12-02-2020, 01:25 AM
pills don't help, but it sure is funny! ☆ ☆ ☆
MICHAEL TOWNLEY
THE TYPHOON
DEALER
Michael knew of Paintbrush, but that didn't mean he actually knew the other. He had heard about the liger once or twice from his nephew, but outside of that, the dealer really didn't know much about the guy. Roan always seemed to get a bit quiet whenever Paint was brought up, despite the two of them being friends, so the thief did have to admit that he had his suspicions. It was because of these suspicions that he had ultimately decided to seek the other out, going for a stroll through the territory until he eventually came upon the treehouse that the artist had chosen. Just from the looks of the guy, he didn't exactly seem like he was shitty. He had a smile on his face and a song on his lips, and quite frankly, he didn't look as though he would hurt a fly. So, that ruled out – or mostly ruled out – the possibility that Roan got nervous talking about him because Paintbrush had been cruel to him, or threatened him. Not that Michael had honestly thought that Roan would really let any threat against himself stand.
With his other suspicions in mind, Michael took a deep breath before leaping up onto the lip of the treehouse, tugging himself up and clearing his throat. With his golden jewelry glinting faintly in the sunlight, the dealer offered a toothy smile before speaking, "Hey there. You're Paintbrush, right? I heard that you're a friend of my nephew, Roan... I'm Michael Townley-Phillips, his uncle, obviously." With his introduction out of the way, the fugitive allowed his mismatched gaze to trail upwards, inspecting Paint's unfinished work. After a moment, Michael muttered, a chuckle leaving him, "Wow, you've really gone all out for this, huh? I never painted any part of my hut... then again, my hut was rat infested when I moved in, and I didn't even get rid of the rats, I just kept them as pets. So you could say I'm not exactly a big home decorator..." Trevor would probably disagree, considering all the various shiny trinkets that Michael had brought home in the past, but the coyote wasn't around at the moment, thankfully. He'd probably be much more direct in figuring out what was going on between Paintbrush and Roan.
With his other suspicions in mind, Michael took a deep breath before leaping up onto the lip of the treehouse, tugging himself up and clearing his throat. With his golden jewelry glinting faintly in the sunlight, the dealer offered a toothy smile before speaking, "Hey there. You're Paintbrush, right? I heard that you're a friend of my nephew, Roan... I'm Michael Townley-Phillips, his uncle, obviously." With his introduction out of the way, the fugitive allowed his mismatched gaze to trail upwards, inspecting Paint's unfinished work. After a moment, Michael muttered, a chuckle leaving him, "Wow, you've really gone all out for this, huh? I never painted any part of my hut... then again, my hut was rat infested when I moved in, and I didn't even get rid of the rats, I just kept them as pets. So you could say I'm not exactly a big home decorator..." Trevor would probably disagree, considering all the various shiny trinkets that Michael had brought home in the past, but the coyote wasn't around at the moment, thankfully. He'd probably be much more direct in figuring out what was going on between Paintbrush and Roan.
☆ ☆ ☆ gimme, gimme some of that vampire money, come on!
— Reggan
— Reggan