Gentle Messenger
Betty
had suggested they all meet at her place. The Gate said he felt more
comfortable in a public setting, but the rest of the group agreed with Betty.
They decided, because of Popular’s face being plastered all over the Trid, that
a non-public meeting place was best. So, the group sat, reviewing all that had
happened. In one day the group had managed to get three of their members,
either arrested, or on the news. It wasn’t much to celebrate that while only
one fell into prison; they still managed to partially blow their cover with the
news.
To
Betty’s discomfort and comfort, she wasn’t in any of the reports, despite being
at the scene of a messy argument. Something still didn’t sit right with her.
She had searched the Matrix, and found nothing linking her to the scene of
stupidity. How did I manage to end up with this group? Me a decker, I’m
smarter than this. Her thoughts continued through the discussion. At
least not all of them are racist.
The Gate was
in disbelief as to what had happened. He had been off investigating his sources
for information, and checking in on Mickey. Then all hell breaks loose: Mickey,
Entertainment, and Popular were all over the trid. His demeanor matched the
seriousness of their situation. Mickey was now incarcerated, and although The
Gate’s lone ability to free him at any time gave him satisfaction, but the
others didn’t know that, especially Mickey. The thought was ever present in his
mind, as it was with the others. Mickey was paranoid and cocky, he would be
smart enough to keep quiet, or so they all hoped. The Gate had to believe it,
or was it hope? For his sake, and theirs, they were all tied to him now.
Entertainment
still fumed over Popular’s arrogant display. Even though now he was much more
subdued, she still saw his pride, his arrogant pride. Damn those Japs, she
cursed him in her mind. Or at least she thought, as Popular glanced at her.
Still it seemed that her comment was held to her thoughts as the rest of the group
sat conversing amongst themselves.
Popular
had been quiet over the past day, his thoughts ran back to the Panda. What
am I to do? Shikkon has vanished, I have dishonored myself with the Yakuza, and
I have lost my business and home. He felt the situation starting to overwhelm
him. And on top of it all, Entertainment has cost me so much, yet I must
continue working with this gaijin-kitanai. Such a dishonorable cur, I can
barely stand to look at her. Needless, our paths are intertwined for the
moment. She shall prove useful yet, even
if I have to force her to prove it. Anger burned deep within him, and had
re-focused him. Takeuchi Jozu now realized what he must do. He was prepared to
finish the job at hand. No matter if the rest of them got in his way, he would
finish the job.
The
Gate was the first to speak, “I think first things first; Mickey needs to be
freed. Hanging out with LoneStar is no place for someone like him, or for that
matter any of you.” His voice betrayed his size and age. It was strong,
confident, and mature. He spoke with authority to all these older more
‘experienced’ runners. Ignoring any looks of disbelief.
Entertainment
broke in, “Don’t you think, I mean Mickey, whatever,” She rolled her eyes at
the thought of Mickey, ”but don’t you think we should wait for Falchion? I mean
he seems to be the most professional of all of us.” Her voice hid no malice, as
she shot daggers at Jozu, with the professional comment. The Gate nearly
ignored her and continued, “Yes Falchion is a veteran to the game, but we
haven’t heard anything from him in days. What troubles me is that two of our
best combatants have practically vanished without a trace. Not a word to any of
us, save Shikkon’s message to Mr. Popular. This provides us with distraction
and borderline unprofessional behavior.”
His
words hit Jozu, and Entertainment like a ton of bricks, and they felt guilt at
this. They both realized The Gate was at least partially right, and this was
disheartening. “Falchion will come back soon, he’s just doing recon work for
us…” Entertainment’s voice trailed and slightly betrayed her. “You have news
from Falchion?” It was Betty who asked, surprising the rest of the group. All
attention turned to Entertainment awaiting anything that might help unravel the
mess. “Yes, he called me last night, and told me that he was doing recon on
matters involving our job.” She paused, as if thinking of something to say,
“…He wouldn’t say anything else. He was too quick to hang up.”
No
matter how young they say he was, The Gate’s eyes pierced her. Studying her, or
so Entertainment felt. This kid might be a bit too professional, she
noted to herself, and thought it might be pertinent to keep an eye on him. “I feel that it is important for us to
continue on with our mission. We’re going to need Mickey, for better or worse.”
