Detective Bigby Wolf
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- Posted: Tue, 29 Apr 2014 19:50:51 +0000
count_zantara
"b***h Please.
You couldn't handle my rates"
And with that, he went back to eatting, the guys fighting in the Pit, alcohol flowing freely and blood being spilt.
It was, as they say, A Hael of a Good Time.
"That isn't very nice," Bigby growled ominously as he walked around Hayl, flinty amber eyes regarding the massive suit of power armor speculatively. When you work in Sigil as a private investigator, you come across all kinds of interesting things, not the least of which being power armor. This model looked particularly heavy, the most common denominator half-a-ton. Bigby couldn't place it's scent exactly, but he was reminded of plasteel, ceramic, neural-impulse fibers and heresy. He found it gaudy and impractical; but then again, it afforded it's wearer enough strength and endurance that impracticality was nothing more than an obstacle to smash through.
All the same, Bigby didn't like the a*****e's attitude, and no one called the wolf a b***h without some repercussions and collateral damage. If Hayl wanted a go, him and his hundred toadies found one. Left flank facing Hayl, Bigby lifted his left leg and brought it down sharply on a back leg of Hayl's stool, breaking wood/bending metal with a snap/grate, hopefully dislodging the man and sending his armored backside to the floor. These models were always built with sensors, though; armor-locks, total-tension-snaps of the muscle fiber filaments, things like that. Frank be told, he just wanted Hayl to round on him to show the ninker what-for with some bloody knuckles.
It was the second-best way to tell Bravot someone was looking for him.