#xavierofthewastes

A shit-eating grin lighting up his face as he made absolutely no move to stop the man Xavier had been beating into the dirt, he responded, "'S what I said, right? H-o-t, hot."

“Just the closest safe haven I was able to find, considering the circumstance.” She paused, letting her eyes roam about the small dilapidated room, “it might have been a diner before the war, I suppose. How are you feeling, though? You got hit pretty hard back there.”

Coffee was good. Rollerblades were even better. But together? ...Not so much. Deacon was zipping down the street, on his way back from some intel collection job, and more invested in the hot drink in hand. So when someone stepped out in front of him, he hit him full speed; coffee flying, momentum pulling him forward until it couldn't anymore.

“Please.”

“I fuckin’ said no, man. You ain’t got a’nough for me to go, so do yourself a favor an’ fuck off before I said ya’ cryin’ ta’ the doctor.” The mercenary snaps at you, pointing his finger at you. Irritation crawls through you, but instead of stooping to his level, you give him a hard look and turn on your heel. 

“Fine. Have it your way.” You scoff instead as you put some distance between yourself and the other man. Whatever. It isn’t like you needed someone to get here. The only reason you only need hired help is to ensure you get back to Good Neighbor with everything you could afford.