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So anyway, I started blasting (Action, OTA)
[Ted, whose position on the naughty or nice list was always in flux, was blessed by a half-dozen snowgies giving him a copy of his father's revolver. He picked it up, examined it, and found no flaws. His face still bore disgust, for by now he figures Genessia to be entirely intentional, self-serving, and synthetic. They gave him, not a past memento, but an exact lookalike purely to...well, the only thing it could've gotten for them is an emotional rise. It came unloaded; an emptiness Ted set to fill.]
It's one thing for a gift to have sentimental value. It's quite another for it to, in mercenary manner, create sentiment purely for the value of another. That's perverse.
[He flicked the chamber in, then took aim at the snowgies.]
I will punish perversion's agents.
[Disgust became amusement as he started picking them off, bullet by bullet. He laughed as their snowy heads and charcoal eyes burst apart. The survivors fled.]
Oh, that won't save you! My father could strike a clay pigeon from fifty yards. Let's see if I've inherited his skill...
[Last one in the chamber, he aligned his sights as the final snowgie ran as fast as its snow-stump legs could carry. Just a little further, and...bang!
He missed.]
Hang it; practice hasn't yet made perfect.
[He has more guns than even an American really should, but one more won't hurt, fake or not. If only he could've heard the avalanche of snowgies gathering and preparing to get their revenge on this grinch. But he couldn't, he didn't...]
It's one thing for a gift to have sentimental value. It's quite another for it to, in mercenary manner, create sentiment purely for the value of another. That's perverse.
[He flicked the chamber in, then took aim at the snowgies.]
I will punish perversion's agents.
[Disgust became amusement as he started picking them off, bullet by bullet. He laughed as their snowy heads and charcoal eyes burst apart. The survivors fled.]
Oh, that won't save you! My father could strike a clay pigeon from fifty yards. Let's see if I've inherited his skill...
[Last one in the chamber, he aligned his sights as the final snowgie ran as fast as its snow-stump legs could carry. Just a little further, and...bang!
He missed.]
Hang it; practice hasn't yet made perfect.
[He has more guns than even an American really should, but one more won't hurt, fake or not. If only he could've heard the avalanche of snowgies gathering and preparing to get their revenge on this grinch. But he couldn't, he didn't...]