Out of the house;
Who: troparion and terminates.
When: Sunday evening, slightly before sirens.
Where: Underground black market. Or wherever St. Mathew's pad is.
Summary: They're good guys, really. Just good guys strapped for cash who decide to do other good guy's dirty work. Honest.
Warnings: Foul language and ...... grey morality?
[St. Mathew: that'd been the name he was suppoed to seek out. bit of an ironic name, which Wolfwood didn't especially appreciate, but he was a grown man - he felt he could deal with it. deal with it long enough to get the deal done and get out, at least; as he stepped into the underground room, though, he couldn't help but wonder how - why - he was getting back into this. Siren's Port could've represented a new start, a change. even with the millions of churches around and startingly low death rate, some people still had to be looking for a practicing priest...]
[he'd wonder that up until he stepped outside into the bitter cold after hearing from the landlord how he only had a few weeks left and nearly froze to death. again. the contious rain was a wonder-- he'd just stare at it off and on throughout the day- but goddamn did it make traveling door-to-door an utter hell.]
[still, this city's workings was an unfamiliar place, and he kept one hand tight around the (currently wrapped-up) Punisher's latch, another metaphorical one on his head. bounty hunting wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind during that first week of arrival, but... what else was he supposed to do, really? he didn't know anything else. at least this'd be somewhat familiar.]
[glance here, glance there -- people looked a lot more normal in this city, even if they had whacked out monster powers - and...]
That St. Mathew? [muttered underbreath, as he was rooted to the spot off to the side of the room, lit cigarette burning away as he - well. waited and thought. (the broomhead wasn't even around and he was still overthinking).]
When: Sunday evening, slightly before sirens.
Where: Underground black market. Or wherever St. Mathew's pad is.
Summary: They're good guys, really. Just good guys strapped for cash who decide to do other good guy's dirty work. Honest.
Warnings: Foul language and ...... grey morality?
[St. Mathew: that'd been the name he was suppoed to seek out. bit of an ironic name, which Wolfwood didn't especially appreciate, but he was a grown man - he felt he could deal with it. deal with it long enough to get the deal done and get out, at least; as he stepped into the underground room, though, he couldn't help but wonder how - why - he was getting back into this. Siren's Port could've represented a new start, a change. even with the millions of churches around and startingly low death rate, some people still had to be looking for a practicing priest...]
[he'd wonder that up until he stepped outside into the bitter cold after hearing from the landlord how he only had a few weeks left and nearly froze to death. again. the contious rain was a wonder-- he'd just stare at it off and on throughout the day- but goddamn did it make traveling door-to-door an utter hell.]
[still, this city's workings was an unfamiliar place, and he kept one hand tight around the (currently wrapped-up) Punisher's latch, another metaphorical one on his head. bounty hunting wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind during that first week of arrival, but... what else was he supposed to do, really? he didn't know anything else. at least this'd be somewhat familiar.]
[glance here, glance there -- people looked a lot more normal in this city, even if they had whacked out monster powers - and...]
That St. Mathew? [muttered underbreath, as he was rooted to the spot off to the side of the room, lit cigarette burning away as he - well. waited and thought. (the broomhead wasn't even around and he was still overthinking).]