#griefermutt

@griefermutt

Lars swishes a swill of ale in his cheeks, savoring the delicate flavors of his drink. He lifts the cup slightly, signaling to his partner across the bar, and again to the barkeep wiping the bar down. He was clad in commoner’s clothing—rather than his usual extravagant attire. Drab browns and tans covered his elaborate glowing scales, and a scarf covered both his gills and scales.

He couldn’t resist a few golden rings on his fingers, though he figured they would serve as a suitable lure for the unsuspecting victims of his ambush. Just like an anglerfish, Lars allows the ruby jewel and golden band to glint against the sunlight shining from the window. He takes another swig.

His golden knife feels cool against his leg, placed delicately in a leather holster for easy access. He’d positioned himself in front of a mirror, both to easily scope the entrance and to admire the effort of his disguise. Scott sat at the end of the bar, perpendicular to himself to cover the windows. A few miscellaneous griefers pockmarked the seats, all of whom disguised as regular patrons. 

As the blonde woke, it was to a throbbing ache to the back of his head. Blood stained the front of shirt, green stained parts of his pants where he was dragged across the grasses of... somewhere.

This apartment was empty and abandoned, it seemed, though there were signs of it being lived in. The ash tray on the bedside table seemed full.

It’d probably be much easier to move around if his hands weren’t tied behind him. His legs, though, were free.

“Waking up, finally, are we?” Came a woman’s voice, fingers drumming on the wooden table. A game of solitaire sat on it, discontinued.

“Good morning. Or would ‘what’s up’ be more appropriate? That’s a new one I’ve heard.”

Wherever the hitman was looking for his possessions, they weren’t in sight--save for the cellphone next to her. His pockets were emptied.

          He’d gotten a few quick bucks easily enough selling some salvage from dumpster diving and alley hunting, and there was clearly only one place to spend it. The bar. He’d already knocked a few back and was feeling that blissful emotional numbness that made him do and say stupid things. Soon, someone was stupid enough to brush against him. The contact was brief, but it was enough to make him uncomfortable, and that discomfort was enough excuse for him to turn around and hit the offender square in the side of the face.

it was always one thing after another in this city. Seong couldn’t seem to find his footing, no matter how hard he tried. without his money or his connections, he suddenly felt very...small. where was all the success he’d worked so hard to get? he was uprooted from a familiar life and thrown into a situation straight from some awful movie he’d only enjoy while he was drunk.

which is why he decides to have a drink at a bar he’s been frequenting. he almost chokes on said drink, however, when he catches sight of a familiar face sitting a few seats down. he’s out of his seat and approaching before he can stop himself, which...would’ve been the better thing to do.

this is just way too reminiscent. 

TO: Big Boy FROM: Lars

[text: got it. no reason for anyone to be down in CL anyway]

TO: Big Boy FROM: Lars

Hell be dropped for you!