Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-26104528-20150531022109/@comment-26130256-20150718034018

Azulius wasn't entirely sure what to think at this picture of him. On the one hand, his father and uncle would be celebrating the nickname of an enemy. In the Mob, reputation was as useful of a weapon as any gun or knife. More than once, Azzie had heard of a potential threat backing off because they simply heard the Cardamoms were gunning for them. If they heard Trigo himself was coming to the party, they often surrendered outright. But on the other hand...

"After just two jobs?  I'm flattered, but I've gotta ask.  I'm not that ugly, am I?"

"Yes," Violet shouted from across the office. "I can't see the picture from here, but the answer is yes." Not even bothering to grace his sister's remark with a facepalm, he took a copy of the picture and sent it to Trigo with a quick message, along with a couple of pictures of the day's carnage.

"Springtime at Beacon.  Wish you were here <3.  P.S. You are horrible people."

Ochre had just finished "thanking" part of the hotel staff for setting up a rather large television and sound system in one of the Pinnacle's conference rooms when Zephrion Flagg arrived.

"As usual, Mr. Flagg, your timing is impeccable," Ochre began warmly. "Everything is in order."

"Really?" Trigo asked, walking through the door with several bottles in a shopping bag, and a small barrel of Dust Ale over his shoulder. "It is impressive how we keep pulling that off so consistently." As he set the bottles down on a nearby table, his Scroll beeped. The enforcer chuckled, then his eyes grew misty. His little nephew had an epithet. A nickname of fear bestowed by his enemies. Little Azzie was all grown up. He promised himself he wouldn't cry...