#ahtits

[that-biker-with-the-vest]

@ahtits

“Oh c’mon, Nick. Gone for this long and THAT’S the best you can do?” Even so, Francis straightens himself out, smearing the blood off his lips and nostrils with the back of his hand. It’d been months, maybe a full YEAR that Francis had seen an actual Survivor out here. Less and less people were alive thanks to the Infected; they were all changing more and more. Getting smarter, becoming clever, faster, and possibly stronger.

But of course, back on track, the first Survivor he’s seen was Nick. 

Hell, he would have taken the chatterbox hick, but whatever.

The first thing he did when seeing Nick was mock him. Awesome decision on his part until the fuck decided to punch him. Maybe Francis deserved it. Probably did, Man, did those fucking rings hurt. His old Hell’s Legion Boss sure knew how to design a ring that HURT.

“Bein’ a little bitch doesn’t suit you, Nick!” Francis presses. 

[renegadetwins]

@ahtits from here

“I’m too fucking tired to rob you, bitch tit.” She has such amazing insults, doesn’t she? Absolutely wonderful. She pushes a strand of dirty, sweat caked hair from her face. Her accent is thick and gruff at this point, and while she recognizes it, she still continues to speak. “Where’s safety?”

[australiumdeprived-blog]

@ahtits

“Well, well, well...what have we here?” Like a mouse caught in a snake’s coils, Michael stares down at the...surprisingly obnoxious white suit of the man currently pinned to the floor. His heavy boot grinds into the base of the man’s spine, hoping to elicit some form of noise past his lips. “An unwelcome rat that took the wrong turn...”

There’s a pause, brief and minor, as Michael stops to gaze around the area, wondering if any of his teammate’s were nearby. These days, Virgil would be hanging around, looking through walls and trying to keep an eye on Michael should he go into one of his “moods” as they liked to call it.

As it turned out, Virgil was gone from the base this day. Which left Michael to his own devices. 

“And what were you trying to gain, eh? Sneaking into an old base like this? Hmm? Nothing much but dirt, rocks...a murderous group of mercenaries...but close. Close.”

[that-biker-with-the-vest]

@ahtits

“Holy shit. Again! Nick’s fuckin’ alive.”

[courierd]

‘ you’re always so fast to assume that it’s my fault , but guess what ? you don’t know ! ’

delivery no.   643978904059658240 accepting.   from:   nicolas dillon.   [ address unknown. ]

exasperation   would   be   worn   on   features   if   they   could   be   seen,   a   roll   of   hidden   eyes   as   he   turns   away   and   throws   his   arms   up   before   dropping   them   to   his   sides.   rifle   once   more   hanging   in   the   sling   on   his   back   and   he   turns   on   heel,   as   if   trying   to   remove   himself   from   the   argument   before   drawing   back   for   one   last   word.   left   palm   placed   under   his   right   hand,   with   palm   facing   down   as   right   hand   balled   into   fist   sits   atop   it.   again   and   again,   right   hand   makes   a   rushed,   movement   towards   nick.   fabric   making   noise   as   a   result   of   his   frantic   accusatory   signing   at   the   man.

❝   YOUR   FAULT.   YOUR   FAULT.   YOUR   FAULT.   ❞

and   yet,   as   if   remembering   he   can’t   understand   him,   the   courier   makes   a   wide   sweeping   brush   of   hands   in   the   gambler’s   direction.   then,   turns   around   once   more.   gloved   hands   on   his   hips,   he   looks   out   o’er   the   wasteland.   watching   the   bright   lights   of   the   new   vegas   strip   in   the   distance,   illuminating   the   paling   horizon   as   the   sun   sets   upon   the   long   day.   worn   from   the   fight   out   of   the   crumbling   mantis   cave,   and   worrying   about   the   one   behind   him,   a   faint   exhale   is   heard   beneath   the   mask   as   shoulders   slump   ever   so   slightly.   the   sound   of   the   wanderer’s   resolve   caving   in.   a   turn,   right   hand   in   a   light   fist   is   placed   upon   his   chest   and   moved   in   a   clockwise   motion   halfway   before   remembering,   once   more,   that   he   couldn’t   understand.   jolting   in   movements   when   he   realizes   this,   the   courier   pats   around   for   his   notepad,   frantically   searching   and   fearful   that   he   may   not   have   realized   he   dropped   it   somewhere   on   the   way   out   and   ---   ah!   there   it   is.   little   scribbling   is   heard   as   he   writes   something   down   on   the   worn   paper   before   handing   it   to   the   other.

