SPADES SLICK (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
beatstheclock) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
capeandcowllogs2012-06-14 02:22 am
beatstheclock) wrote in capeandcowllogs2012-06-14 02:22 am
weapons of mass frustration
WHO: Spades Slick, knives, and YOU????
WHERE: A seedy-ass weapons store.
WHEN: Thursday night.
WARNINGS: Standard Slick warnings apply: injuries will probably occur.
SUMMARY:
FORMAT: Quicklog!
[We open on our antihero in a shitty little hunting-and-fishing supply store. It's really blatantly a "hunting supply store" in the same way that George R.R. Martin is a comedy writer. This is a deathmongering murderhut.
Which is why Spades Slick is here.
The walls are lined with enough shotguns to fix a zombie apocalypse, and in the glass cases are various wildly illegal (without game license, anyway) gravity knives. The proprietor is a nice looking fella with a scowl that reaches all the way into his soul, tattooed to the gills. Currently, he's having a smoke and eyeing Slick warily while he weighs knives in his hands with all the ease of a man who weighs knives in his hands a lot.]
How much? [Slick grunts at the reply (250, totally custom, got a carbon blade, black like his soul) and considers a five-finger discount. Or, more likely, a one-knife-in-chest discount.
WILL YOU INTERRUPT HIM, Y/N.]
WHERE: A seedy-ass weapons store.
WHEN: Thursday night.
WARNINGS: Standard Slick warnings apply: injuries will probably occur.
SUMMARY:
FORMAT: Quicklog!
[We open on our antihero in a shitty little hunting-and-fishing supply store. It's really blatantly a "hunting supply store" in the same way that George R.R. Martin is a comedy writer. This is a deathmongering murderhut.
Which is why Spades Slick is here.
The walls are lined with enough shotguns to fix a zombie apocalypse, and in the glass cases are various wildly illegal (without game license, anyway) gravity knives. The proprietor is a nice looking fella with a scowl that reaches all the way into his soul, tattooed to the gills. Currently, he's having a smoke and eyeing Slick warily while he weighs knives in his hands with all the ease of a man who weighs knives in his hands a lot.]
How much? [Slick grunts at the reply (250, totally custom, got a carbon blade, black like his soul) and considers a five-finger discount. Or, more likely, a one-knife-in-chest discount.
WILL YOU INTERRUPT HIM, Y/N.]
go for gold
It simply bounces off, actually, and that's when Peacock whirls, grinning widely (showing off sharp, metal teeth) and yanking a large knife out of her...eyesocket, apparently. ]
You wanna have a go, huh? [ SHE SEEMS EXCITED BY THE PROSPECT. ]
no subject
The way around that he seems to have decided on, after a scant moment's consideration, is the cast-iron horse hitcher. Bludgeoning things to death also works, white most times less innately satisfying than application of knife to soft parts. He'll make an exception for robot bits.]
What, you thought I was just bragging? [He personally means every death threat!]
no subject
It ain't gonna matter what I think, seein' as we're gonna have it out, see? [ we are having a showdown right here, right now
she is going for the gut with that knife, WATCH OUT SLICK ]