#acandycollector

       ”If you can get me a hundred’n fifty guns by the end of the week, good on you, but I’ll believe it when I see it.”

       He didn’t know why his client had felt the need to place his order through a third party, but when work was scarce as it was, given the current political scene, you didn’t ask too many questions; you took what you could get. If that meant purchasing a ridiculous number of firearms for somebody whom he didn’t even know, from somebody whom he was only loosely acquainted with, then he would do it. After all, what choice did he have? His business was going under rapidly, and he wasn’t going to get a second shot — that just didn’t happen in Rapture. Once you were done, you were done: Fontaine had been proof enough of that.

       ”Just make the weapons and I’ll get you the money when I see them at my door.”

Starters Just In Time For Halloween!

   Could he even deny such a thing, while it was in plain sight? It’d be pointless, so he didn’t cover it up. However, he had to try really hard not to smile; the victim’s blood that was smeared all over his face and arms reminded me of how easy it was to wipe them away— the victory of it bringing a sick euphoria that could not be put into words. He’d got rid of them, them having bothered him for so long that he never thought he could actually do it. The question however, proved almost too easy to answer.

  “It don’t look like anythin’ else, does it?”

   As he found a piece of fabric near to wipe it off, he sighed. How could people not expect this from him? Kills weren’t extraordinary, especially not in Rapture, but he somehow always surprised people with them. Perhaps it was that gentle side of his that he showed way too often that made people believe he was incapable of more antagonistic traits, which was absolutely faulty theory. He was kind, but he was still fighting for justice, and that meant on occasion there’d be.. casualties. No matter how hard he’d tried to avoid it, it had become nearly too easy to get dragged away in it all. With small steps he approached the other, standing still a few feet before him, and put his hands on his hips. His face was blank, but his eyes clearly reflected on his amusement.

                                                          What a fool. Was he blind?

IF IT’S BASED OFF OF METRO YEAH I GET IT.

        ” ya know what i still don’t understand? why ya tend t’ smell like blood sometimes even though ya work at a goddamn pizza place. “ it was certainly comical, but atlas tends not to think of it much. he can’t do much judging when his job was being a mob boss, out of all things. he wasn’t ashamed    quite the contrary, actually. he was damn good at his job. atlas rolls his eyes and loudly scoffs, shoving the small bottle of cologne into booker’s hands. it’s an expensive brand and one of atlas’s personal favorites. one not too strong and not very noticeable unless you’re up close with the wearer, and in his own opinion, it suited booker’s personality quite well. for a split second, he runs his thumb over one of booker’s knuckles, but he drops his hands to the pockets of his coat just as quickly. he wasn’t fond of showing any sort of affection or even touching booker when they were out in the streets, though this bus stop was always more empty than populated.

                                         ” ‘s not perfume    ‘s cologne. ain’t no shame in wearin’                                             it. ya smell like shit, okay? jus’ a spritz or two will do                                             the trick. jus’    take it. “

        he always felt a bit flustered when he gave gifts to booker. sure, he could give him cash without even fluttering an eyelash but for gifts it was different. it was always more personal, more sentimental    and atlas hated sentimental. so he keeps his gaze off to the side as if the woman crossing the street looked interesting to him (she doesn’t), and he almost comes off as nervous that booker is going to give the bottle back to him and say he doesn’t want it. it’d be utterly humiliating, to say the least.

mmmmmmmrealtalkwasitjaverthmmmhmmhmmmmmmplatonicallymmmm