The Gate led the discussion back to the Run. “I will go and get Mickey out. I
think for now, it’s best if Entertainment and Betty go investigate one of the
targets, this T-Funk character. I want to know a little more about him, and see
if we can get any info from him. Subtly is important here.” The Gate felt that
emphasis was important on subtly. So far the group had proven less than subtle,
save maybe for Falchion, but Falchion was neither here nor there. “Yeah I’ve
got a wig or two that I can use to blend in.” Entertainment chimed in. Betty
was the only one to give Entertainment a look. A slightly doe eyed look, but
then most of them didn’t expect less from the silent decking biker ork.
After
sixteen hours of waiting, Mickey finally heard footsteps. They approached his
cell slowly. Mickey paranoid as ever waited holding his breath. He had expected
to meet his end in this jail cell. Surely “they” could get to me in here.
It’s so simple! His thoughts raced
as the footsteps came to his jail cell. A simple beat cop stood at the bars.
Mickey looked frantically at him. “Got a message for ya,” The beat cop said
plainly. “Just came in ‘anonymously’.” The cop slid a simple envelope through
the bars, and walked away. Mickey knew without even opening it. It was from him.
Mickey
sat staring at the white envelope, noticing its shadowed protrusion. The simple
cell was dim, cold, and hard. The envelope sat taunting him. Mickey was used to
such places, but being held by LoneStar unnerved him more so than usual. He
felt more out in the open, exposed and vulnerable. He had worked hard to create
this new persona, to remove himself from his past. Six years had passed since
that fateful day. The day he became Mickey the Quail. Now in the course of two
months everything, including sanity, was unraveling. The Mafia had returned to
his life, and no one was to be trusted. For whatever “they” had planned for him,
he was going to try and meet it from behind his rifle. Mickey sat and waited
his fate. He would have preferred to meet his end in his own apartment, but
luck, as it were, was not on his side.
The
Gate left the apartment informing the group to meet back there in three hours.
He figured to give them enough time to do any needed preparations. Perhaps it
would give Jozu some time to cool off, and regain his composure. Hopefully they
would gain enough information to finish this first task. If they were lucky the
troll would give up the information needed, or hand the box over without any
trouble. The latter seemed unlikely to him, but he could still hope.
The group went their separate ways; Jozu
vanished into the shadows to hide, until called upon. Betty and Entertainment
headed to T-Funk’s dojo, to investigate their mark. The Gate sped away on his
Rapier. He always loved how his Rapier handled, just like its namesake; even
amidst the rain and traffic he enjoyed the ride. Reaching the Lone Star station, he parked in
a nearby alley and found a small amount of shelter from the rain.
The Gate reached into his inner jacket and
pulled at his cell phone. Plugging in the ear device, he dialed his contact to
Lone Star. The phone rang three times, and finally the lieutenant answered.
“I’m a busy man, what can I do for you today?” Was how he always answered, The
Gate assumed it was his just business greeting. “John, it’s me,” He was always
short and to the point with his contacts. No need for idle chat when doing
business. “Have you delivered the message, to the prisoner for me?”
“Yes, of course, and I’ve got his
belongings waiting for you in a storage locker. Anything else you need?” John
had always been polite to him, and The Gate felt that John had a soft spot for
him being so young. “I’m going to need to get him out,” The Gate spoke simply.
“Sure thing kid, another thousand and he’s yours,” John had never been a greedy
type, and The Gate usually was reciprocating to him. “It’s already in your
account, and I tacked on another thousand for all your help,” The Gate only
paused for a moment, “and John, thank you.”
An
hour had passed since the group left Betty’s apartment. Betty and Entertainment
found themselves outside of this T-Funk’s dojo. They took in the building with
a feeling of days gone by, to a different time filled with “Mom and Pop” stores.
It was a simple two-story brick building, a quaint and stark contrast to the
bustling city around it. A simple green, “oriental” looking double door was the
gateway. They noticed three large windows on the second floor peering onto the
street. There was a basic window to the right. ‘T-Funk’s Dojo’ was displayed,
with the paint chipping only slightly.
“I’m slightly impressed, that this place
has managed to stay in business, and intact. I mean yeah it’s owned by a troll,
but still that’s saying something with the gangs, and corporations,”
Entertainment commented almost to herself.
“Why
don’t you see what you can find out inside, E, I’m going to check around the
building. See if I can’t find a way into the apartment or something.” Betty
chimed in cheerfully.
