06-26-2019, 10:38 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 530px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: .3px; line-height: 1.3; padding: 4px;"]Caustic and Volatile. Two who probably thought they looked dangerous  felt it, too, if their names were anything to go by. Don’t get too close, I’m destructive. In truth, it was a little ridiculous. Renaming was nothing uncommon, but sometimes, people tried too hard. Were they not real, he’d not be surprised to see them in a comic book as the clearly-overdone villains that spat acid and tried to be harder than they actually were. Either that, or the creation of teenagers caught within their angstiest phase of life, pouring their souls out into dark characters they believed were complex in their criminality but… weren’t.
It’d make him laugh if he wasn’t so keen to avoid a fight. Not with them specifically, but with anybody here. Abd al-Malik was no pushover, but that didn’t mean he flashed his weapons and glared like he was issuing a challenge to everyone who came within ten metres of him. Wolfsbane emphasised a feeling of brotherhood whether he could share in the sentiment or not, and he planned on upholding it. Sure, these people thought they were better in a sense, but that didn't mean he had to forget them. It didn't help to dismiss your colleagues, especially when they could easily flip to the other side. (Not that he was scared of the possibility of becoming their enemy. He didn't tend to think in such childish terms anyway, but watching some of them bicker... he didn't think he had to worry. Edgelord 1 was pissed because Edgelord 2 had taken his claws. If Abd al-Malik were in that position, he'd just trade them out for a gun, but maybe that way of thinking was why he'd rebranded himself Corrosive.)
Not to say he wasn't loyal to them, in the same way a drafted soldier was loyal to his country. Abd al-Malik huffed, barely audible, and turned to Wolfsbane. Bluestem Prairie sounded peaceful  open, rolling plains  and he didn't envy those who had to deal with the frigid temperatures of Flintlock Lodge or the unpredictability of the Badlands (not that they were any worse than Los Santos; Abd al-Malik would put his own group further down). Having a tagalong wasn't something he was opposed to either, though he doubted Honey would be as please. She seemed particularly steadfast in her opposition of bending to authority, and even more steadfast in her distaste of adult men, and Abd al-Malik wasn't old, but he certainly wasn't a child anymore. He offered her a smile, knowing he'd be doing most of the talking at Bluestem if Wolfsbane truly wanted to keep an easy peace.
The task at home was easy enough too, though the honour wasn't lost on him. The cemetery was treated with an almost holy reverence, and he wasn't keen on implying that Wolfsbane's trust was misplaced  Abd al-Malik knew the importance of the dead, had known it even before joining Los Santos. With the clamouring of voices becoming near-impossible to cut through, Abd al-Malik nodded an affirmative at Wolfsbane instead of adding to the mix.
It’d make him laugh if he wasn’t so keen to avoid a fight. Not with them specifically, but with anybody here. Abd al-Malik was no pushover, but that didn’t mean he flashed his weapons and glared like he was issuing a challenge to everyone who came within ten metres of him. Wolfsbane emphasised a feeling of brotherhood whether he could share in the sentiment or not, and he planned on upholding it. Sure, these people thought they were better in a sense, but that didn't mean he had to forget them. It didn't help to dismiss your colleagues, especially when they could easily flip to the other side. (Not that he was scared of the possibility of becoming their enemy. He didn't tend to think in such childish terms anyway, but watching some of them bicker... he didn't think he had to worry. Edgelord 1 was pissed because Edgelord 2 had taken his claws. If Abd al-Malik were in that position, he'd just trade them out for a gun, but maybe that way of thinking was why he'd rebranded himself Corrosive.)
Not to say he wasn't loyal to them, in the same way a drafted soldier was loyal to his country. Abd al-Malik huffed, barely audible, and turned to Wolfsbane. Bluestem Prairie sounded peaceful  open, rolling plains  and he didn't envy those who had to deal with the frigid temperatures of Flintlock Lodge or the unpredictability of the Badlands (not that they were any worse than Los Santos; Abd al-Malik would put his own group further down). Having a tagalong wasn't something he was opposed to either, though he doubted Honey would be as please. She seemed particularly steadfast in her opposition of bending to authority, and even more steadfast in her distaste of adult men, and Abd al-Malik wasn't old, but he certainly wasn't a child anymore. He offered her a smile, knowing he'd be doing most of the talking at Bluestem if Wolfsbane truly wanted to keep an easy peace.
The task at home was easy enough too, though the honour wasn't lost on him. The cemetery was treated with an almost holy reverence, and he wasn't keen on implying that Wolfsbane's trust was misplaced  Abd al-Malik knew the importance of the dead, had known it even before joining Los Santos. With the clamouring of voices becoming near-impossible to cut through, Abd al-Malik nodded an affirmative at Wolfsbane instead of adding to the mix.