03-18-2021, 06:46 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 430px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 6pt; letter-spacing: 2.5px; word-spacing: 0px; line-height: 12px; color: #000"]Nostrils flared as Brock whipped his head around in search for a clean line to shoot the Stirling from. Pain tore through his lower limb as Prospector’s fiery canter rocked him to and fro; whilst he felt obliged to participate in the fight, it felt near impossible to do so without a firm grimace across pained features. Two healing injuries in which he should have been nursing left to ignite with the pain of the fight all over again.
This felt much like his old gang days.
Reins whipping over to one side, Prospector dodged out of the way instinctively as a man stepped out to face Brock, rifle cocked and aimed at his head. If the man were to fire point blank, Brock would be a dead man. Prospector shuffled to a halt, front legs lifting off the ground and muzzle twitching as he snorted worriedly, giving Brock enough time to have a long, hard look towards the man before he realised. Grimace faltered, his face falling as he was confronted with a face from the past. A man who had been his friend for longer than anybody else had known him for. A man who knew Brock right from his childhood, understood his motivations and his pain.
He almost choked on his breath.
❝ Hello, Bernard. ❞ Brock spoke softly, voice cracking as he stared at a man he considered one of his few friends with a gun pointed at him. A toothy yet emotionless smile tugged at his lips, Brock slowly leaning back into the saddle as he then said, ❝ We must stop meeting like this. ❞ He would not make sudden movements, unaware whether Bernard would turn on a good friend now or leave Brock be. How was it that their paths could never align the way Brock had hoped?
This felt much like his old gang days.
Reins whipping over to one side, Prospector dodged out of the way instinctively as a man stepped out to face Brock, rifle cocked and aimed at his head. If the man were to fire point blank, Brock would be a dead man. Prospector shuffled to a halt, front legs lifting off the ground and muzzle twitching as he snorted worriedly, giving Brock enough time to have a long, hard look towards the man before he realised. Grimace faltered, his face falling as he was confronted with a face from the past. A man who had been his friend for longer than anybody else had known him for. A man who knew Brock right from his childhood, understood his motivations and his pain.
He almost choked on his breath.
❝ Hello, Bernard. ❞ Brock spoke softly, voice cracking as he stared at a man he considered one of his few friends with a gun pointed at him. A toothy yet emotionless smile tugged at his lips, Brock slowly leaning back into the saddle as he then said, ❝ We must stop meeting like this. ❞ He would not make sudden movements, unaware whether Bernard would turn on a good friend now or leave Brock be. How was it that their paths could never align the way Brock had hoped?
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TAKES HIS CLEAVER , CUTS YOUR THROAT
[div style="width: 400px; font-family: georgia; text-align: center; font-size: 5pt; line-height: 1; letter-spacing: 2.6px; word-spacing: 1.9px; margin-bottom: 5px;"]A COLD-HEARTED KILLER IN A DARK BLACK COAT — NOTES.
[div style="width: 400px; font-family: georgia; text-align: center; font-size: 5pt; line-height: 1; letter-spacing: 2.6px; word-spacing: 1.9px; margin-bottom: 5px;"]A COLD-HEARTED KILLER IN A DARK BLACK COAT — NOTES.