#hislastresort

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@his-last-resort replied to your post “Character Headcanon Generator Mark if the HC is...”:

“…Not a cat person? That’s a shame…”

"More of a rodent n snake type-a guy... maybe I'd be more receptive toward cats if they didn't claw the absolute shit outta me."

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@his-last-resort continued from [ x ]

"Then ask th' boss!" Franco tries his best to look pitiful (he likes to think he's really good at it) and clasps his hands together in a pleading gesture. "Let 'im know I'm askin' for it; let 'im decide! I've been doin' good, 'aven't I?" He's been putting the reagents through the wringer! Just as he was instructed to do!

He's about to plead some more when the doctor relents and asks for evidence of what the gangster desired. His eyes light up with excitement and his frown turns into a wide smile as he hops slightly in place with glee.

"Wait here!" He motions for them to stay as he runs off toward his room, sliding under his bed and searching desperately for the magazine shoved underneath. Not that he was trying to hide it from the big wigs, but rather he was trying to make his room less messy by hiding the mess somewhere people couldn't see, which meant he would have trouble trying to find it hidden among the other items stashed beneath the furniture. Franco does eventually find it and flips to the page with the desired suit; a patterned, burgundy suit with grey pinstripe pants that was priced around eighty dollars. Pricey, yes, but it wasn't the most expensive thing in the booklet, so it had to count for something, right? He rushes back out to the doctor and presents the magazine with an apprehensive smile.

"I know the price is a bit, but I'll do whatever y' want t' get this thing... please?" He'd be the best there was among the Prime Assets if that's what it took. If Easterman demanded more of him, he'd do it without complaint. Whatever it took to get that burgundy suit.

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@his-last-resort continued from [ x ]

It was the role he was set to fill — the child of this big, fucked up family. He hated it and hated anyone that played into it, but what choice did he have? Easterman and his lackeys had made it quite clear that it was their way or no way; everything he was used to here could easily be taken away and he could be made to disappear just as quick as his family could. It was a double-edged sword and the worst part was, he didn't have anyone that would care if he disappeared or not. Franco had burned those bridges with his family a long time ago. He was a nobody here. Not a Barbi, not a gangster... just some pathetic little crybaby wailing for his mama.

He hated it.

Thus does the good doctor find themselves upon the floor with a scowling Franco looming over them. But it's not enough. He wants to cave in that stupid face; take those papers and stuff them so far down their throat that they choke on the stupid things and then take them apart, limb by limb... but he knows he can't. Franco must behave or he loses privileges.

"Th' fuck're you doin' here, huh? So far from your glass cage. What do you want?!"

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Violent meme 35 with @his-last-resort ?

(If you’d like to interact with them again no pressure 💖)

ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴛ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀꜱ ► accepting 035. — Put my muse in a headlock.

"Get off'a me!" Despite any and all efforts, Franco finds that the grip around his neck and head is one made of iron; it didn't matter how he struggled or which way he turned, this doctor — who he's come to learn is called Artie — wasn't going to let go any time soon. "I don't wanna take them! I don't wanna!" Tears stream from his eyes freely, but he doesn't care — fear has a funny way of doing that. He just wants out; he just wants the doctor to let go.

The pressure forcing his chin into the doctor's arm makes the blood in his ears roar; it's an uncomfortable feeling and it was throwing off his balance so terribly that he had to lean against the other to stay upright, which was likely the intention as another doctor steps forth with a needle in hand. Franco whines and pulls against the grip in vain, earning himself a sharp pain in the back of his neck that brings forth another, pathetic cry.

"Let me go!" His movements are becoming wild and desperate now as he tries to jerk himself free. "Stay away from me you fuckers! Don't you fucking dare! I'll bite your fuckin' fingers off! I'll make you eat that needle!" || @his-last-resort

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“Are you trying to get me killed with that fucking suit?”

From @his-last-resort

ᴅᴏɴɴɪᴇ ʙʀᴀꜱᴄᴏ 1997 ► accepting

"Shh!" Franco ducks, looking around wildly as if someone might burst into the room at any second and gun them down. He knew it was going to be a pain to ask for, but they couldn't reasonably expect him to look through a magazine like this and not want what he saw in it! They've already denied him hookers and ammunition, and let those damn reagents fuck around with his drugs; the least they could do is let him have a few articles of clothing to choose from!

