[Thread]
Who: Genkaku & Nagi
Where: Scar Chain HQs; Abyss
When: I don't know, 2am?
Summary: Uh, Genkaku visits Nagi?
Rating: PG-13 to R
Other: Miru is a douche
How could the monk keep away from the recent destruction that was caused by Nagi’s group of gross terrorists? Well it was simple, he couldn’t. He had waited long enough and it was time for Genkaku to visit those fucking idiots with a large wide grin on his face and his flying V slung over his back like a permanent appendage. Getting to Abyss was easy as hell, finding out where the rebellious group’s headquarters was equally easy. Genkaku had his ways, after all, and being a lapdog of the senator had its perks, so why the hell not just take advantage of them?
Buried in a disgusting alleyway, Genkaku snorted and rubbed his nose with his thumb; he placed strong fingers around the handle of a door and slid it right open to revel a half-empty room with dim lights coating the place. The monk walked in and he was greeted by several cunts of the infamous Scar Chain. Bastards were real funny when they would exclaim at the monk, saying 'Who are you!?' and 'What the hell do you want!' in which the monk would only reply with: "Hey you guys, nice set-up you got here. Wanna hear my new hit?"
Genkaku’s new hit consisted of shooting mass amounts of lead into the limbs of the assholes who wore bird-masks. The sound of shattering kneecaps and the explosion of bloodied limbs put a glee on Genkaku’s face. Yeah, this was a fucking party alright. The best part was that they were Deadman and damn, the monk was getting all nostalgic. Bloodied bags of meat laid still on the ground and Genkaku inhaled the toxic juice of his cigar before letting his boots echo throughout the crimson-stained room.
"Damn...where is your murderous intent?" He asked one of the corpses’s as he nudged it with the tip of his boot and gave out a frustrated sigh. Genkaku walked over to the couch and sat down. Bloodied boots went on the coffee table and he crossed his ankles while strumming his guitar, waiting for his hypocritical bastard of an obsession.
Where: Scar Chain HQs; Abyss
When: I don't know, 2am?
Summary: Uh, Genkaku visits Nagi?
Rating: PG-13 to R
Other: Miru is a douche
How could the monk keep away from the recent destruction that was caused by Nagi’s group of gross terrorists? Well it was simple, he couldn’t. He had waited long enough and it was time for Genkaku to visit those fucking idiots with a large wide grin on his face and his flying V slung over his back like a permanent appendage. Getting to Abyss was easy as hell, finding out where the rebellious group’s headquarters was equally easy. Genkaku had his ways, after all, and being a lapdog of the senator had its perks, so why the hell not just take advantage of them?
Buried in a disgusting alleyway, Genkaku snorted and rubbed his nose with his thumb; he placed strong fingers around the handle of a door and slid it right open to revel a half-empty room with dim lights coating the place. The monk walked in and he was greeted by several cunts of the infamous Scar Chain. Bastards were real funny when they would exclaim at the monk, saying 'Who are you!?' and 'What the hell do you want!' in which the monk would only reply with: "Hey you guys, nice set-up you got here. Wanna hear my new hit?"
Genkaku’s new hit consisted of shooting mass amounts of lead into the limbs of the assholes who wore bird-masks. The sound of shattering kneecaps and the explosion of bloodied limbs put a glee on Genkaku’s face. Yeah, this was a fucking party alright. The best part was that they were Deadman and damn, the monk was getting all nostalgic. Bloodied bags of meat laid still on the ground and Genkaku inhaled the toxic juice of his cigar before letting his boots echo throughout the crimson-stained room.
"Damn...where is your murderous intent?" He asked one of the corpses’s as he nudged it with the tip of his boot and gave out a frustrated sigh. Genkaku walked over to the couch and sat down. Bloodied boots went on the coffee table and he crossed his ankles while strumming his guitar, waiting for his hypocritical bastard of an obsession.