A car was parked near the side of the road, ways ahead, dirty and colorful and easily recognizable. But while the car itself could, in a way, almost blend in in the middle of the setting, the young man leaning against it was a little harder to ignore. Deep blue jacket and bright red hair, Party Poison kept his out on the horizon. Who knows what he's thinking about; many would argue that the sun had fried his brains out a long time ago.
He turns his head when he hears the motorbike, right on time. With one last, long drag, he flicks his cigarette out onto the sand and pushes himself off the vehicle's side. He knocks his hand twice on the window, without turning, giving the crewmate inside it a signal, though they don't seem to do much but turn their attention towards Amos as well.
Party sniffs and walks up to the road, stopping right before he steps on the asphalt. His face is as unfriendly as ever - a trademark of his, as well known as his name.
And there is the man: Amos recognizes the jacket and the impossibly red
hair. He pulls up slowly, and nods to man, making sure the daimon
for the Inagawa-kai
yakuza is visible on the sleeve of his own jacket, bright gold and crimson
because it amuses Kameko to use those colours. He pushes his dark hair out
of his eyes with a gloved hand. "You got the goods for me?" he asks,
cheerfully.
Because if they don't deliver, he is out of here, because he's not getting
stranded in this war of attrition between the Killjoys and their enemy
corporation.
He's got better things to do than die in the desert.
"Depends on what you got for me." He's been out here since he was undeniably considered a kid, and you learned pretty fast to never show your hand first.
Amos leans back and pats the motorbike's saddlebags, grinning. "Right here, sugar. Weapons an' food for all." Well not all but definitely Party and his crew. He flicks the clasp on one bag and pulls out a jar of fruit preserves to display. None of tge stuff is really fresh, it's all dried or otherwisepreserved but it's apparently better tgan what they can scavenge here.
It's fresher than anything else they've ever expected to get. It sure as hell beats dog food and probably doesn't kill them as fast as the exorbitant amounts of soda and bad booze they drink.
Party eyes the jar before reaching out to grab it.
"Sure, but you don't get any more 'till I get the goods," Amos warns, stepping away from the bike to hand over the jar. Despite wearing heavy boots his steps are whisper-quiet: he moves with a lazy grace and a fighter's poised balance.
Party might not have any of those, but he has a focused stare that would make most people uncomfortable. A very direct "I don't trust you until you give me good reason, and even then it's only temporary" statement summarized in a single look.
He takes the jar and opens it, giving it a sniff. As sweet as shittiest candy and soda they shove into their faces when they can, but a loss less non-chemicaly smelling. At least that's how he'd describe it if he was here to make conversation.
Just a dumb flunky, that's him. Amos shrugs and nods. Party's stare doesn't bother him one whit. He's faced down worse and tougher...or at least crazier. "The goods?"
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2017-02-11 09:24 pm (UTC)He turns his head when he hears the motorbike, right on time. With one last, long drag, he flicks his cigarette out onto the sand and pushes himself off the vehicle's side. He knocks his hand twice on the window, without turning, giving the crewmate inside it a signal, though they don't seem to do much but turn their attention towards Amos as well.
Party sniffs and walks up to the road, stopping right before he steps on the asphalt. His face is as unfriendly as ever - a trademark of his, as well known as his name.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-14 04:50 am (UTC)And there is the man: Amos recognizes the jacket and the impossibly red hair. He pulls up slowly, and nods to man, making sure the daimon for the Inagawa-kai yakuza is visible on the sleeve of his own jacket, bright gold and crimson because it amuses Kameko to use those colours. He pushes his dark hair out of his eyes with a gloved hand. "You got the goods for me?" he asks, cheerfully.
Because if they don't deliver, he is out of here, because he's not getting stranded in this war of attrition between the Killjoys and their enemy corporation.
He's got better things to do than die in the desert.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-19 03:52 pm (UTC)"Show me."
no subject
Date: 2017-03-25 07:05 pm (UTC)"As promised, sweetheart."
no subject
Date: 2017-04-10 08:32 pm (UTC)Party eyes the jar before reaching out to grab it.
"Lemme see."
no subject
Date: 2017-04-13 07:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-05-07 10:11 pm (UTC)He takes the jar and opens it, giving it a sniff. As sweet as shittiest candy and soda they shove into their faces when they can, but a loss less non-chemicaly smelling. At least that's how he'd describe it if he was here to make conversation.
"How'd you get it?"
no subject
Date: 2017-05-27 02:15 am (UTC)Just a dumb flunky, that's him. Amos shrugs and nods. Party's stare doesn't bother him one whit. He's faced down worse and tougher...or at least crazier. "The goods?"