22 bullet casings
[spending a couple days as a doll had its merits, it really did - mostly the blessed oblivion and missing out on all the madness. but the best merit was that somehow, she found herself in McGinty's.
She'd only been there twice, but she knew it so well, it seemed - the careworn bar and stools, the little secret back room. The smell of Mexican food wafted in from that little door, along with the sounds of a pinball machine that'd seen better days. she was sitting at the bar, nursing an appletini, and she could hear voices drifting out from inside --
"Hey, Murph, you gonna fuck around all day or you gonna help me carry this shit out there so we don't all starve to death?"
"Oi, I'm not your fuckin' slave, Rome, do it yerself! 'Sides, it's th' Lord's birthday, m'inclined to play him a couple games before we get down t' business..."
"Both of you ladies just shut it, wouldja? The boys're gonna be here soon, an' Doc's sure as hell not settin' the tables all by himself..."
Eunice smiled. It had been too long since she'd heard those thick Irish accents - far, far too long. The door swung open, as two more men invited themselves in from the Boston chill, bringing a blast of icy air with them and a swirl of snow.
"Jesus, it's feckin' cold out there -- Dolly, close that goddamn pneumonia hole 'fore I freeze my nuts off. ... Hey, Eunice. Where's Smeckah at?"
Suddenly, it was all she could do to keep the tears from her eyes.]
Hey, boys.
[it wasn't Georgia, but somehow, it felt more like home than she'd ever thought it could.]
((OOC: Open for Smecker, and any other friends who want to wander into an Irish pub with a handful of vigilantes for Christmas...))
She'd only been there twice, but she knew it so well, it seemed - the careworn bar and stools, the little secret back room. The smell of Mexican food wafted in from that little door, along with the sounds of a pinball machine that'd seen better days. she was sitting at the bar, nursing an appletini, and she could hear voices drifting out from inside --
"Hey, Murph, you gonna fuck around all day or you gonna help me carry this shit out there so we don't all starve to death?"
"Oi, I'm not your fuckin' slave, Rome, do it yerself! 'Sides, it's th' Lord's birthday, m'inclined to play him a couple games before we get down t' business..."
"Both of you ladies just shut it, wouldja? The boys're gonna be here soon, an' Doc's sure as hell not settin' the tables all by himself..."
Eunice smiled. It had been too long since she'd heard those thick Irish accents - far, far too long. The door swung open, as two more men invited themselves in from the Boston chill, bringing a blast of icy air with them and a swirl of snow.
"Jesus, it's feckin' cold out there -- Dolly, close that goddamn pneumonia hole 'fore I freeze my nuts off. ... Hey, Eunice. Where's Smeckah at?"
Suddenly, it was all she could do to keep the tears from her eyes.]
Hey, boys.
[it wasn't Georgia, but somehow, it felt more like home than she'd ever thought it could.]
((OOC: Open for Smecker, and any other friends who want to wander into an Irish pub with a handful of vigilantes for Christmas...))