02-06-2019, 05:58 AM
[align=center][div style="borderwidth; width: 400px; padding: 1px; text-align: justify; color: #4B3E2D; line-height: 14px; font-size: 11pt; font-family:timesnewroman"]"speech" 'thought' text
tw: mentions alcohol, blood, profanity, themes of violence
Wrapped in many layers, including a warm undershirt, a sweater, a jacket, and then a heavy coat on top of that, Michael was toasty warm. He had a heated brick in each pocket (still residually warm from his morning fire and cup of coffee), he wore thick woolen mittens, had warm socks and tightly laced up boots on. He wore a pair of jeans, and underneath a pair of insulated pants. To top it off, he wore a delightfully festive red snow cap, and a red scarf.
His cheeks were a rosy red from the cold of the day, fuck it was freezing here, to think, this was what his afterlife would be like... that was a sobering thought, well, actually not sobering, made him want to drink even more than he usually did. There was no snow falling right now, though fresh snow had accumulated overnight, (Mike had been traveling for a few days now, wasn't like he could make the trip in one,) beside him was a plump and happy looking pony, who had a cart secured behind it, on the cart was a large barrel, this was moonshine, of Mike's own making.
Sure it wasn't the best stuff he'd ever pumped out, but he was trying, trying to extend good will to Flintlock, after all, Cat was adamant about not bashing in the lodgers skulls anymore, which meant Mike had to find somewhere else to apply his aggression and anger, it wouldn't be hard, there were nare-do-wells everywhere. And, as far as "bad guys" went, Flintlock was actually sickeningly decent.
Regardless, he was trying to do a good thing, after the whole "beating up some teenagers because they'd fucked with Gabe" thing wasn't exactly an incident in his favor. It wasn't that he needed to be in Cat's good graces, he didn't mind being called out, but he'd prefer not to undergo the fair (though painful) punishment that Cat had inflicted on him again. And he knew that it'd be ten times worse the next time, especially with the whole, Cat making him an enforcer for some reason.
It wasn't such a far fetched idea, Mike was loyal, obeyed commands, was very good at hurting people, even people he cared about, (especially people he cared about). He was about to respond with a witty remark, maybe a sly comment to Brendan's fast paced approach, but the stabbing of the staff did not lighten his mood, he winced as the wooden end of the object dug into his stomach, grazing against one of his still healing ribs and eliciting a grimace from his mouth. "You have no idea the hornet's nest you just stirred up kid." He snarled, grabbing for the stick with one hand, attempting to pull Brendan towards him and off blance. And, simultaneously throwing a punch directly beneath Brendan's eye.
It wasn't to inflict maximum damage, mostly to warn the kid off, perhaps scare him a little. Mike didn't take too kindly to anyone poking him, especially in the rather tender area of his stomach that had two broken ribs. He silently, and begrudgingly "thanked" Cat for the impracticality of his punishment, though, a broken wrist and, or, ankle would have been worse, so he'd gotten of lightly... well lighter.
tw: mentions alcohol, blood, profanity, themes of violence
Wrapped in many layers, including a warm undershirt, a sweater, a jacket, and then a heavy coat on top of that, Michael was toasty warm. He had a heated brick in each pocket (still residually warm from his morning fire and cup of coffee), he wore thick woolen mittens, had warm socks and tightly laced up boots on. He wore a pair of jeans, and underneath a pair of insulated pants. To top it off, he wore a delightfully festive red snow cap, and a red scarf.
His cheeks were a rosy red from the cold of the day, fuck it was freezing here, to think, this was what his afterlife would be like... that was a sobering thought, well, actually not sobering, made him want to drink even more than he usually did. There was no snow falling right now, though fresh snow had accumulated overnight, (Mike had been traveling for a few days now, wasn't like he could make the trip in one,) beside him was a plump and happy looking pony, who had a cart secured behind it, on the cart was a large barrel, this was moonshine, of Mike's own making.
Sure it wasn't the best stuff he'd ever pumped out, but he was trying, trying to extend good will to Flintlock, after all, Cat was adamant about not bashing in the lodgers skulls anymore, which meant Mike had to find somewhere else to apply his aggression and anger, it wouldn't be hard, there were nare-do-wells everywhere. And, as far as "bad guys" went, Flintlock was actually sickeningly decent.
Regardless, he was trying to do a good thing, after the whole "beating up some teenagers because they'd fucked with Gabe" thing wasn't exactly an incident in his favor. It wasn't that he needed to be in Cat's good graces, he didn't mind being called out, but he'd prefer not to undergo the fair (though painful) punishment that Cat had inflicted on him again. And he knew that it'd be ten times worse the next time, especially with the whole, Cat making him an enforcer for some reason.
It wasn't such a far fetched idea, Mike was loyal, obeyed commands, was very good at hurting people, even people he cared about, (especially people he cared about). He was about to respond with a witty remark, maybe a sly comment to Brendan's fast paced approach, but the stabbing of the staff did not lighten his mood, he winced as the wooden end of the object dug into his stomach, grazing against one of his still healing ribs and eliciting a grimace from his mouth. "You have no idea the hornet's nest you just stirred up kid." He snarled, grabbing for the stick with one hand, attempting to pull Brendan towards him and off blance. And, simultaneously throwing a punch directly beneath Brendan's eye.
It wasn't to inflict maximum damage, mostly to warn the kid off, perhaps scare him a little. Mike didn't take too kindly to anyone poking him, especially in the rather tender area of his stomach that had two broken ribs. He silently, and begrudgingly "thanked" Cat for the impracticality of his punishment, though, a broken wrist and, or, ankle would have been worse, so he'd gotten of lightly... well lighter.
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MICHAEL FORD
Michael Ford is a 45 year old, man, he's stubbornly loyal to whatever cause he chooses, protective of his family and friends, he's a member of the Badlands. Michael has issues controlling his anger in most situations. He is a difficult opponent and well trained, feel free to power play nonviolent interactions though.