#bulletcaps

[pagesofkenna]

(Love Bullet Chapter 0)

[shellheadtmarc]

@bulletcaps from [here] because i have no self control

"There’s one for the swear jar.”  His grin couldn’t be seen in the dark, but it certainly comes through in the tone of his voice, one that has the sing-song quality of a kid threatening to tell.  “It’s a song...Was a song...Does it still count as a song if you’re the only one that remembers it?  Does it still exist as a song currently or is it a past song.  Ex-song.  Whatever, doesn’t matter.”

It amuses Tony himself, and that is what matters.

“Any time you wanna let me take a crack at it.”  But he’s gonna stay hands off.  He is, unless it’s specifically requested (as much as that physically pains him), because his brain has the knowledge, yeah.  His fingers could do it in this pitch black while he runs his mouth nonstop at the same time - but he’s not going to be around forever and that knowledge does no one any good if he keeps it all to himself.  “And we’re here because  I am unfortunately too giving and self-sacrificing for my own good or longevity and this place is floor to ceiling packed with that kind of thing that turns lights on and keeps water pumping.”  At least, that’s what memory tells him, along with some technical maps of Boston pre-war have led him to believe.  And if not...Hey, maybe there’s something else worthwhile down here.  Hopefully.

“People tend to be happier and less raider-y when they have power and clean water.  You’re just the intrepid and plucky guy that decided to come along.  Lucky you.  Besides.”  He shifts where he’s leaned against the wall.  “I've been told this kind of adversity works as a team building exercise.  You know, close your eyes and fall back, I’ll catch you kind of thing.  Except we’re in the dark.  And I’m trusting you not to electrocute yourself.”

[courier-dimitri]

@bulletcaps From here. Dimitri was a very tactile individual; he enjoyed touch, textures, things like that. More than often he would idly exchange contact with friends and strangers alike. That habit, however, didn’t always have a positive outcome, especially in a place where letting one’s guard down could be a death sentence, or where instinct sometimes overpowered thought. The moment MacCready’s knee hit his gut, he coughed and hunched over, his hands going to his stomach as he stumbled backwards.  There was a mix of pain and bewilderment on his face as he relocated one of his hands to a nearby wall to help him keep from keeling over. “... You have very powerful legs,” was the first thing out of his mouth, and he laughed, “Is that how you guys say ‘hi’ out here?” There was no anger or frustration in his tone of voice, albeit it wavered slightly, as if he were afraid... or maybe just in pain.

[synthmama]

“Amortentia”- slips by in here-

Send “Amortentia” for what smells my character associates with yours || accepting.

A bit... foul.... MacCready doesn’t bathe much, admittedly. He smells like the environment he’s in -- mud, and dirt, and rain; woodsmoke on those evenings when they camp; cigarettes and underneath it, the lingering trace of gun oil and metal.

[ofbattalion-blog]

@bulletcaps | x. 

“If I was whole, I’d turn right now.” 

[thelasttejada]

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Everyone who came to the Third Rail reguarly knew MacCready, even if they didn’t speak to him. This was his home away from home, he met with clients here.

Raul felt kind of bad for the kid-- man, really, but when you were his age, everyone was a child to you. It couldn’t have been easy making your living on relying on trustworthy clients to pay you for protecting them from the dangers of the waste, or having to take a hit out on someone who’s associates may or may not find out and try to take revenge on you. Raul was good with his guns, and there were a few times where bounty hunting and mercenary work looked tempting, but when he thought about what his family would have thought of him making money off of killing people, he would hang his guns up and stick to fixing things instead.

It didn’t seem that this kid had the option of doing anything else, it may have been all he knew how to do. When he saw him come in, frustrated look on his face, he had a guess about what might have happened with the job he went to go out to do-- cheapskate for a client.

“Hey,” the ghoul tapped the bar counter. “What’s your poison, pal? You look like you could use a drink.”

[effectivedetectivc-blog]

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     “C’mon, Mister Valentine, you can’t stop there! I wanna know what happens next - he doesn’t drown, right? He can’t.” 

     “Who, Odysseus? Not a chance. It’d take more than a sea monster to put a guy like that in the ground. Long story short, he meets a crazy dame and things get complicated, but that’s gonna have to wait.” Nick chuckled, reaching out to ruffle Shaun’s hair as the boy’s mouth bowed into the most ham-fisted pout he’d ever seen, then gave him a nudge to urge him out of his chair. “Go on, your face’ll stick that way if you’re not careful. If your Mama tells me you didn’t complain about eating your veggies, maybe we’ll get in another hour before bed. The next part’s a real doozy.”

     “Pinky swear it.” The boy held out his hand, pinky extended with comical solemnity, the very picture of a lawyer laying out a binding contract, and the only thing that stopped the old synth from laughing was the idea that the kid might take it the wrong way.

     “Pinky swear.” He hooked a mechanical finger through Shaun’s, giving the ritual all the dignity such a thing deserved, and, satisfied, Shaun got up and jumped down the steps of the old porch, off toward the house his mother had once inhabited with the family that had been taken away from her. “You wash up first, alright?” He called after him, and Shaun waved over his shoulder as he ran to show that he had heard, leaving an old man to settle back in his chair and reflect on the places his life had taken him, and on a sense of contentment he’d never expected to have.

     “Didn’t anybody ever teach you it ain’t right to linger in doorways?” He looked over his shoulder, acknowledging MacCready’s presence for the first time since he’d heard him arrive. He didn’t know what was making him hesitate - the kid was usually pretty damned forthright - but it was looking like he might need a little push to get to the point. “C’mon, take a seat. Figure I’ve got about an hour before he’s back asking for more - might as well tell me what’s on your mind.”

[malteseraven]

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The body didn’t move. Blood seeped out, filling the cracks on the floor, and a shell casing lied spent and still, taking on a pinkish color under the room’s low, red lights. Another man was there, too. Alive. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder, bullet belts wrapped around his leg, and two .308s, two back ups, tucked into his hat. Fresh blood wasn’t splattered over his jacket. Not a bead of sweat was on him. 

Stone-cold professional. 

“And the cat’s out of the bag,” Valentine breathed, coming to a stop by the entrance. His face betrayed nothing, but the gears in his head turned. “This how you treat all your friends? Or did you skip the first-name basis?”