Present.
Was told WestEnd was some sort of "deadzone" as far as most magicks went. Anything you can find in the darker corners of Stars End are out the window too. Good.
Word of mouth is about all I can take. Need a slow start back into the game after this last break. They've been getting longer and longer. Joints stiffer, aches worse. Reflexes the same, but the day afters hurt more and more.
Wind blows scrap of paper against my boot, bend to pick it up and have a chuckle. Voice is getting worse too, as time ravages on. Picking away at my vocal chords and larynx. Can't imagine how bad it sounds to others. Glass being crushed up against concrete.
"WANT'D," the paper screams. No idea how the tik-tok chose Rory for his target. Could be anyone. Grainy photo and almost want to collar a few lowlifes to the gavel for its gilt.
Boomdowns feel heavy in the shoulder holsters. Leather rubbing up against the scarred-over nubs I used to call wings. Taken from me on the Longfall. Catch a peer of myself in a grimy storefront window and wonder how people take me seriously. Dirty gutter water sort of skin, blue like a thundercloud pregnant with rain.
Busy pitying myself when the first lead barks its way into my right shoulder. Drops me to one knee for a moment. Half reflex, half fat caliber. Shoulder feels like brimstone, heavy and slow to move. Left hand lands on its feet though, boomdown out and searching. Eye's gone gold and prowling for a mark.
Streets are empty and can't believe there isn't a second bite to follow. Make for an oasis and nurse it over whiskeys. Ask around but no one's biting on the tik-tok line. Either he's been flushed already or ported somewhere for a good stretch. The morning will make sense of it.
Was told WestEnd was some sort of "deadzone" as far as most magicks went. Anything you can find in the darker corners of Stars End are out the window too. Good.
Word of mouth is about all I can take. Need a slow start back into the game after this last break. They've been getting longer and longer. Joints stiffer, aches worse. Reflexes the same, but the day afters hurt more and more.
Wind blows scrap of paper against my boot, bend to pick it up and have a chuckle. Voice is getting worse too, as time ravages on. Picking away at my vocal chords and larynx. Can't imagine how bad it sounds to others. Glass being crushed up against concrete.
"WANT'D," the paper screams. No idea how the tik-tok chose Rory for his target. Could be anyone. Grainy photo and almost want to collar a few lowlifes to the gavel for its gilt.
Boomdowns feel heavy in the shoulder holsters. Leather rubbing up against the scarred-over nubs I used to call wings. Taken from me on the Longfall. Catch a peer of myself in a grimy storefront window and wonder how people take me seriously. Dirty gutter water sort of skin, blue like a thundercloud pregnant with rain.
Busy pitying myself when the first lead barks its way into my right shoulder. Drops me to one knee for a moment. Half reflex, half fat caliber. Shoulder feels like brimstone, heavy and slow to move. Left hand lands on its feet though, boomdown out and searching. Eye's gone gold and prowling for a mark.
Streets are empty and can't believe there isn't a second bite to follow. Make for an oasis and nurse it over whiskeys. Ask around but no one's biting on the tik-tok line. Either he's been flushed already or ported somewhere for a good stretch. The morning will make sense of it.