Oh, I would much rather it not, thank you... [but it's a withered protest, one partly resigned to the notion being more likely than not. once the ache on her leg has abated, she approaches the bar where the weapons lay, examining them and giving the standees a few glances over in-between.
her focus lingers on the statement on the far wall for a beat before she picks up one of the shotguns, frowning at its lightness; perhaps for the best, really, but still strange to her expectations.]
Should we fire down the line? You've already tagged two, so... [maybe the rest need to be peppered?]
no subject
her focus lingers on the statement on the far wall for a beat before she picks up one of the shotguns, frowning at its lightness; perhaps for the best, really, but still strange to her expectations.]
Should we fire down the line? You've already tagged two, so... [maybe the rest need to be peppered?]