❝   i’m   sorry,   i   didn’t   mean   to   get   upset.   i’m   not   used   to   lugging   people   around.   usually,   my   packages   don’t   talk.   ❞

a   glance   towards   the   horizon   again,   new   vegas   still   blazing   on   like   a   star   in   the   distance.   a   single   hand   is   raised   and   pointed   to   it,   the   destination   the   gambler   was   seeking.   pause   given   before   taking   the   notepad   back   and   writing   down   another   note   before   handing   it   back   to   the   other.

❝   we’re   almost   there,   if   we   keep   moving   we   should   make   it   around   midnight.   ❞

[baddcop]

"You smell like cigarettes and shame."

Bristled     but     he’s     heard     far     worse,     yet     the     detective     was     not     often     one     to     let     things     roll     off     his     back     so     easily.     Especially     when     it     came     to     individuals     like     him.     Breath     out     as     he     grips     him     firmly,     pause     given     as     he     mulls     over     what     exactly     he     wants     to     do     in     retaliation,     and     he     seems     to     scan     the     surroundings     idly     as     tongue     explores     the     inside     of     his     mouth,     tastes     copper     from     their     scuffle     before     a     grin     twitches     at     the     corners     of     his     lips     and     he     gives     a     humored     huff,     shoulders     wrack.     Entertained     chortle     escaping     him,     airy     as     the     jaw     is     still     parted     and     head     turns     downwards     a     moment     before     he     shakes     his     head     and     snorts.     Leans     in     a     bit,     there’s     booze     on     his     breath     and     venom     on     his     lips,     a     low     growl     of     a     retort     is     shot     back.     Pressing     harder,     chest     flush     against     his,     back     against     the     wall,     and     body     begs :     BREAK     HIM     DOWN.

R     ;     ❛     yeah?     well     you     smell     like     trash     n’piss.     tch.     c’mon     lets     go.     prick.     ❜

This     would     be     the     last     time     he’d     let     him     have     a     bathroom     break     on     their     way     back     to     the     station.     As     far     as     Gavin     was     concerned     he     could     sit     in     it     like     some     animal     --     since     that’s     how     he     insisted     on     behaving.     Taking     and     taking.     But     his     mind     cries     --     o’     but     you     are     an     animal     too!     cut     from     the     same     cloth     but     hungering     for     different     things,     different     vices.     He     always     wondered     how     different     was     he     really     from     people     like     him     --     he     hated     wondering     that.

[baddcop]

"--Hey, I got a thousand bucks for ya if you get me the hell outta this shithole."

“ I thought I told you to shut your FUCKING MOUTH! ”   A harsh slam of his fist to the thick glass. Not nearly enough to shatter it of course, but perhaps enough to at the very least startle the man. Sorry, Nick, this one isn’t budging so easy. And he’s keeping guard to make sure no one else in this precinct does either. ( He’ll be sure to add attempted bribery to the long list of charges, if it wasn’t there already that is. )

[baddcop]

"Hey! Watch the suit!"

❝  Shut the fuck up! Move, asshole.  ❞

Gavin had little patience for the man, the long list of warrants and the rather lengthy criminal record that his partner had informed him the man had given Reed little reason to care. Especially for something as pompous, ugly and flashy as a white suit. After all the lives he’s seemingly ruined, all the bloodshed he’s caused, he surely deserves to have been roughed up quite a bit more than what he got from that chase. But for now, he’d read him his rights, and shoved his head down roughly as he pushes him into the back of the car. A harsh slam of the door, ensuring it was safe for a moment before walking around to the side of the car door and leaning up against the back end of the squad car. A hand moves up to rub at his scruff as his brows furrow and his gaze hardens, a look that those who knew Reed well would recognize, he was thinking. The truth was, this was a rather big catch for the detective and perhaps his adrenaline was getting the better of him just a tad, but he’d had this coming hadn’t he? Surely it was fair to relish in such a victory, although he wouldn’t have even been able to tell who this man was if not for his partner… Still, how much did that really matter to Gavin? It wasn’t the first time the detective had stepped on other people to get what he wanted, wouldn’t be the last either. But something tugged at him, told him that whatever it was he was to earn from this arrest, and his work as of late, shouldn’t be his reward for the taking, which was a rather new feeling for Gavin.

Who knows, perhaps Detroit would see its first android Lieutenant yet.

His contemplative moment of silence would soon be broken however as he looks around, coming back to reality and scanning the perimeter like some ill-behaved guard dog. Pushing himself up off the back end of the squad car, he shuffles around to the passenger side and gets in. He supposes he’d have to make a choice, decide who exactly he wanted to be. But not now, not yet, for now, all he had to be was who he always was. Rough around the edges, intimidating and clearly someone who wouldn’t hesitate if the felon tried anything.

He had to be mean, cruel, rough. Big and bad. That’s the only language people nowadays seemed to understand, especially when it came to the people Gavin dealt with on a day to day basis.