07-17-2014, 08:48 PM
Hood sat opposite Rune, quietly disassembling and cleaning a recently acquired AK74. He paid the weapon little attention, his hands moving with practice and familiarity as he removed springs and broke down the trigger mechanism into it's constituent parts, laying them out in a seemingly precise order, left to right.
Her story hadn't changed much; she had Jaxen in the bag, but hesitated. Not that she would say as much, but it was how she danced around the topic. The playboy didn't 'reek' of violence. Probably never would. And she, briefly at least, doubted the reason to kill the man. Everyone needed a reason to kill, or else they were just some shit-brained homicidal murderer.
It was a thin line, a grey area, but one he reasoned was what separated folks like him from some nutbar mass-murderer. Sure, some of the folks he killed didn't necessarily deserve it, but there was at least a reason to it. A bigger picture.
She had healed up nicely, and was on a quick road to recovery. Mostly thanks to the fact that she was in such good shape to begin with. Her body was young and strong, healthy, and eager to patch itself up in order to get back into the swing of things.
Her hedgehog was up to it's usual mischief; he'd had to take care of it more often then he would have liked; she was often asleep, after all. But, at least it was quiet, and didn't take up any space. And the mess was easy enough to keep track of.
"So now your 'gods' can summon ninja. No more cowboy'ing these hunts then. More hands on on the ground. Watching each other's backs."
He had a newspaper wrapped package sitting on the seat next to him, which he tossed onto the table in front of her. "Early Christmas for you, Candy. Try wearing that next time you decide going Lone Ranger. Don't much feel like having to go rooting around in your lower intestine again."
The package held a stab vest; an expensive one. The material was remarkably thin, the plates made of a rigid, light weight, advanced, flexible polymer. It would still hurt, and would probably lead to broken ribs, if one were shot or stabbed by a strong enough attacker, but it wouldn't penetrate. The flexible nature of it meant it could be worn, mostly unnoticed, under normal clothes.
He continued working on the assault rifle. A small container, one most folks would use to hold decorative beads or small screws, sat open beside him, and he began replacing the springs he had removed from the weapon with new ones of a far better quality.
Her story hadn't changed much; she had Jaxen in the bag, but hesitated. Not that she would say as much, but it was how she danced around the topic. The playboy didn't 'reek' of violence. Probably never would. And she, briefly at least, doubted the reason to kill the man. Everyone needed a reason to kill, or else they were just some shit-brained homicidal murderer.
It was a thin line, a grey area, but one he reasoned was what separated folks like him from some nutbar mass-murderer. Sure, some of the folks he killed didn't necessarily deserve it, but there was at least a reason to it. A bigger picture.
She had healed up nicely, and was on a quick road to recovery. Mostly thanks to the fact that she was in such good shape to begin with. Her body was young and strong, healthy, and eager to patch itself up in order to get back into the swing of things.
Her hedgehog was up to it's usual mischief; he'd had to take care of it more often then he would have liked; she was often asleep, after all. But, at least it was quiet, and didn't take up any space. And the mess was easy enough to keep track of.
"So now your 'gods' can summon ninja. No more cowboy'ing these hunts then. More hands on on the ground. Watching each other's backs."
He had a newspaper wrapped package sitting on the seat next to him, which he tossed onto the table in front of her. "Early Christmas for you, Candy. Try wearing that next time you decide going Lone Ranger. Don't much feel like having to go rooting around in your lower intestine again."
The package held a stab vest; an expensive one. The material was remarkably thin, the plates made of a rigid, light weight, advanced, flexible polymer. It would still hurt, and would probably lead to broken ribs, if one were shot or stabbed by a strong enough attacker, but it wouldn't penetrate. The flexible nature of it meant it could be worn, mostly unnoticed, under normal clothes.
He continued working on the assault rifle. A small container, one most folks would use to hold decorative beads or small screws, sat open beside him, and he began replacing the springs he had removed from the weapon with new ones of a far better quality.