Post by mrhost56 on Apr 19, 2017 17:47:04 GMT
“When you save someone’s life, they become vulnerable. They’ll trust you, feel like they owe you.”
“Shut up.”
“Of course, that’s what people do, you on the other hand, are not a pe-“
“Shut it, or I’m blowing your head off!” The hammer of the six-shooter was cocked back as a man with a bandana across his face and a leather jacket and blue jeans held a younger man in a full suit of plate armor at the business end of the firearm.
“I’ve got half a mind to let you go, since I owe you one and all.”
“I won’t be taking that up any time soon, actually.” The armored man tightened his grip of his left hand on the blade of his longsword, the other on the actual handle. The point of the weapon was inches away from his assailant’s stomach, ready to spill his guts out right there. “You told me these guys were a bunch of “no good thieving assholes who left you for dead”.”
A band of civilians stood behind Mason, all wearing similar gnarled brows and down turned lips. All of them looked old, though most were under thirty years, even the kids. One old man with a cane stepped out from the head of the group, waving his walking stick at the man with the bandana. “Yew damned gangsters think yer so terf and all stealin’ from us hard workin’ folk! Ye don’t deserve the lord’s good graces that we gave ya when ya came ‘round our town!”
“Screw you, geriatric ass!” He squeezed his magnum harder, knuckles whitening. “Ya know what? I’ll blow this dumbass with the sword away right in front of y’all just to show you what’s what!”
There was the split second of his finger squeezing on the trigger, which Mason’s eyes had been watching for during the entire confrontation. The second he could see the muscles twitch, he moved, whipping his hips out to the left so that it brought his upper body and head to the right. Then came the bang of the old-school gunpowder casing. Mason’s ears were ringing even as the bandit collapsed to his knees, trying to put his intestines back into his stomach, screaming and crying for help. After about a minute, he fell over, bleeding out into the dry gravel and taking his last breath.
Mason turned around, taking out a handkerchief and wiping the blood off his blade and grinning under his steel visor. “Now, if I make request to stay the night-“
His voice and energy cut out. The old man, the town’s elder and voice of wisdom, lay on the ground clutching his gut, lying in a pool of his own blood. He was as till as the bandit Mason had gored.
“Shut up.”
“Of course, that’s what people do, you on the other hand, are not a pe-“
“Shut it, or I’m blowing your head off!” The hammer of the six-shooter was cocked back as a man with a bandana across his face and a leather jacket and blue jeans held a younger man in a full suit of plate armor at the business end of the firearm.
“I’ve got half a mind to let you go, since I owe you one and all.”
“I won’t be taking that up any time soon, actually.” The armored man tightened his grip of his left hand on the blade of his longsword, the other on the actual handle. The point of the weapon was inches away from his assailant’s stomach, ready to spill his guts out right there. “You told me these guys were a bunch of “no good thieving assholes who left you for dead”.”
A band of civilians stood behind Mason, all wearing similar gnarled brows and down turned lips. All of them looked old, though most were under thirty years, even the kids. One old man with a cane stepped out from the head of the group, waving his walking stick at the man with the bandana. “Yew damned gangsters think yer so terf and all stealin’ from us hard workin’ folk! Ye don’t deserve the lord’s good graces that we gave ya when ya came ‘round our town!”
“Screw you, geriatric ass!” He squeezed his magnum harder, knuckles whitening. “Ya know what? I’ll blow this dumbass with the sword away right in front of y’all just to show you what’s what!”
There was the split second of his finger squeezing on the trigger, which Mason’s eyes had been watching for during the entire confrontation. The second he could see the muscles twitch, he moved, whipping his hips out to the left so that it brought his upper body and head to the right. Then came the bang of the old-school gunpowder casing. Mason’s ears were ringing even as the bandit collapsed to his knees, trying to put his intestines back into his stomach, screaming and crying for help. After about a minute, he fell over, bleeding out into the dry gravel and taking his last breath.
Mason turned around, taking out a handkerchief and wiping the blood off his blade and grinning under his steel visor. “Now, if I make request to stay the night-“
His voice and energy cut out. The old man, the town’s elder and voice of wisdom, lay on the ground clutching his gut, lying in a pool of his own blood. He was as till as the bandit Mason had gored.