09-16-2013, 03:54 AM
The three darkies coming from the other side of the alley caught Yuri by surprise. Come to think of it, though, he should have expected it, since the boy had said he'd run from them in a deal gone bad. Fuck, if you're going to screw over someone in a deal you better have means and the yaytsa to put an end to it right there. Fucking kid was an amateur at this game for sure.
The Mudak certainly had the means and the yaytsa to take care of them. Yuri could see the yellow-tinged flows coming from the man as he bashed the three against the alleyway walls. Crude, but effective. Just the kind of thing Yuri would do. Gangstas like that come fuck with him, he'd titstomp them so hard they'd be sucking their gin and juice from a feeding tube the rest of their lives.
Yuri drank in more of the power as he watched. Blockhead Mudak made a call from his Wallet and stuffed something in one of the darkies' pockets. Then the man turned his attention back up the alley.
To where Yuri was crouched.
Fuck my life.
His noise hadn't gone unnoticed. Uppers fired neuroreceptor against synapse faster than he could follow. Should he flee? Fight? In a split second, he decided: he would lie his ass off to get in good with the man.
Yuri put his hands away from himself to either side, far from anyplace he could draw a weapon -- although he was holding onto a far more lethal weapon than any mundane thing -- and revealed himself, stepping out from behind the garbage pile. "I don't mean any harm here,"
he said.
Sudden revelation like that would certainly warrant a need for an explanation. Time to talk fast -- and get past the scene where he'd made getting thrown out of the restaurant earlier. Mudak seemed to have fondness for all things Russian, perhaps it would do well to play to those sensitivities. Russian was Yuri's native tongue, after all. "I wouldn't have been so rude if I knew you were cool. Just wasn't my self this morning. I saw those chernomazyy following that kid and came back here. Wasn't going to let them mess with a good child of Matushka Rossiya. I see you wouldn't either. "
And, of course, in the same breath he was going to screw over the good child of Mother Russia. "'Course, good Russians take care of their own problems and don't bring them home. Maybe I could help take care of some problems for you."
He threw a look in the kid's direction.
The Mudak certainly had the means and the yaytsa to take care of them. Yuri could see the yellow-tinged flows coming from the man as he bashed the three against the alleyway walls. Crude, but effective. Just the kind of thing Yuri would do. Gangstas like that come fuck with him, he'd titstomp them so hard they'd be sucking their gin and juice from a feeding tube the rest of their lives.
Yuri drank in more of the power as he watched. Blockhead Mudak made a call from his Wallet and stuffed something in one of the darkies' pockets. Then the man turned his attention back up the alley.
To where Yuri was crouched.
Fuck my life.
His noise hadn't gone unnoticed. Uppers fired neuroreceptor against synapse faster than he could follow. Should he flee? Fight? In a split second, he decided: he would lie his ass off to get in good with the man.
Yuri put his hands away from himself to either side, far from anyplace he could draw a weapon -- although he was holding onto a far more lethal weapon than any mundane thing -- and revealed himself, stepping out from behind the garbage pile. "I don't mean any harm here,"
he said.
Sudden revelation like that would certainly warrant a need for an explanation. Time to talk fast -- and get past the scene where he'd made getting thrown out of the restaurant earlier. Mudak seemed to have fondness for all things Russian, perhaps it would do well to play to those sensitivities. Russian was Yuri's native tongue, after all. "I wouldn't have been so rude if I knew you were cool. Just wasn't my self this morning. I saw those chernomazyy following that kid and came back here. Wasn't going to let them mess with a good child of Matushka Rossiya. I see you wouldn't either. "
And, of course, in the same breath he was going to screw over the good child of Mother Russia. "'Course, good Russians take care of their own problems and don't bring them home. Maybe I could help take care of some problems for you."
He threw a look in the kid's direction.