I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art
Oh, Haulani. Back to normal (sans volcano now, of course), and with a whole season of hosting the Ark and her crew. A bunch of troublemakers with itchy feet - it was never going to end well, truly. So as Sunjata meandered his wicked way through the streets and back alleyways, it wasn't so surprising that he would come upon a ruckus. It was quiet, as fights went, though that was likely due to the man overseeing the entire thing.
At the mouth of a skinny side street, Jack watched the scuffle with a cigarette between his lips and eyes like blue flint. His knuckles were bloody but he was out of the fight by and large. The same could not be said of the two members of his crew, busy kicking the shit out of some men who had tried to short-change the smugglers on some goods they had delivered. Jack knew that to be the case, but really it didn't call for this kind of beating.
Mostly, they were just bored.
At the mouth of a skinny side street, Jack watched the scuffle with a cigarette between his lips and eyes like blue flint. His knuckles were bloody but he was out of the fight by and large. The same could not be said of the two members of his crew, busy kicking the shit out of some men who had tried to short-change the smugglers on some goods they had delivered. Jack knew that to be the case, but really it didn't call for this kind of beating.
Mostly, they were just bored.