“Sure,
I kind of want to see what this guy has to offer. If anything.” Entertainment
said with a slight disdain. She had been training for quite some time, and had
the experience, and magic, to back her up. She felt confident strolling into this
dojo.
As
Entertainment walked into the humble dojo, she noticed a slight smell of
incense burning. The smell was a pleasant addition to the old décor. The
immediate interior was a white room with a few oriental themed designed
pictures, to her left stood a small wooden counter with random fliers sitting
atop, able to greet customers as they arrived. There was enough space behind
the counter for five people to lie down, but there was only one chair. The wall
to her right made her feel slightly bunched in, with its distance being less
than an arm’s length away. The oddest thing about the entrance was the picture
of an older gentleman smiling off into the distance. It seemed an ancient
picture something from the twentieth century. He had long frayed and brightly
colored hair. His beard was a sign of his age, mostly gray in appearance. His
eyes covered by late twentieth century yellow colored sunglasses. An odd
decoration, for an peculiar little building, she mused to herself.
A practice session was taking place in the next
room. Entertainment moved slowly towards the opening. That led into the
adjacent room. She paused at the archway and found a refreshing sight. There
were about fifteen students all dressed in various street clothes practicing
kung fu. Most were humans, but she noted a few metahumans amidst the group.
A large troll with pulled back dreads, made
a gesture to the shrine in the front of the practice area. He stepped off the
raised floor and made his way smiling towards Entertainment. “Greetings my
friend, and welcome.” His gentle demeanor almost threw her off. He was softly
spoken and was fairly easy to understand. She easily recognized him, from the
picture, as T-Funk.
“Yes, hello, my name is Becky and I was
curious about taking a class here?” Entertainment spoke in a fairly polite
manner. “Well, hello Becky, my name is George, and you’re in luck”, spoke the
troll, “you can watch to see how we do things in this humble little dojo.”
Entertainment found a row of chairs immediately to her left, about half a meter
from the raised practice floor, and sat down to observe.
The motions were pretty standard to
Entertainment, and she just sat observing for about half an hour, giving Betty
plenty of time. T-Funk wandered around the dojo offering advice to his twenty
something students. Finally she got bored of the demonstrations in front of
her, and wanted something a little more substantial. T-Funk made his way back
to Entertainment to check on her, turning to bow to the front of the dojo,
before disembarking off the practice floor.
He stood smiling to her, “well our practice
is almost over, do you have any questions I might be able to answer?” Asked the
troll patiently. “Yes, I was curious what you can show me?” Entertainment
looked directly into his eyes. The troll looked slightly confused, “I’m not
sure what you mean.” He said soundly. “I mean I’d like a little demonstration
from you,” her voice was confident. “Very well, why don’t we see what you can
do,” the troll sensed her meaning and was happy to oblige.
They walked to the middle of the floor, and
paced about two meters from each other. Entertainment turned to face the troll,
his size daunting despite the gentle smile on his face. He made a simple bow to
her, and said “Pay attention class, Becky here is going to show us some
maneuvers by sparring with me,” his voice reached all the dojo.
A small smirk danced across Entertainment’s
face as she bowed. She was curious as to how skilled this man was. She broke
down into a stance and studied him. He was erect, his arms folded behind his
back, just smiling at her. She thought for a moment that he was showing
arrogance, and the smirk left her face.
She flew across the floor with swift grace
preparing to strike him with an elbow strike. He acted as her shadow and the
massive figure just turned, like a door, away from her. Still he remained in
the standing position with his arms behind him. She had anticipated this, and
jumping upward she flew a backhand towards his face. Her fist connected with
his hand, just in front of his face. His massive paw engulfed her fist to her
wrist. In one motion he gently grabbed onto her arm and used her momentum to
throw her back to the starting position.
Entertainment
twisted as she flew through the air, amazed at his skill and speed. Her feet
landed with a light thud, and she braced herself with her hand in front of her.
It was a graceful ballet to those watching; their movements seem too fluid to
be natural.
Entertainment
stood towards the troll in the facing position. Again moved into an attacking
stance, this time an ounce of respect was given as the troll moved into a relaxed
boxing stance. She sprinted across the floor at the troll easily covering the
distance between them. Within arm’s reach she made a light twist of her lithe
body and dropped to the floor. In one quick movement she slid between the
troll’s massive legs with such speed that he was unable to catch her between
them. She used her strangely advantageous position to kick the troll in the back.