"What part of 'keep quiet' did y' not understand, huh?!" Thankfully, no one seemed to have heard, or if they did they certainly weren't interested in the conversation. "I know it's a big thing t' ask but, c'mooooon... pretty please? I-I could ask my fath'a..! I can get the money for it! Pleeeease, I'm sick a' wearin' the same suit all the time..! Lemme have somethin' nice! You guys' let th' twins wear nice stuff!" Complicated stuff, even, as it had to be tailored to fit a body of two.

"Pleeeease!" He's practically on his knees with hands clasped together begging the doctor. "Put in a good word for me? I'll behave! I'll be good! I'll be extra good! I'll do whatev'a you want! I just want the suit, please..!"

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[Slip] or [Intervene] fall meme with @his-last-resort ?

ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴄᴋʟᴇ ► accepting [ INTERVENE ]: sender tackles the receiver to prevent them from attacking another person.

This wasn't the trial grounds which meant that Franco was left without his precious Lupara. For some, this was an opportunity to breathe. For others, it was an opportunity to poke the bear; what was Franco going to do? Attack them with those tiny hands of his? Kick them in the shins? He was nothing without his gun.

At least, that's what they thought.

Franco was an opportunist. If any of these dimwitted stains on humanity had bothered to read any of the files Murkoff provided on Franco Barbi, they might have known that he was an expert at taking advantage of others. His appearance disarmed most and whomever was smart enough to see past it ultimately fell for his attitude. Loathe though he was to play into the part; if Franco behaved like a spoiled kid, anyone would think he wasn't capable of much, even with the gun. That's where he'd get them. Anything beyond that was met with brute force and quickly disposed of.

So, when the worker turns his back on Franco, he see's an opportunity. There, on the rolling cart beside him, was a needle. It didn't look like much and probably wouldn't do nearly half the things Franco wished to do this fella, but it would do enough. See, this worker had made the mistake of letting Franco overhear his commentary as he was wheeled into the room and, while he wasn't being observed, the prime asset had managed to wiggle his arm free of the restrains that pinned him to the cold steel table. When he had the chance, Franco released the restraints on his legs and quietly lowered himself from the table, taking the needle in hand and raising it above his head, aiming for the back of theirs. But before he can bring it down, a force throws itself into Franco's side and knocks him into the wall and on the ground.

The needle did find purchase, but not in the worker who spins around with wide eyes, shocked that the gangster managed to free himself. Rather, the needle is now embedded into Franco's arm and he tries desperately to hide the fact he just tried to assault the man standing over him while also attempting to wriggle free of the grasp keeping him at the floor.

"Let go of me you motherfucker!" He hisses, wincing in pain as their hand brushed harshly against the needle still stuck in his skin. "I give! I give!" || @his-last-resort

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📏 I think Artie is around 5’8, 5’9? Especially if it’s a heels day @his-last-resort

Send me a 📏 and your muse’s height for a comparison! || @his-last-resort

Should wear those heels more often-

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@his-last-resort continued from [ x ]

It was like his arms moved on their own when they reached out to catch them. He did not command them to move and had no particular desire to save them from what would have been a spectacular fall, yet he did so anyway and looked just as stunned as Artie did when they landed safely against him. In fact, one might say he looked panicked.

As soon as they are able to stand up on their own, Franco lets go, steps back, and brushes himself off swiftly, like they were carrying some sort of disease. If one paid close attention they'd notice that his cheeks were beginning to turn a shade of pink, something he tries to hide by turning away with a cough to clear his throat.

"I, uh, was just on my way out." He speaks softly, refusing to look in Artie's direction. "Sorry. You, uh... you should watch where y' step." The trial grounds were rife with danger even when the ex-pop was nowhere to be seen, that he knew first hand. How many times had he managed to fall through boards while chasing the reagents? How many times have structures crumbled suddenly? How many of the ex-pop died to these terrible conditions unrelated to reagent activity? Too many.

"I'll be goin', I guess. Careful 'round 'ere, yeah?"