There's a headcrab in the Bar. A goddamn headcrab. And apparently the rules, such as they are, protect the stinking parasite.
This place is insane.Unfortunately, there's nobody to petition for revocation of the rules in favor of a couple of minutes' worth of sanity, so Gordon pretty much has to fume in silence over the thing's arrival.
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"What is that for?" she asked in her English accent.
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Oh, did I mention she had her weapon with her? Well, she does, it's leaning against he leg.
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This background is needed to explain why the werewolf is stomping by with a quantity of his own blood on his face and hands (the coat absorbed the rest), a bag full of glittery little...somethings...and the not-so-quiet mutter of "Fuckin' headless zombie dinosaurs."
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"Come again?"
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Gordon will nod, though, albeit a little slowly.
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It just makes some people feel weird to think they're in agreement with another person.
So, not that you're expecting any, but, don't expect any commiseration from THIS patron.
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He does, however, glance up now and again to keep an eye on the big orange robot.
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He blinks. That's about as much of an indication of where his attention is that you're going to get from him, eye-wise.
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Gordon's going to be very, very, very carefully dividing his attention between 'finish the modifications on the dart gun' and 'keep an eye on that thing and see if it moves', thanks. Fortunately there's not much modding left to do. He'll check the situation out a little more closely once he's satisfied he's locked the springs down correctly.
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