𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙙.
+18 Writer | Independent Depiction | Mature Themes!
Type shit.
Type shit.
"The eyes are a bit intense--I've gotta say--but thanks. That the kind of music blaring outta your leg? You sure look the part. Metal-leg... Metal-head..."
She murmured that last part and crouched by a vent in an alley on the ground.
+
she plucked the wanted poster from the wall.
"it's a /metal/ pic."
she snickered before crumpling the paper under her knuckles, tossing it into one of the many heaps of trash nearby.
"The eyes are a bit intense--I've gotta say--but thanks. That the kind of music blaring outta your leg? You sure look the part. Metal-leg... Metal-head..."
She murmured that last part and crouched by a vent in an alley on the ground.
+
"...You really are me, huh? Real, no doubt. Sorry."
"...You really are me, huh? Real, no doubt. Sorry."
my skull’s got a date with the floor this evening. . .
( and the silly thing won’t bash in itself. . ! )
She winced and pull her gun out, holding onto her temple with the same hand.
"SHUT UP!"
She winced and pull her gun out, holding onto her temple with the same hand.
"SHUT UP!"
"When? D-did it hurt? Where were you!?"
"When? D-did it hurt? Where were you!?"
"What, me? ... How'd you get like that?"
"What, me? ... How'd you get like that?"