Post by Arlic Valliere on Oct 26, 2015 18:27:51 GMT
[Thread PL: 41,333]
"Next time don't hire someone you can't pay." The soldier grunted, smashing the unfortunate souls head against the hood of the truck. The reinforced plating leaving no dent, but a few specks of blood on otherwise black finish. The skull bounced up, fingers latching into hair and pulling the face back in a harsh yank. Letting the politican fall onto his ass with a heavy thud. Kneeling slowly, the man cut a large; angry figure in the shifting neon lights overhead. The city might be alive, but there'd be no patrols in the projects. "I can p-pay the money Val! I just need some more time-" The paunchy figure tried to crawl back, but spine hit brick wall of the alley. Moist dew sticking to fine, ruined suit fabric once more expensive then the soldiers house, but not stained with gravel and blood. And it'd be a lot worse if he kept saying the wrong things to the fighter.
"One of my boys got pegged on that job, sir." The Captain made 'sir' sound an awful lot like 'scum' when he had a mind to. Sheriff he may be back in Little Lucia, but down in the Capital he needed to earn enough Zenni to keep his home afloat; and bounty hunting wasn't a poor mans game. Thick accent from farther North making a headache of a struggle to translate. "Cash for blood. That's how we work." Boot snapped down, turning shin bone to a jigsaw puzzle. Another yowl went unnoticed in the Sticks, and Val tugged his jacket back, tacking an envelop out and dumping it onto the wailing figures lap. "Routing number. You're a smart man."
Under the wide brim hat, the glint of dark eyes, narrowed in annoyance and flaring with a lust for violence barely contained; conveyed the message. A smart man would pay the Crew. Before popping the truck door open and getting in. Slamming it shut, and backing out. The heavy 4x4 was a custom work; thick engine roaring quietly as the gear strung up on the frame of the trunk rattled. Bars weilded to make a shell. Good for storing all the gear of the trade, and Val was always ready. Being able to fly may be useful, but you couldn't carry half the things you needed to be a half decent bounty hunter, or Sheriff. And plenty of times he slept in the back. Using the trunk cover as a decent shack; unwinding the mattress roll stuck back there for exactly that.
The heavy vechicle rolled into a station, parking it next to the pump before getting out. Letting the attendant fill 'er up as he went inside. A few crumpled bills for sustenence and gas. Pack of smokes, a cup of awful coffee, and whatever that doughnut had in it better be jelly. Leather and iron boots thumped through the puddles in the ground, scoffing to himself silenty at the onset of misting rain. Finishing the doughnut before tossing the wrapper into the dumpster on his way to the picnic table around the side. Propping leg up to stretch for preperation. The drive back home was long but scenic; a cigarette getting lit. Usually a cigar man, the Saiyan needed the rush to stay awake for the hours ahead. It was already dark, and the rain had a way of knocking him out. Maybe he'd just find a quiet alley and sleep through it instead. Not that Serenity expected him back for at least a few more days, the last few bounties had gone by quicker then expected. With or without the weights his power had bumped nearly double the past few weeks of hard training.
Leaning back and looking at the blurry sky, the Sheriff let a blow of smoke out.
It was getting easier to control that damn Saiyan battle and blood lust; not by a lot, or any real margins, but bit by bit. Still wanted to tear that gutless mans head off, but then again, anyone would.
"Next time don't hire someone you can't pay." The soldier grunted, smashing the unfortunate souls head against the hood of the truck. The reinforced plating leaving no dent, but a few specks of blood on otherwise black finish. The skull bounced up, fingers latching into hair and pulling the face back in a harsh yank. Letting the politican fall onto his ass with a heavy thud. Kneeling slowly, the man cut a large; angry figure in the shifting neon lights overhead. The city might be alive, but there'd be no patrols in the projects. "I can p-pay the money Val! I just need some more time-" The paunchy figure tried to crawl back, but spine hit brick wall of the alley. Moist dew sticking to fine, ruined suit fabric once more expensive then the soldiers house, but not stained with gravel and blood. And it'd be a lot worse if he kept saying the wrong things to the fighter.
"One of my boys got pegged on that job, sir." The Captain made 'sir' sound an awful lot like 'scum' when he had a mind to. Sheriff he may be back in Little Lucia, but down in the Capital he needed to earn enough Zenni to keep his home afloat; and bounty hunting wasn't a poor mans game. Thick accent from farther North making a headache of a struggle to translate. "Cash for blood. That's how we work." Boot snapped down, turning shin bone to a jigsaw puzzle. Another yowl went unnoticed in the Sticks, and Val tugged his jacket back, tacking an envelop out and dumping it onto the wailing figures lap. "Routing number. You're a smart man."
Under the wide brim hat, the glint of dark eyes, narrowed in annoyance and flaring with a lust for violence barely contained; conveyed the message. A smart man would pay the Crew. Before popping the truck door open and getting in. Slamming it shut, and backing out. The heavy 4x4 was a custom work; thick engine roaring quietly as the gear strung up on the frame of the trunk rattled. Bars weilded to make a shell. Good for storing all the gear of the trade, and Val was always ready. Being able to fly may be useful, but you couldn't carry half the things you needed to be a half decent bounty hunter, or Sheriff. And plenty of times he slept in the back. Using the trunk cover as a decent shack; unwinding the mattress roll stuck back there for exactly that.
The heavy vechicle rolled into a station, parking it next to the pump before getting out. Letting the attendant fill 'er up as he went inside. A few crumpled bills for sustenence and gas. Pack of smokes, a cup of awful coffee, and whatever that doughnut had in it better be jelly. Leather and iron boots thumped through the puddles in the ground, scoffing to himself silenty at the onset of misting rain. Finishing the doughnut before tossing the wrapper into the dumpster on his way to the picnic table around the side. Propping leg up to stretch for preperation. The drive back home was long but scenic; a cigarette getting lit. Usually a cigar man, the Saiyan needed the rush to stay awake for the hours ahead. It was already dark, and the rain had a way of knocking him out. Maybe he'd just find a quiet alley and sleep through it instead. Not that Serenity expected him back for at least a few more days, the last few bounties had gone by quicker then expected. With or without the weights his power had bumped nearly double the past few weeks of hard training.
Leaning back and looking at the blurry sky, the Sheriff let a blow of smoke out.
It was getting easier to control that damn Saiyan battle and blood lust; not by a lot, or any real margins, but bit by bit. Still wanted to tear that gutless mans head off, but then again, anyone would.