PART THREE. A collection of dialogue from Tevinter Nights: Herold Had the Plan, An Old Crow’s Old Tricks, Eight Little Talons, Half Up Front, and The Dread Wolf Take You. To be used as sentence starters… or whatever. As per usual, feel free to change pronouns or whatever you see fit. Mentions / implications of death, violence, food, & alcohol. 

“ Well, that was a complete disaster. ”

“ I’ve seen jobs go better. ”

“ No offense. You are just filthy, is all. ”

“ You run like a newborn deer. ”

“ I don’t want a lightning bolt up my arse. ”

“ What precisely do we rely on you for? ”

“ What do you have planned with your share of the money? ”

“ Stupidest words I ever heard, and I rarely hear any other kind. ”

“ Want to hear something fun? ”

“ May we never see each other again. ”

“ Long may he adventure. ”

“ If I may ask, what was it you were yelling? ”

“ I should’ve known you’re the cause of all this commotion. ”

“ I heard you tinkering away in here. ”

“ Nothing spoils a meal like business. ”

“ Stay silent if you’re not going to say anything useful. ”

“ You know I hate being the responsible one. ”

“ I refuse to look at another dead body until I’ve had my coffee. ”

“ I’m more than capable of killing everyone here. ”

“ You’re stupid to begin with, and drink only makes you stupider. ”

“ Why do you think you’re the exception to every rule? ”

“ As if drinking from the bottle’s ever stopped you before. ”

“ This isn’t how I imagined seeing you naked. ”

“ How do you feel — on a scale of absolute shit to dying? ”

“ Something on your mind? ”

“ It could’ve been a lot worse, and you know it. ”

“ The hell does that mean? ”

“ I am glad that my trust was not misplaced. ”

“ You and your martyr complex. ”

“ You can’t do this without me. ”

“ We’re a team, aren’t we? ”

“ Slim hope’s better than none, right? ”

“ Hate to break it to you, but most of my people still want to see you dead. ”

“ I hope you are here for peaceful purposes. ”

“ Imagine that, overlooking the god in your midst. ”

“ You stink of lies and fear. ”

“ That’s a good story, but I’d rather hear the truth. ”

“ I will regret it forever, and I will never make the same mistake again. ”

“ I am prideful, hotheaded, and foolish, and I am doing what I must. ”

if anyone would have asked him what coming back to america was going to be like on the ride out of the norvinsk region, marcus would have said boring. that's how it usually went, right ? man carries a gun for many years, man gives that gun up - he reintroduces himself into the relatively cushy existence of civilian living, then he expects to not miss carrying the fucking gun. and hell, maybe there were guys who got off scott-free like that ... they put the gun down, slipped into an office chair, and were fine for the rest of their lives. but luck wasn't in his cards, never had been - the moment he'd bore the trident, he'd been made aware of his addictive personality in some regard: that fucking gun was melted right into his hands.

but hey, maybe he was wrong again - maybe lady luck had cut him a break in his return. after all, who happens to us their va benefits on a home in montana, only to have to pick up the gun again ? cultists weren't a new concept, tarkov had plenty of them - it was the nature of human beings in some way: to seek out the community, to fall into the idle spiral of a great accepting beyond that offered in every day lives or whatever the fuck. one could argue he was no different. the military was damn near a cult some days, the special operations community more so.

however you diced it, unlucky or lucky as all get out, hope county was sure starting to look more and more like tarkov.

screen door closes, his beloved NEPTUNE'S SPEAR slung absent over shoulder - it tucked into him like a lover, one hand resting on stock while the other combed through beard. last time he'd heard dogs around his property line, it'd been courtesy of one jacob seed. and while he wasn't one to particularly enjoy shooting a fucking dog, he also wasn't going to play nice with the seed family and their insatiable need to soak up everything.

the dog that parks itself on his porch sure isn't the work of the cult, that's for sure.

the hairs on the back of her sweaty neck stick up and brows sit heavily, naturally, on cautious gaze. well, he hasn't attacked yet. and greyeyes ain't doing nothing but sitting, tail wagging.

hands and stance loosen, just enough to paint the picture. i am not a threat. just cautious.