{ ♟ } ;- Now he was really pushing all the wrong buttons. Really he couldn’t give a fuck about what kind of weapons this guy had with him, he had dodged bullets before. The way he spoke of them as if it was something they all wanted to do, like they were filth. It irked it, he hated the way people treated them.
"Once you’ve been in their shoes for a while, you come back here and tell me how much of an easy job it fucking is." Fists were clenched tight, one hand wrapped around the knife and pulled it out to be visible. "My mother was a prostitute. I am the bastard of a prostitute. If I hear you talk anymore shit about them or even mention them, I will seriously make sure that you don’t speak again.”
[♜] ;- One second away from pulling out his knife and challenging the guy, the street-rat had managed to say something that had saved him. Hennessey's hand drop the knife and leaves his pocket empty. Despite the situation, he found himself laughing. Laughing to the point of bringing tears to the edge of his eyes. He keeled over and held up a hand, requesting just a few more moments to recompose himself to a state in which he could actually speak and be comprehended. "You must be joking. I'm not going to get into a fight with such a funny guy. I am speaking from experience." It's not like he had expected the dumbass to be able to tell just from looking at Hennessey, but he was going to take advantage of this situation.
Talking shit? He wonders when exactly he insinuated that he thought the profession was worth making light of. "Listen, honey, your mother had to deal with so much bullshit because she stayed down here. She should've taken my example and served the higher class nobles. I fuck around, I get rich. Easy job, good deal." Although being the son of a common lowly prostitute probably soured the other's perspective on them. Hennessey on the other hand stayed away form the underground when looking for clients. Those who were down here weren't here by choice.















