04-10-2022, 02:14 PM
[div style="width: 48%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]i'm so sorry i totally thought i responded to this thread!!
The feline's body shook and trembled as though silent laughter was escaping from him, and the demon hoped that was the case, or this would be getting real fucking weird. It seemed like it, though, and a wide, almost playful smile appeared upon his maw. Realistically, he felt that if the other tried to stop him, he would've just pushed him away or given him a hearty smack, but not having to deal with any physical confrontation at all was more or less the preferred way of handling things. Besides, his satchel was getting quite full, and it wasn't like he had much more business to do here before he couldn't carry any more materials back to the Forge. What he had now would certainly hold him over for a while.
The feline's inquiry about his paw amused him a little, enough to grant the other a chuckle from the husky. "Don't sweat it, man. I ain't bleedin' out," he said, lifting the paw for the other to see. The wound was open somewhat, but the bleeding was far less rampant than it was before he had applied an adequate amount of pressure on it. He'd definitely live, that's for sure. What the cat had said prior to his question, though, had troubled him a little. The person who had informed him about this junkyard had said nothing about a group being in control. That fuck. Was he try'na get me killed? he thought bitterly about him, but he pushed the thought away to deal with the task at him. "Who's in control, then?" He figured that now that he was here and likely talking to a member of whatever clan claimed the yard, he might as well understand whose territory he was encroaching on.
Zjarr seemed to regain his confident energy at the stranger's next question. "Right on the money, sir! My name is Zjarr Ignibus, founder of the Ignibus Arms Company. I'm in this shithole so I can get cool shit to make into, y'guessed it, cooler shit." He tapped a dirty, dust and grime-ridden white paw on the satchel attached to his body, producing a variety of clanks and clinks as he did so. The feline didn't give a shit whether or not he took anything from the junkyard, so he figured that such an introduction was appropriate — it did reasonably explain, after all, why the husky showed up to this yard in the first place. And of course, he couldn't pass up on an opportunity to promote his craft. A new customer awaited in every stranger he spoke to.
The feline's body shook and trembled as though silent laughter was escaping from him, and the demon hoped that was the case, or this would be getting real fucking weird. It seemed like it, though, and a wide, almost playful smile appeared upon his maw. Realistically, he felt that if the other tried to stop him, he would've just pushed him away or given him a hearty smack, but not having to deal with any physical confrontation at all was more or less the preferred way of handling things. Besides, his satchel was getting quite full, and it wasn't like he had much more business to do here before he couldn't carry any more materials back to the Forge. What he had now would certainly hold him over for a while.
The feline's inquiry about his paw amused him a little, enough to grant the other a chuckle from the husky. "Don't sweat it, man. I ain't bleedin' out," he said, lifting the paw for the other to see. The wound was open somewhat, but the bleeding was far less rampant than it was before he had applied an adequate amount of pressure on it. He'd definitely live, that's for sure. What the cat had said prior to his question, though, had troubled him a little. The person who had informed him about this junkyard had said nothing about a group being in control. That fuck. Was he try'na get me killed? he thought bitterly about him, but he pushed the thought away to deal with the task at him. "Who's in control, then?" He figured that now that he was here and likely talking to a member of whatever clan claimed the yard, he might as well understand whose territory he was encroaching on.
Zjarr seemed to regain his confident energy at the stranger's next question. "Right on the money, sir! My name is Zjarr Ignibus, founder of the Ignibus Arms Company. I'm in this shithole so I can get cool shit to make into, y'guessed it, cooler shit." He tapped a dirty, dust and grime-ridden white paw on the satchel attached to his body, producing a variety of clanks and clinks as he did so. The feline didn't give a shit whether or not he took anything from the junkyard, so he figured that such an introduction was appropriate — it did reasonably explain, after all, why the husky showed up to this yard in the first place. And of course, he couldn't pass up on an opportunity to promote his craft. A new customer awaited in every stranger he spoke to.
[glow=#f24b00,2,300]cold cold cold[/glow] — ☼
✰ — I'M JUST A SOUL WHOSE INTENTIONS ARE GOOD
zjarr ignibus / tanglewood / hellcat / weapons dealer / plot