Somehow he managed to block her with his right shin. Using his leg she hooked
her leg over his. Using the leg to launch herself into the air twisting as she
rose. She brought her other leg spinning around towards the troll’s head. Entertainment’s
speed was such that “George” barely managed to get his hand between her shin
and his neck. Despite his skill and size he stumbled a little from the force of
her kick. Entertainment followed her kick onto her hands, allowing a spring
flip onto her feet, only glancing over her shoulder at T-Funk.
An
audible gasp escaped from the room of students. They had watched, stunned, this
ballet of lucid opponents danced as if in their imaginations. It was over
before it even began to them, yet their mentor, their sifu, in the end had
stumbled ever so slightly.
A
chuckle was heard from T-Funk, and a smile showing small tusks broke out. “Well
done Becky”, he said, “I hope I can convince you to study here. I think I have
a thing or two we could show you, although you’re no novice that I can see.” He
bowed with his hands in front of him, in a sign of respect. She now turned to
him and returned the bow. “Thank you, I would be honored to learn from someone
of your skill”, she spoke with honesty and respect, “sifu.”
Entertainment
turned to leave the practice floor, and saw Betty standing by the double doors.
She gave her the slightest nod, turned and bowed to the front of the dojo, as
T-Funk had done. T-Funk motioned to his students and followed Entertainment off
the floor. T-Funk started making his way towards Betty as he had done with
Entertainment. “Welcome, my name is George,” he said with same gentle manner as
he had addressed Entertainment with.
Entertainment
took the lead, and introduced Betty, “Yes, Julie I’m very excited, I found the
perfect place to study,” she exclaimed. Betty thought Entertainment was only
playing a part to fool the troll. “Oh?” Betty chimed in, trying to match
Entertainment’s enthusiasm. “That’s fantastic sweetie, but we really must go,”
Betty ended with an eye at Entertainment. “Do you think, you might be joining,
Becky, here at our dojo, Julie?” Asked T-Funk, with sincere interest. “No, I’m
into more subdued activities, I’m just “Becky’s” ride,” Betty had to restrain a
smile at the name.
“Oh,”
T-Funk’s enthusiasm seemed to deflate a small amount, “Well, just make sure she
makes it to next week’s class at the same time so we can sign her up.” He
smiled, and nodded, to each of them. “Don’t worry, sifu, I’ll be here,”
Entertainment’s excitement hadn’t lost any of it’s zeal. She bowed to him, and
turned to leave, with Betty glancing at her strangely as they left the humble
little dojo. The two women left, hearing T-Funk re-addressing his class.
Once
outside, Betty turned to Entertainment, “Are you serious E?” She said a tone of
sarcasm lingered in her voice. “We’re on the job, and you’re making “friends”
with the target?” Entertainment without flinching, “I just wanted to see what
he was capable of, and after the job I thought it would be good to get lessons,
so yes, I am serious.” Betty started heading around back of the dojo, to
T-Funk’s apartment. “Just remember, that we’ve got a job to do,” she said with a
condemning tone. Entertainment just followed her, and scoffed at the scolding.
“Don’t be mad at me, because of the Jap,” a faint hurt resided in Entertainment’s
voice. Betty sensing the offense she had caused, softened her tone, “Well, I’m
just saying eye on the ball, sweets.” Betty turned just enough to give her new
friend a playful jab in the ribs. They both let out a chuckle, remembering the
ridiculousness of the past several hours.
Betty
led Entertainment to the back door, and pushed it open. “I haven’t really found
anything, but I’ve been trying to keep the place in-tact,” Betty narrated as
she walked up the simple stairwell, Entertainment closing the door behind them,
and locking it. Betty heard the click, and turned, “Don’t bother locking it, it
was unlocked when I got here, it’s the top one that gave me a little trouble.”
Entertainment was a little surprised that he didn’t lock his front door. Then
again who would really want to mess with a troll, especially one that was so
adept, she mused to herself. Betty reached the top of the stairwell, and
pushed open the door, gently. She stepped into the modest apartment, allowing
Entertainment to proceed into the living room that immediately greeted them.
They
moved around the apartment searching quickly from room to room. Each wondering,
where he was keeping this damn box that had already caused them so much
trouble without even trying. They were careful to not turn over too much,
so they felt restricted in searching the apartment for any special box.
