third saga (multi-post!)
[The plan was set. He'd learned that the war chief came whenever "crimes" were committed. What constituted crime in this place was almost laughable compared to the things Thorfinn saw on a daily basis, but he wasn't complaining.
A simple knife to the throat of the neighbor's dog would be enough, Thorfinn felt. He wasn't sure if he should pretend to take the body away or not; back home stealing meat in such a way would be sure to incite the rage of any honorable man within shouting distance, but things were different here, and it would be best not to push his luck.
In the end, it hadn't proven necessary. Thorfinn had crouched in the bushes, ignoring the family's drone children and their cries over their slain pet. This was it. He felt the same old cold fire in his belly; the hunter's instinct in Thorfinn was ready for blood. He'd do what his weak fellow captives couldn't, slay the Chief Grady, toss his head at Askeladd's feet and then tear the damn pirate limb from-
There was a tap on his shoulder. A man's voice said something, Thorfinn whirled around and slashed blindly with his knife, and then-]
[Two hours later, one of the following happens.
Men who pass by the Grey ABC store will notice a young man in a black leather jacket, sunglasses, and scuffed-up jeans leaning up against the wall, smoking a cigarette and idly toying with a switchblade. His long mane of hair has been slicked back with enough grease to fuel a small nation for a few days.
He scowls as he notices you, and it's the scowl that tips off those who know him that this is, in fact, Thorfinn.]
Hey, nosebleed! Whatcha eyeballin' me for, huh? You're askin' for a knuckle sandwich, ya friggin' dweebus! Didn't anybody ever tell ya not to go starin' at a guy like he just walked outta some alien flick?
Look, this ain't a good part of town for squares, daddy-o. I'd make for Splitsville quick-like if I was you.
[Women will receive slightly different treatment. Thorfinn whistles appreciatively as he sees you.]
Hey, hey, what's the story, dollface? You got a classy chassis, you know that? That rack is seriously boss!
Hey, what say you an' me head down to the passion pit tonight, catch a couple'a them sappy romance flicks, maybe see what happens? C'mon, don't break my heart here, toots!
[Kids under 13 and pets will receive barely any acknowledgment; the greaser looks up for a brief moment before returning to his cigarette.]
The heck? This ain't no place for a rugrat like you. What, ya run away from home or somethin'? Go on, get outta here. Scram, ya half-pint.
A simple knife to the throat of the neighbor's dog would be enough, Thorfinn felt. He wasn't sure if he should pretend to take the body away or not; back home stealing meat in such a way would be sure to incite the rage of any honorable man within shouting distance, but things were different here, and it would be best not to push his luck.
In the end, it hadn't proven necessary. Thorfinn had crouched in the bushes, ignoring the family's drone children and their cries over their slain pet. This was it. He felt the same old cold fire in his belly; the hunter's instinct in Thorfinn was ready for blood. He'd do what his weak fellow captives couldn't, slay the Chief Grady, toss his head at Askeladd's feet and then tear the damn pirate limb from-
There was a tap on his shoulder. A man's voice said something, Thorfinn whirled around and slashed blindly with his knife, and then-]
[Two hours later, one of the following happens.
Men who pass by the Grey ABC store will notice a young man in a black leather jacket, sunglasses, and scuffed-up jeans leaning up against the wall, smoking a cigarette and idly toying with a switchblade. His long mane of hair has been slicked back with enough grease to fuel a small nation for a few days.
He scowls as he notices you, and it's the scowl that tips off those who know him that this is, in fact, Thorfinn.]
Hey, nosebleed! Whatcha eyeballin' me for, huh? You're askin' for a knuckle sandwich, ya friggin' dweebus! Didn't anybody ever tell ya not to go starin' at a guy like he just walked outta some alien flick?
Look, this ain't a good part of town for squares, daddy-o. I'd make for Splitsville quick-like if I was you.
[Women will receive slightly different treatment. Thorfinn whistles appreciatively as he sees you.]
Hey, hey, what's the story, dollface? You got a classy chassis, you know that? That rack is seriously boss!
Hey, what say you an' me head down to the passion pit tonight, catch a couple'a them sappy romance flicks, maybe see what happens? C'mon, don't break my heart here, toots!
[Kids under 13 and pets will receive barely any acknowledgment; the greaser looks up for a brief moment before returning to his cigarette.]
The heck? This ain't no place for a rugrat like you. What, ya run away from home or somethin'? Go on, get outta here. Scram, ya half-pint.