#slit cc

Slit makes sure the next time he passes Lionne in the tunnels, he has an old dirty bottle of Ace’s rotgut in hand. He double makes sure that she sees him tonguing the neck and opening lewdly while sucking the alcohol down (trying not to choke on the horrid concoction), just so he can spray her with it when they’re close to each other.

Who the fuck is leaving all of these cardboard signs on his stuff? Not that they’re NOT true... Slit glances around and rips the sign from his work table, quickly disposing of it via a nice guzzoline soak followed by beautiful, cleansing fire.

Slit scoffs. “And who’s sayin’ they weren’t mine, huh? Me? Lie? Nah,” the lancer fibs to himself. The twitch of a grin gives him away (though literally nobody else is around).

When would they tell a lie?What do they think of ‘good’ and 'evil’?

When WOULDN’T Slit tell a lie? He’d lie all day if it benefited him, to be honest. Sometimes he even lies to himself, for goodness sake.

Slit doesn’t believe in good and evil. There’s varying shades of grey, followed by ally and enemy, friends, his family, and those he’s tasked to eradicate (namely Buzzards, especially on raids). Nobody is inherently good or evil in his eyes. He wouldn’t call himself either of those, though perhaps Slit would describe himself as the hero, just because…you know. Ego. ;)

To Tally: “Fuckin’ nifty legs.”

Slit getting into old lady gossip. "Ahh shit, you know it Gertrude! Hey Fanny, when's that damn husband 'a yers gonna upgrade the deck? I'll fuckin' do it for free, cuz yer real shrine, Fanny. Real shine."

Someone asks Slit to go somewhere and do TESTOSTERONE MAN THINGS. "Can't. Hangin' with Nancy, helpin' a pal out with her bake sale fer those bratty orphan kids."

In the middle of banging. "Shit! Fuck, gotta finish it up quick here. Anabelle's expectin' me fer the Scrabble game at six." He seems to treat this perfectly normally, no joking at all.

Slit is a man on a mission today. Today, he’s going to ride historic on...wait, what does the street sign say? Oh yeah. RIDE HISTORIC on Old Mable Road. He’s prepared, gloves on, boots laced tightly, and discoloured old tank top oddly clean.