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Slainte 7/8 2021 2:30pm Crazy ass mofo... *npc* Paddy... The woman's voice snapped him out of his grouchy face at the stupid piece of equipment, Blue always snapped him out of his moods... she was like a sister. *npc* You got shit to do. Stop screwing around with the sink. I'll get someone on it. Lips pursed, then smooched her on the cheek. It was quiet always right after the lunch rush; a little bit of a lull before the dinner crowd and all out race to last call. He needed a nap or some shit, still pretty banged up from his last escapade. He sported a shiner, bashed knuckles or a bruised jaw more often than he'd like to admit. Someone getting the drop on him made him pissy. Granted, he dealt with assholes most of the time and it was rare they had a one-up, it still annoyed him. He was alive though, he'd heal. I'll be in my office trying to be responsible. Let me know if anything interesting happens. With that, the quirky Pharos employee made his way up the stairs. Nap maybe. Responsibilities... nap... responsibilities, nap. Aw hell, he'd flip a coin.
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.
July 1st, 2017 11:23AM ARMA HQ Some days, Alistair often thought, you just shouldn't even bother getting out of bed. This time it hadn't even been the Inquisition. Just because the little war had popped up between the Order of Ulrich and its onetime subsidiary branch in New York didn't mean that the rest of the messes that were constantly popping up in New York City had stopped. Sometimes he thought they might have even gotten more frequent, but he knew that was just his own paranoia talking - and the fact that the additional load was more frazzling than usual for him. He'd just been on the way home to pick up a few things and have lunch when the call came in and he had ended up diverting to Central Station. Lizards had been pouring out of the tunnels. FREAKING LIZARDS. There were worse things he'd gone up against, sure. Giant spiders, nagas, shit that looked like it belonged in some deep sea ocean voyage. But this had been entirely too many lizards. Big ones, little ones... REALLY goddamn big ones. Someone had opened up a portal to the fucking lizard dimension and just left it on full blast. Most of them weren't a major problem (apart from the claws), but the few abnormally large and hungry specimens had been a problem. A problem Alistair, equipped more for lunch than for a war, had really been hoping to avoid. In the end his coat caught the worst of the mess, but one of them had gotten in a nasty slash on his leg - one that was now tied up with a somewhat hastily wrapped Ace bandage as he limped back into the building. [alistair]Oh... hush.[/alistair] he muttered when a few stopped to look - then again, one or two injuries weren't all that uncommon. There was a reason they had the medical branch. Alistair pushed through the door into Doctor Martin's domain and sat unceremoniously in one of the chairs, wincing. [alistair]Medic?[/alistair]