$0.14
[Private/Warehouse District]
[after a week of officially being open for business in town, the Accountant, one Mr. Timothy Damon/Emerson Jaynes/whatever, has discovered that the Jokers and Dr. Horrible aren't the only ones in need of an extra, morally suspect pair of hands. the last few days have been spent tailing a target and learning his routine ... one of the low-grade loan sharks in town has a client who hasn't been making his payments, and most of his usual toughs have moved on for higher pay grades as the Joker's henchmen at the toy factory, or been shying away because ... well, there are rumors of people in capes, and masks, and trenchcoats preying on them all. justice is beginning to rear its head in the village, and it's making business a little thin.
the perfect opportunity for a budding businessman to swoop in and build himself some clientele, of course. which is why he's huddled in a cellar stairwell, waiting for his mark to walk by on his nightly jaunt to the seedy little bar where he drinks away all the money he's borrowed. The Accountant flexes his hands, stretching out his leather gloves, and fits the silencer to his .45. he stopped by the shooting range and swapped the one he had before out for the same model, cleaned by someone else. take that, Castle and your stupid losses. he crouches low, readying his aim.
within moments, the mark makes his way around the corner, his hands in his pockets, whistling to himself. down the street, there's a slight rustling and rattling as the owner of the store a few doors down brings his trash out for the night. it easily covers the sound of the gunshot, and The Accountant's mark falls to the ground like a sack of flour, blood slowly starting to pool around the body. quickly, before the ground's too much of a mess, he creeps up out of the stairwell and takes the expensive watch from the dead man's wrist, and the wallet from his pocket. a simple robbery - even though what he owed the loan shark was ten times the worth of what the Accountant now held in his hands.
a few blocks away, near a particularly seedy district, he'll dump the wallet in the garbage and pocket the few Caisos inside... and then make his way back to the Castle.]
[/Filter]
[it may be that half the staff of the Lux is on that ridiculous loss he's heard people going on about, but that's not going to stop him from helping himself to a stool and ordering a nice, expensive glass of red wine. he's just going to sit there and relax, enjoying some downtime after a productive evening]
... I know this is going to sound random, but ... any idea why there aren't any newspapers, around here? I used to like to read them, at night, and it's kind of weird, not having one.
[after a week of officially being open for business in town, the Accountant, one Mr. Timothy Damon/Emerson Jaynes/whatever, has discovered that the Jokers and Dr. Horrible aren't the only ones in need of an extra, morally suspect pair of hands. the last few days have been spent tailing a target and learning his routine ... one of the low-grade loan sharks in town has a client who hasn't been making his payments, and most of his usual toughs have moved on for higher pay grades as the Joker's henchmen at the toy factory, or been shying away because ... well, there are rumors of people in capes, and masks, and trenchcoats preying on them all. justice is beginning to rear its head in the village, and it's making business a little thin.
the perfect opportunity for a budding businessman to swoop in and build himself some clientele, of course. which is why he's huddled in a cellar stairwell, waiting for his mark to walk by on his nightly jaunt to the seedy little bar where he drinks away all the money he's borrowed. The Accountant flexes his hands, stretching out his leather gloves, and fits the silencer to his .45. he stopped by the shooting range and swapped the one he had before out for the same model, cleaned by someone else. take that, Castle and your stupid losses. he crouches low, readying his aim.
within moments, the mark makes his way around the corner, his hands in his pockets, whistling to himself. down the street, there's a slight rustling and rattling as the owner of the store a few doors down brings his trash out for the night. it easily covers the sound of the gunshot, and The Accountant's mark falls to the ground like a sack of flour, blood slowly starting to pool around the body. quickly, before the ground's too much of a mess, he creeps up out of the stairwell and takes the expensive watch from the dead man's wrist, and the wallet from his pocket. a simple robbery - even though what he owed the loan shark was ten times the worth of what the Accountant now held in his hands.
a few blocks away, near a particularly seedy district, he'll dump the wallet in the garbage and pocket the few Caisos inside... and then make his way back to the Castle.]
[/Filter]
[it may be that half the staff of the Lux is on that ridiculous loss he's heard people going on about, but that's not going to stop him from helping himself to a stool and ordering a nice, expensive glass of red wine. he's just going to sit there and relax, enjoying some downtime after a productive evening]
... I know this is going to sound random, but ... any idea why there aren't any newspapers, around here? I used to like to read them, at night, and it's kind of weird, not having one.