Entertainment was searching through the couch in the living room when she heard
the downstairs door open. She felt a rush of excitement pass through her veins.
“B, we’ve gotta move!” she whispered harshly to the kitchen which was adjacent
to, and partially visible from the, living room. Quickly Entertainment unlocked
a window. The double windows were “glass” windows with a latch across the
middle sill. She climbed out and hung onto the side of the building and braced
herself against the brick of the wall. She made a simple planting jump off the
wall flipping backwards onto the sidewalk below, and looked up to make sure
Betty was behind her.
Betty
had rushed to put back together the drawers in the kitchen at Entertainment’s
warning. She made her way into the living room and saw the window open from
where Entertainment had climbed out. Betty hastily climbed out and jumped to
the pavement below. From Entertainment’s point of view, although Betty was an
ork and a small one at that, she wasn’t very graceful. Entertainment was
surprised that Betty had landed the “fall” out of the window at all. The two of
them took off down the street, not noticing that T-Funk had peered out the
window.
An
unlikely pair found themselves staring at the unassuming building of T-Funk’s
dojo. According to Black Betty the entrance to his apartment stood around back.
A straightforward building, only three exits. The building was smaller and
slightly out of contrast compared to its surroundings. This architecture from
the past slipping in its recognition of the world around it, although it stood
on the outer edge of the downtown area, the buildings around it were at least
four stories or higher.
The rain had given everything an even
greater gloom. Despite the time, there were little cars on the street. The dimmed
streetlights, that were there, gave this neighborhood an eerie peace. If anyone
had taken notice of Mickey, or The Gate, no one seemed to care. They easily
slipped into the alleyway and made their way to the back of the building. The
muck and grime of Seattle seemed to melt away from the street in this alley.
Mickey
slowly peered around the corner of the building, checking the back. It was his
nature to be cautious, Mickey deeming it safe slowly moved forward. More and
more in this run Mickey found himself out of place. This wasn’t his arena; he
would be more preferred perched atop some rooftop, huddled over his rifle,
peering into the beautifully streamlined scope, waiting for the perfect moment
to squeeze the trigger.
Yet
here he was, with this punk kid, doing recon work. Out in the open, at least it
was dark back here. The Gate tapped him on the shoulder, “Are we going to do
this or not?” It seemed that Mickey had paused in his thoughts, almost lost in
them. Mickey only signaled for silence as they crept towards the door.
Standing
in front of the door, he tested the door, locked. In a low voice, Mickey spoke
to his co-worker, “Any ideas? I’d rather
not face a troll, in the proverbial dark alley as it were.” The Gate just
blankly stared at the building as if lost in a trance. Mickey annoyed, waved
his hand in front of the kid’s face. Amateur, Mickey thought. Mickey turned
back to the door, and knocked. The Gate seemingly came to and moved to the
right side of the door.
A
thunderous, but gentle, voice resonated from inside the doorway, “Who’s there?”
Mickey quickly replied, “We are simple couriers, here to pick up the package
for Ares.” It was those final words that The Gate looked at Mickey with
disbelief. Before The Gate could respond, a mighty fist with blinding speed,
burst through the door. The Gate dove back towards the alley drawing his gun,
and murmuring to himself. Mickey, with the door, went sprawling backwards into
the back alley wall. The Gate finished an incantation, just in time for him to
vanish from sight.
A
large man stepped from the archway into the alley, quickly surveying all around
him. “Strange, you speak of being couriers, yet I only see one.” The man spoke,
his voice confident, and calm. “Perhaps you being of Ares, you find yourself
confused, and conflicted. You will not take what does not belong to you.” The
man took one giant step towards Mickey and lifted the door off of him. To The Gate’s
surprise, Mickey sprang from his slumped position firing off two rounds at the
man. With the reflexes, and agility, of a cat the man dodged Mickey’s shots.
Swiftly and accurate were his punches, they appeared only as a blur.
Before
The Gate had managed to take stock of the situation Mickey lay slumped on the
ground. Without thinking of his own regard he flicked his wrist, becoming
visible, and aimed his pistol at the large troll. His left hand was free not
far from the Colt Manhunter gripped in his right hand. The left hand barely
moved, and seemed, to an untrained eye, that he was merely balancing the heavy
pistol.
