On a real good day

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« on: <10-07-18/2355:42> »
Just a little something I dug up that I'd written... I don't know how long ago. Figured I'd put it up just to see what people think. Might try writing some more things later if this doesn't come off as too stupid.


“On a real good day I’m the world's best friend. You’d be mine too if you caught me round then”

    A small chirp sprang from the Commlink Tucked into Roland's pocket. The Orc let out a small sigh and shifted his considerable weight around in the restrictive pickup seat. He reached up slowly to pull the still half-lit cigarette from his mouth and popped it into the open soda can he’d been using as a tray. “What is it boys.” The man more stated than asked. His thick southern drawl curling around the tips of his tusks.

    “Two. Just a short ways ahead. I just saw them pulling around one of the burned out buildings.” A voice chirped from the device. “I don’t think they’re KE. I saw guns though.”

    “And you boys get the package yet?”

    “You know we aren’t all boys here.” Another voice chimed in. While the first voice was somewhat feminine this one was as female as could be. The sharp note of protest actually drawing a chuckle from the man.

    “Yeah yeah lil lady. Still don’t answer the question.”

    A third voice crackled in, deep and guttural like Rolands though with a refined Japanese accent. At least as refined as most Orcs could get. “On schedule. However our time table is still rather close. I don’t know if we will be quick enough to afford any further obstructions.”

    “That Kenny-boy. Really is some professional ain’t he. Wound a bit too tight though.” The man sighed. He tilted up his well worn brown cowboy hat and pulled his stiff body slowly out of the car, glancing to the pair of leather clad gangers sitting down the other end of the ruined street. “You three just get the package out here. Make sure she ain’t too shaken ‘neither. I’ll keep the road clear.”

    Loud skidding footsteps thudded along the sunset-lit street as Roland eyed the two boys huddled over their bikes. Both were in leathers, though that wasn’t a surprise. He didn’t recognize the colors, but one of them had the kinds of markings you generally only found in gangs around the NAN. At least that was probably what the boy was going for. The patches alone were a dead give away to a poser. The older mans hand slipped up to his hip just above his gun belt for a moment. A well loved old Cavalier revolver hanging low against his jeans in a nice modern holster.

    The elf who was fiddling with his saddle bags had a nice pump action strapped on his back while his friend in the faux First Nation getup carried a black scorpion with hands down the biggest stick mag the Roland had ever seen. The pair both wore the typical sets of spikes and blades and bobs that seemed to change every year with go-gangs around these parts. Odds were good at least one of them had a few small cheap bladed weapons stashed on them too for good measure.

    “Scuse me. You boys look like you could use a bit of help.” The man said rather gingerly. His nice big grin about as hospitable as the square-shaped orc could really manage. That bit of soft flab that had grown up over his muscle was a rather large nuisance over the past five years.

    “Eh, you say something Omae?” The fresh faced young thug asked as he started to approach Roland. Finger twitching as he held it straight and off the trigger. Roland had to thank God for that small miracle.

    “Eh, spose not.” he shrugged. “I just figured I’d see what you boys were up to is all. Couple boys like you, dressed up like that. Usually don’t just stop for no reason. If your bike broke down maybe I could fix it for ya. Got a set of tools in the truck back there.”

    The two snickered as the teen with the machine pistol tapped his friend on the shoulder and started to bounce on the balls of his feet. “Hey Johnny, get a load of mister hero here. Come to save us from our breakdown. Yo, Frag off old timer. Or maybe you didn't scan the scene. Unless you’re lookin’ to buy we don’t need no do gooder old set of tusks runin around giving us static. Now, why don’t you just turn around and go back to your nice little ride and stop trying to play cowboy. How’s that sound, Omae?” the word twisting like a knife this time, so hard it felt it would snap. The young punk clearly finding himself quite clever.

    Roland sighed and shook his head. His right hand gripping the brim of his hat. He looked down a bit, eyes barely peeking out from the brim. Enough though. Enough to see the elf slipping his hand up towards the gun slung on his back, and the mouthy punk with the scorpion slowly easing his finger over the trigger.

    The orc loosed a long drawn out sigh and shook his head. “Boys, you don’t wanna do that.”

    Without wasting an inch of movement Rolands fingertips brushed along the hard walnut of his grips and wrapped firmly around the revolver. A slight slip of the finger unlatched the catch of his quick-draw holster and within a split second the heavy revolver had swung up perfectly right to a comfortable parallel with his belly button. The first two shots were nice and close. A pair of rapid thuds striking the two innermost knee caps, the human boys right and elfs left. The heavy rounds smashed into thick bone like hammers. Roland could almost swear he heard the bones pop as the shots impacted. Before either boy knew what was going on he loosed another pair. One hitting the elf in the gut while the other hammered the first nation poser in his gun arm.

    All this time out of Lone Star. Roland may have lost the touch with a good number of his skills, but he was still a decent enough shot if he did say so himself. He tipped his hat back and walked up slowly towards the bike they had been fiddling with before. Both boys groaning loudly in pain as they glanced up at him with wide disbelieving eyes.

The man shook his head and sighed. “You boys shoulda known better. I don’t know what you two were peddling but this ain’t no life to live. Now you, boy” He said nodding to the human. “take your friend there to the doc and get him patched up. He ain’t got more than a couple hours with where I shot him.”

    Rolands sharp eyes watched the young ganger slowly reaching for the awkward machine pistol. He sighed and kicked the thing away with the tip of his boot. Watching it skid and spin along the broken, dusty asphalt.

    The boy winced before hauling himself up on to his bike. He almost looked ready to bolt, then glanced back at Roland, and finally to the other ganger curled in pain. He Reluctantly he helped his friend onto the bike before giving the engine a hard rev and taking off. Nearly losing the other ganger in the process.

    The Orc just sighed and shook his head. He waited for the boys to move on before walking up to the other bike. He dug his hand into the saddle bag and took out a baggy of off-whtie powder. “Damn fool kids” he muttered “Probably end up on the street in cheap chrome within the week, too.” He sighed and slowly walked up to the storm drain. The baggie flew in without a hint of trouble making a nice satisfying little splash into the water below. With that Roland tipped his hat down, smirked to himself, and started walking back slowly towards the truck. “Hey, Kenny, Crypt, coast is clear. Just had to help a couple boys out with something.” The man smirked to himself as he started to walk back towards the truck slowly. He pulled a small holder from his pocket and started fishing around for his old silver lighter as he sauntered back towards the pickup.

    “And though I ain’t happy, I sure can pretend. On a real good day.”