[Incomplete/Closed]

[whiskeykillshot]

[ WHO ] : Rubi Malone (whiskeykillshot) and Reno (untucking)
[ WHERE ]: Third floor and Apartment 302.
[ WHEN ]: After waking up in her own room with only one revolver and no booze, Rubi goes scavenging for her remaining belongings as well as hopefully some alcohol. Lulz insues.
[ RATING ]: PG-13
[ WARNINGS ]: Potential violence and Rubi/Reno's badmouthing.
[ NOTES ]: Let the

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[whiskeykillshot]

Well shit.

Uttering a pained grunt at the electrical shock that jolted her chest, Malone stumbled backwards and hit the door hard; dog tags jangling against the hollow of her neck. Seeing only a haze of red on a human silhouette, Rubi settled on the possible explanation of another ghostie critter that decided it'd be fun to come out and play. That was unfortunate. If she had her katana this ugly fucker would've been toast long before getting a chance to land a suckerpunch. Reloading the revolver with fresh bullets from the bandoliers ringing her thighs took less than a second of popping the latch holding the six chambers in place, neatly scooping the bullets into each respective chamber with a flick of her wrist, and rolling it shut again against her pantsleg.

A crooked grin slid over her lips. But somehow the smile didn't quite reach the hard edges of her eyes as she leveled the gun at the blob of black outlined by the weak light from the window behind him.

"Adios, amigo."

BLAM!
Kicking back hard against her grip, the muzzleflash of the gun illuminated the room in short strobes of light just long enough for her to discover that no, the tall, skinny bastard that had just smacked her with a shocky stick wasn't a ghost; and that no, she didn't particularly care that she was intent on making someone (Who, by the way, was probably acting on self defense) eat lead. He was the one that started it anyways, right? Then that made it justified.

Shoot first, ask questions later. Worked fine for her before.

[untucking]

... What?

A chick?

Reno scoffed and nimbly bounced back a pace as Rubi thudded back against the doorframe; chick or no, she'd still busted through his door without a second thought, and she wasn't going to get away without a warning. For the time being, however, the EMR shock would have to suffice, and the redhead really wasn't in the mood for fight-

'The hell? The bitch was reloading? Just his fucking luck. Now, Reno had always prided himself on being one of the fastest Turks on the team, but dodging bullets from near enough point blank range was a feat and a half even for him. Not to say that it couldn't be done, of course, but after being dragged from his own home and spat out into this shambles of a city, evading gunfire was right down at the bottom of the list of things he wanted to do there and then. He dipped to the left and shot to the right without a second to spare, but this psycho was good.

Really good.

BANG.

"Fuck!"

A hot, stinging sensation shot through his arm as he dropped into an easy barrel roll, but he was on his feet again within the blink of an eye and moving on for a second attack. Pain and damage could come later - for now, he had a woman to subdue. Limber and flexible, Reno whirled around in a high spin-kick that landed square on the gun in her hand, effectively kicking the weapon to the other side of the room where it bounced off the wall and onto the floor. Perfect. The Turk was on her in a second; he cut the power on the electrical pulse (hell, he wanted to save the energy for the Big Bosses out there) before landing a direct hit to the other side of her ribs, complimented with a swift uppercut to the chin.

Well, at least he now knew that his other arm was still working ... even though blood was seeping though the material of his suit to stain a patch even darker.

Just a scratch.