The
man loomed over his fallen opponent with door in hand. This was the first time
that The Gate had gotten a good look at the man known as T-Funk. He had seen
him in the pictures, but in person it was slightly more intimidating. His
stature was enormous; T-Funk stood almost a full 2 meters over him, and was
probably as wide as The Gate was long. The lofty dreads that hanged from his
head, only added to his size. The shadows covered any discernable feature, but
he appeared to be wearing nothing but sweat pants.
“That’ll be enough of that,” said the Gate,
his voice grabbed the attention of the man. The man seemed caught off guard by
the child facing him. A child dressed as a man, a fire burned in his eyes, and
his pistol aimed at the troll. “What madness is this, will Ares stop at
nothing?” The man’s voice was still calm, and gentle. “Just hand us the box,
and we’ll leave.” The Gate demanded. The man let out a laugh, “My how the
shadows have changed, but take note boy, things are not always as they seem.” A
shot grazed the man’s head, shimmering off his hardened flesh. He gave the
slightest of grunts, as if the bullet had wounded him. The Gate took the minor
opportunity of distraction and fired two rounds at the troll. Hitting him
square in the chest, he growled in pain.
Mickey
had gotten to his knees when the massive shadow seemed to engulf him. At first
it seemed as though the world was getting darker. Then a searing pain coursed
through his head, and then he was surrounded by silence. The Gate watched in
horror as the man, danced through the air holding a large wooden door
effortlessly. Only a thud was heard as Mickey fell back to the ground. The door
then blocked any view of Mickey or their opponent.
Any
second now, thought The
Gate, any second now he should ignite into a ball of flame, please let it
work. The Gate’s thoughts were pierced by the voice of the man, this time a
strain in his voice was present, “Your friend is unconscious, I will give him
back to you if you leave, and never return. He needs medical attention, this
fight can’t continue.” Before another word could escape his lips, a massive
flame erupted from the man. He shot up clutching his head screaming in agony.
It was a matter of seconds, and then, as quickly as it had began. The fight was
over. The large troll stopped screaming and fell hard into the pavement. A massive
charred body lay on its back unmoving.
The
Gate ran over to the smoking troll and unloaded his clip into the motionless man.
The Gate without another thought ran up the stairs of the apartment in a panic.
I’ve got to do this quickly he thought. He was in the apartment, tearing
through anything and everything he could find. Where is that damn box?, he frantically searched the entire
apartment. Every nook and cranny had been searched, all the cabinets opened.
The bedroom torn asunder, not one single room was left untouched.
“Come
on, if I were a giant troll where would I hide a box,” he muttered to himself.
Nothing came to him, and he felt overwhelmed by the whole scenario. He thought
of his sister, and fell to his knees and wept. Angered by his display of
weakness, he slammed the floor with his gloved fist. “Damnit!” He breathed, “Where
is that fraggin’ box.” His world slowed into perspective. This was no time, for
him to fall apart. The group would be in jail without him.
Slowly
recollecting himself, he went over everything that he had searched. Then slowly
it dawned on him, the refrigerator. He had yet to check it. Running back to the
kitchen over the mess, he opened the bottom door, and tore apart the fridge.
The Gate felt time running out, as the fridge revealed nothing, but he
continued his search into the freezer. There, sitting in the back of the freezer,
was a black, lumpy bag. Bingo, he
thought, I’ve found the damn box. He opened the bag, and found not one box, but
multiple boxes. He counted five in all, a mystery for another time, he thought.
He flew down the staircase and was back in the alleyway. Only glancing at
Mickey, he ran to his bike and hid the bag in the back of his bike. Quickly
starting the sports bike and backed it into the alleyway. When he was close
enough to the bloodied crumpled form of Mickey, The Gate dragged him up onto
the bike. Managing to get a strap around his unconscious companion and The Gate
straddled the bike and rode off into the darkness of night. Caring little for
the mess they had made, of T-Funk and his dojo. Only feeling lucky to be alive
and somehow still on point on this mess of a mission.
-BIO-
Name:
Height: 6’2 ft. (187.96 cm)
Weight: 200 lb. (90.9 kg)
Age:
Likes: Harleys, Horses, and a cold beer
Dislikes: Techno music, most meats, and soycaf
Archtype: Combat Decker
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Note: "Black Betty" was originally created by Chanel Compare. With edits and revisions by this blog's author Benjamin Weisman.
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