” plates spun in his palms as he ‘set’ the table, snicking down the lever to swallow the bread into the toaster, poking at it a second for it to go all the way down. There were no qualms about moving hot things around with his bare hands. He didn’t even think about it for a moment, picking up the skillet by the side to toss some bacon down on both plates before putting it back on the stove. Oh crap… she didn’t know about that. He wiggled his fingers at her, then touched a palm to the hot flattop stove. “It’s all good,” he said calmly, silver sliding over his skin with a shimmer and disappearing as it seemed to soak back in. “It’s a byproduct of being a drunken Colossus.” "So who was that... I'm guessing it was in relation to what happened last night?" Uhoh Batman. Pull overrrr. Morning police….. Fuuuu… the toast clicked up at that moment and he snatched it, tossing one on her plate and stuffing the other in his mouth before pushing down two more into the toaster. “Everything is always related. Anyone that says different is either lying or trying to sell you something. Probably both,” the wisdom was muffled out through the toast as he waited for the other to pop up. He finally chewed and swallowed enough to speak clearly. Two more popped up and he sat at the table, the other given to her. “The less you know, the longer you’ll probably live.” Smirk was like the cat that ate the canary, but it held a lick of seriousness. “I get shot more than I’d like to admit… it fucking sucks...”