12-19-2018, 08:04 PM
[glow=#000,1,400]BUT YOU WERE BORN UNDER A BAD SIGN — TAGS[/glow]
The performer had fully exited the building, and Charlie realized that he really should have been going. As much as he could very well stay out past normal hours of the night, he had a meeting early tomorrow with his uncle in town and he didn't want to risk buying more drinks and suffering a hangover in the morning. So, the man donned his fedora and weaved through the crowd, making his way outside and into the crisp, night air. Winter was knocking on the door, that was for sure.
A few unpleasant voices had disturbed his aurals, and Charlie's attention was suddenly directed to the commotion. There was a plethora of criminal activity occurring every night on these streets, considering that the police couldn't possibly keep every single corner of the city in check. Charlie could have just minded his own business and walked the other way, but the exclamation from the unknown woman had only intrigued him even more. Not that he was a crimfighter — ironically, the feds would have loved to put him behind bars.
The Italian man poked his head from around the corner, peering forward at the dimly lit — scene of a mugging?! It was the blind performer who had just concluded her show, being cornered and roughed up by a circle of drunkards. A frown tugged down on the corners of his lips, his bushy eyebrows creasing over narrowed visionaries, and he quickly stormed over towards the man who had been constraining her. The young businessman felt an rage-filled, animalistic instinct i g n i t e within him, a spark he had possessed even spanning back to the days of his youth. When he would take out his pent-up frustrations and hatred out on kids in the schoolyard, when he would shove weaker and younger children to the ground and take their money. Except, now, he was warding off a couple of drunk fucks. It was all the same — except he had traded in a dirty newsboy cap and rags for a suit and tie.
He tugged him closer with one grip and with the other sent his balled-up fist straight into his left jaw, leaving him stumbling back in utter confusion ( and, in turn, releasing Rhiannon from his clutches ). "Whoa, hey!" One of them yelled as Charlie suddenly intervened. He was going to go after him once more when another goon hit him in the gut. He nearly lost his balance, and in the midst of the chaos, Charlie drew his revolver, his aim scanning over the whole group. "Watch where yer' pointin' that thing..!" Next, a threat: [glow=black,1,400]"All of yous betta' beat it before I put slugs in ya' heads."[/glow] "And then you'll all end up at the bottom of the harbor tied to cement blocks." It was not uncommon for a man to be equipped with a firearm, especially in this part of town, but these idiots had no idea on what Lucky could do to them should he catch them making trouble again.
That had been enough to ward them off. Charlie breathed heavily, still trying to recover from nearly getting the wind knocked out from him. He tucked his gun into the inside of his coat and turned to Rhiannon, a wispy stream of hot air expelling from his nostrils and into the cold atmosphere. [glow=black,1,400]"You alright?"[/glow] Asked he.
A few unpleasant voices had disturbed his aurals, and Charlie's attention was suddenly directed to the commotion. There was a plethora of criminal activity occurring every night on these streets, considering that the police couldn't possibly keep every single corner of the city in check. Charlie could have just minded his own business and walked the other way, but the exclamation from the unknown woman had only intrigued him even more. Not that he was a crimfighter — ironically, the feds would have loved to put him behind bars.
The Italian man poked his head from around the corner, peering forward at the dimly lit — scene of a mugging?! It was the blind performer who had just concluded her show, being cornered and roughed up by a circle of drunkards. A frown tugged down on the corners of his lips, his bushy eyebrows creasing over narrowed visionaries, and he quickly stormed over towards the man who had been constraining her. The young businessman felt an rage-filled, animalistic instinct i g n i t e within him, a spark he had possessed even spanning back to the days of his youth. When he would take out his pent-up frustrations and hatred out on kids in the schoolyard, when he would shove weaker and younger children to the ground and take their money. Except, now, he was warding off a couple of drunk fucks. It was all the same — except he had traded in a dirty newsboy cap and rags for a suit and tie.
He tugged him closer with one grip and with the other sent his balled-up fist straight into his left jaw, leaving him stumbling back in utter confusion ( and, in turn, releasing Rhiannon from his clutches ). "Whoa, hey!" One of them yelled as Charlie suddenly intervened. He was going to go after him once more when another goon hit him in the gut. He nearly lost his balance, and in the midst of the chaos, Charlie drew his revolver, his aim scanning over the whole group. "Watch where yer' pointin' that thing..!" Next, a threat: [glow=black,1,400]"All of yous betta' beat it before I put slugs in ya' heads."[/glow] "And then you'll all end up at the bottom of the harbor tied to cement blocks." It was not uncommon for a man to be equipped with a firearm, especially in this part of town, but these idiots had no idea on what Lucky could do to them should he catch them making trouble again.
That had been enough to ward them off. Charlie breathed heavily, still trying to recover from nearly getting the wind knocked out from him. He tucked his gun into the inside of his coat and turned to Rhiannon, a wispy stream of hot air expelling from his nostrils and into the cold atmosphere. [glow=black,1,400]"You alright?"[/glow] Asked he.
[align=center]![[Image: NMNfCHJ.png]](https://i.imgur.com/NMNfCHJ.png)