Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-27743663-20161125025753/@comment-26571677-20170226223221

The man in the corner, leaning by a wall looked at the food, and shook his head with an apologetic smile at Cerise. Dipping his hat towards her.

"Sorry Miss. Rich tucker like that makes my stomach churn. I'm sure it tastes delicious, but it just ain't for me. I've already eaten, anyway, so the gesture's appreciated."

With that, he pulled out a bottle of angry red and orange liquid, pouring it into a flask that he pulled out from inside his trenchcoat with meticulous care, not spilling a single drop in his care for the liquid.

With that done, he popped the lid back with a click, swigging from another one of the beers from Gillian's fridge, grimacing at the taste.

"Fuck me, tastes like stale bloody possum's piss! Killer, this shite is."

He chugged the rest down with no semblance of enjoyment, and tossed it perfectly in the trash, before walking to the dining table, sitting down on his seat. He pulled out his rifle, and began to disassemble the mass of blades, springs, and other parts, finishing in the space of around 10 seconds as his hands moved lightning fast, accustomed to the actions after years upon years of practise.

Once he had everything laid out before him, he started to oil and clean each one, humming a tune while his hands did their work with immesurable care.