f a t h a n d s.

                  ❛ if you run—————                                                                              you won’t see me stab you ! ❜

                  indie &. selective katarina du couteau from league of legends.                                                                 written by siân.

[ Some activity had been going on throughout the city as of recently. Small numbers of idiot gangs trying to move in on the Saints turf. It was pretty damn foolish of them to try anything at all. Don’t they know how powerful these idiots are? How insane they can get? Really, it’s ridiculous. But fun. Boss was finally having a good time after such a long session of nothing going on. Too bad he honestly wished tougher opponents were coming in. But that didn’t matter. He was having fun.

Needed a small break though. Couldn’t go ahead and do this in constant. Else he’d grow extremely tired and just weak. So that’s why a trip to his favorite sports bar was in order! Absolutely loved the Broken Shillelagh to bits. Beer might’ve been cheap, but he could always tell which ones tasted better. Plus they actually liked him there. Unlike most of the patrons who either wanted to start fights or just fear him. Fear was fun though. Super fun. But yes, here came the big man, busting through the doors. He heads on over to one of the stools at the counter and sets himself down. ]

         a brief gesture is proffered in the general direction of the bartender ; indicating             another drink is required. it isn't the abrupt force of the door being opened  that             manages to secure the attention of the dame--          it's  the  murmuring &  taut              ambience that somehow infiltrated the once impetuous  bar.  her  posture  does             not change, legs remain atop the counter, arm comfortably acting as  a  support.             are her limbs taking up too much room ? most likely. the beer arrived;  lukewarm             this time. there's a tut as the brute greedily snatches the beverage and pops  the             cap on the extremity of the tabletop, allowing the top to make it's journey to the             ground with a low clink. it was barely audible, but both ears perk at the  mention             of the new arrival being the LEADER of the SAINTS.  a  scoff  comes  forth  from             the enforcer ; this was not was she had expected at all.  a  little  shorter  in  fact.             and no eye patch-- disappointing. 

         with a smirk present on the brawler's features, legs are placed to their appropriate             place ; off of the tabletop. 

          whilst being oscillated by the lithe bomber ; the grip of              lissom appendages on biceps sure to leave some sort              of mark subsequently, the enforcer makes any attempt of              movement, but it proves unsuccessful due to the surprising              strength of someone so small. ( also taking into consideration              the pure annoyance that would spew forth the criminal if she              were to struggle.

                               do you really want me