blood in, blood out

       a slightly selective roleplay blog for JOHNNY GAT from SAINTS ROW

       low to medium  activity.    under co. & revamp’d  dec ‘22.

themes:  crime,  violence,  gang activity, et al

          likes to plot, but not necessary. let’s have fun.

While murdering the man who had been giving her lip was an option to some, it wasn’t to any sane person or anyone who wanted to keep their fucking job. An awkward laugh- fuck she’s not really good at this part, plays it off like its a joke and not something she knows he’s more than capable of. She manages to at least steer him out of the bullpen and towards the back. They head up the stairs and then out to the roof- she doesn’t bother to put the brick there that the rest of them do when they sneak out to smoke, she can get in either way-before she turns around.

“I’m happy as shit to see you but- what in the fuck were you thinking!” Jill barely stops the laugh that gets out, moves to lean back against the railing. “Also- I thought you were in with Dad?”

  “Oh,  like you didn’t wanna fuckin’ blow that guy’s head off?”  Following her lead with an accusatory finger remaining pointed at a man handcuffed,  bound to the police station’s back of house seating area.  Johnny didn’t lower his voice to spare him the ridicule,  and he was not self aware enough to be bothered by RPD’s goons in blue trying to make heads or tails of this brash-mouthed stranger making threads in their lobby.  Jill is wise enough to shepherd him where his words cannot rile anyone else up,  and he goes along without thinking twice about it.

   He laments the stairs with a sharp,  “Can’t you motherfuckers afford an elevator?”  taking them slower than he ought to.

    With no other outlet for all these violent urges,  Johnny meets the brick with a kick in passing,  letting it ring out against the door before joining Jill on the rooftop rendezvous. 

   “Tch.  You can’t call anybody now?”  Johnny turned her question right around on her,  the heat of a challenge just on the tip of his tongue,  but she might know it as that typical obstitinate way of talking.  “They couldn’t book me cuz the witnesses wouldn’t come forward to help their little bullshit case on me.  Lawyers are all talk,  if they’d just start swingin’ a bat around they’d win a helluva lot more.