06-15-2014, 10:03 PM
Redemption and the thrill. The two seemed like conflicting motivations at first, but Hood could understand to some degree. He could really enjoy himself most when the cause was 'good.' Or at the least, less of a grey area. Not that it really mattered to him one way or the other, especially if it were a good fight.
He had been told before that doing something good brought with it a sense of absolution, even if it were only temporary. Of course, he didn't realize what Jensen may have meant by that sense of being alive. Connor was visibly falling into the trap that came with having a few drinks after a near death experience.
Another long sip of beer as Jensen and Connor made their statements, their justifications, whether verbally or through Connor's reserved body language.
Hood's gaze settled on Jensen when the man requested to see his hand. He frowned, studying the man for a long moment and pondered just what the fellow was up to. "Fancy yourself a palm reader?"
But he set his beer aside and put his hand out for Jensen to examine. His hands were rough and calloused, the result of many long years of hard work and, likely, violence. The ages of identifying a gunman by the gunpowder burns on his hands, or the carbon stains on his fingers were long gone.
There were no tattoos, no intentional scarification. His gaze moved to Connor, flashing him a knowing grin. "Suggest you get your rocks off before going to ground, buddy. You go to ground thinking the way you're thinking, this night'll never leave ya. So what'd ya see there? Long life line? Money in my future? Sure as shit ain't going to be kids and a white picket fucking fence."
The last was aimed at Jensen as the man took a gander at Hood's hand and forearm.
Once Jensen was satisfied, he pulled his arm back and grabbed his beer again, "And you two think of doing shit like this again, and you want to think that peace and love will win the day, then you'd better learn how the fuck to put a man down alive. Charlene there. Seven years MMA. Knows a good club. Expensive, but you get what you pay for."
He had been told before that doing something good brought with it a sense of absolution, even if it were only temporary. Of course, he didn't realize what Jensen may have meant by that sense of being alive. Connor was visibly falling into the trap that came with having a few drinks after a near death experience.
Another long sip of beer as Jensen and Connor made their statements, their justifications, whether verbally or through Connor's reserved body language.
Hood's gaze settled on Jensen when the man requested to see his hand. He frowned, studying the man for a long moment and pondered just what the fellow was up to. "Fancy yourself a palm reader?"
But he set his beer aside and put his hand out for Jensen to examine. His hands were rough and calloused, the result of many long years of hard work and, likely, violence. The ages of identifying a gunman by the gunpowder burns on his hands, or the carbon stains on his fingers were long gone.
There were no tattoos, no intentional scarification. His gaze moved to Connor, flashing him a knowing grin. "Suggest you get your rocks off before going to ground, buddy. You go to ground thinking the way you're thinking, this night'll never leave ya. So what'd ya see there? Long life line? Money in my future? Sure as shit ain't going to be kids and a white picket fucking fence."
The last was aimed at Jensen as the man took a gander at Hood's hand and forearm.
Once Jensen was satisfied, he pulled his arm back and grabbed his beer again, "And you two think of doing shit like this again, and you want to think that peace and love will win the day, then you'd better learn how the fuck to put a man down alive. Charlene there. Seven years MMA. Knows a good club. Expensive, but you get what you pay for."