#intoxication ment

two.

Ava's bubbly off the fruity shit you brought back last night. You nicked it from the bartender when he had his back turned. Gods bless Gil for being gay as fuck and just that right kind of charm.

She giggles and leans forward you, hair spilling like red-hot magma around her shoulders like gold and dress crimson like the blood they spilled that night.

"Maggie..." She slurs, clumsy hand reaching into her purse and pulling out a wad of bills. They were probably from the heist last week. You had already spent all your twenty-five percent, but Ava was the one that hoarded that shit like a dragon. "Maggie. I'll give you... four- five hundred to..." She pauses, eyes scanning the room. They land on Odin, sitting in the corner of the room polishing his new rifle.

(Part of what he spent his twenty-five on.)

"To shoot Odin... Right in the face." She's whispering, like it's a secret. Gil shifts in his seat, a bit uncomfortable as he holds his Shirley Temple like it will save his life. He's lucky that he's sitting behind Ava, or else it would be him eating a bullet for half a thousand. "C'mon! It's not like... like he'd actually die! None of us would! Plus, it would be your chance to- to get back at h-" You don't care for blood. None of you do. You don't care for blood or death but you've gotten used to it over the centuries. You don't mind blood but you do mind that you'll have to clean it up later, because you're pulling your little pistol out.

Four hundred twenty three years and you've never missed a single shot.

You didn't miss this one either. Pin point accuracy. He never saw it coming. When he comes back around he's gonna be pissed.