Post by Blake Sterling Jr. on Sept 22, 2015 0:17:18 GMT -8
The lights were low, barely illuminating the inside of the van. The chair is low to the floor but reclines to allow Mudd to have his feet up on the workbench. An unopened bottle of Gin is resting next to his booted feet.
The haggard man stares at the bottle. “Are yah proud of me? Proud of whut I’ve become? So I didn’ protect her, how could I? She’s bettar now than she ever wus in the show. When did I become like this? Yer no judge, not of me on this. Dijah know I shot down two thugs quicker than you can spit, didn’ feel a thag still don’t. But that dawg, I feel bad fer shootin’ that dawg. Part of me wants to go an check on the mutt. Ain’t that crazy?“
Mudd’s eyes quickly flick to a colored monitor screen as a car drives by. “Well, can’t git much crazier than this anyhow. Most of the team don’ like me much, not that I blame them. Don’t wanna be friends wit the fella who might git the word to shoot ya down. Assumin’ they don’ decide to kill me first. I see it in some of thar eyes when they look at me.”
“No I ain’t been slackin’ off. Watch.” Mudd reaches over to a shelf and using a small device unlocks the hidden under part of the shelf. Out of the cut foam he pulls out a pearl handled colt peacemaker from besides its twin and while sitting starts spinning it around, flipping it and catching it. When done he gets up and takes out a clean cloth and wipes the oils from the gun and puts it back into the foam, closing it with a snap.
“Happy birthday Dad, hope ya proud of me. Don’ worry I ain’t gonna die suckin’ on a bottle like you did. Least I can say that.” Wiping something from his eye the hit man slides the hidden panel and places the bottle into its precision cut foam slot.
The haggard man stares at the bottle. “Are yah proud of me? Proud of whut I’ve become? So I didn’ protect her, how could I? She’s bettar now than she ever wus in the show. When did I become like this? Yer no judge, not of me on this. Dijah know I shot down two thugs quicker than you can spit, didn’ feel a thag still don’t. But that dawg, I feel bad fer shootin’ that dawg. Part of me wants to go an check on the mutt. Ain’t that crazy?“
Mudd’s eyes quickly flick to a colored monitor screen as a car drives by. “Well, can’t git much crazier than this anyhow. Most of the team don’ like me much, not that I blame them. Don’t wanna be friends wit the fella who might git the word to shoot ya down. Assumin’ they don’ decide to kill me first. I see it in some of thar eyes when they look at me.”
“No I ain’t been slackin’ off. Watch.” Mudd reaches over to a shelf and using a small device unlocks the hidden under part of the shelf. Out of the cut foam he pulls out a pearl handled colt peacemaker from besides its twin and while sitting starts spinning it around, flipping it and catching it. When done he gets up and takes out a clean cloth and wipes the oils from the gun and puts it back into the foam, closing it with a snap.
“Happy birthday Dad, hope ya proud of me. Don’ worry I ain’t gonna die suckin’ on a bottle like you did. Least I can say that.” Wiping something from his eye the hit man slides the hidden panel and places the bottle into its precision cut foam slot.