I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art
”Now that’s an idea. Pity they didn’t consult the good people of these shores before installin’ a portal on the seafront.” Jack snorted, having zero idea who they were but having every intention of finding the fuck out. The Hollowed Ground did ring a bell, and he wrinkled his nose at Raza’s description. ”Treats - we get to deal with a bunch of ragged bubble escapees,” he muttered, flicking ash from the cigarette. And the really powerful guy? ”His name is Remi.” Half guesswork, half meeting the alchemist the night before. All part of the mystique.
Grunting as he received a fully intentional backhand with added bottle for kicks, Jack nonetheless accepted the drink and took a healthy swig from it. He rolled the neck of the bottle between his fingers and cast Raza a thoroughly unimpressed look as she brought up Eloise. ”You mean that walkin’ distraction thrown in amongst my men?” he asked. ”The one who won’t even put out, let alone keep from givin’ me a runnin’ fuckin’ commentary every hour?”
He snorted. ”Why ever would that bother me?”
Grunting as he received a fully intentional backhand with added bottle for kicks, Jack nonetheless accepted the drink and took a healthy swig from it. He rolled the neck of the bottle between his fingers and cast Raza a thoroughly unimpressed look as she brought up Eloise. ”You mean that walkin’ distraction thrown in amongst my men?” he asked. ”The one who won’t even put out, let alone keep from givin’ me a runnin’ fuckin’ commentary every hour?”
He snorted. ”Why ever would that bother me?”
