Tom Hanniger (pickaxe) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2011-10-29 22:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | tom hanniger |
Who? Harry, and a cranky drunk NPC.
What? Murrrrrrder!
Where? A slightly shady area in Lawrence.
When? Tonight!
Rating? Umm not traumatizingly high, but there is some violence/killing.
Harry had thought maybe around here, he wouldn’t have a problem. Tom would steer clear of people, and no one would get on Harry’s nerves. Unfortunately it seemed something about Tom made people act like assholes. So Harry had to go clean up his mess.
The man had been stumbling along half-drunk as he left a bar, and barreled right into Tom the night before last. Tom wasn’t the politest guy ever, sometimes, so he’d made some sort of comment about watching where he was going, and kept walking. The man had decided to come after him and throw a couple punches, yelling insults and generally being a dick. Nothing Tom couldn’t handle, sure, but that didn’t mean Harry wasn’t pissed.
It was easy to find the man - he was at the same bar, leaving as they were closing up. He was leaving alone, of course he was, fucker wasn’t all that friendly. Any drinking buddies he might have had wouldn't stick around once last call was made and everyone headed out. Harry followed him as he started for home, walking just far enough behind to avoid being noticed, but close enough that he wouldn’t lose track of his target. They passed through the lit areas of the city, and as the streetlights became further and further apart, the man started to stumble more, slowing down, and Harry ducked into the alley he’d stashed his gear in, mask pulled on and pickaxe firmly in his grip when he re-emerged.
He'd tailed the drunk last night, too, to find out where he went after he left the first bar - he knew where the man's home was (a dinky little basement apartment, where he just passed out on the couch in front of the tv, adding a few beers to his impressive beer gut and blood alcohol level for the night) - but this time, he was serious. This wasn't just an observational night. Tonight, the man was going to die.
Now, he closed the somewhat larger gap between them faster, strides longer, faster. There was a dark, vicious intent behind his steps. He reached out, hooking the axe around the man’s neck and tugging him back (pulling hard and suddenly enough that any startled cry would be cut off before it ever really became anything to worry about, just a strangled little sound), dragging him around a corner into another alley, before he let the man scramble away from the hooked end of the weapon, scooting on his ass backwards, up against the wall in a futile effort to get away.
He was pleading, begging for his life, practically crying out his words - please let me go, you can have whatever you want, here, look, my watch is gold, take that, I won’t call the police please just - and Harry stood over him for a moment, spinning the axe between gloved fingers, almost contemplatively - before he buried the sharp end in the man’s face.
That shut him up.