“who the hell are you and what are you doing in my bar?”
HE DOESN’T ANSWER, instead he casts a steely glare, ONE indicative of a man severely LACKING in a moral compass meant to steer him from the path of UNWARRANTED killing but he staves off his BITING remark in favor of holding up his walkie with a small grunt.
“YER moron deputy called me.”
AND SAID MORON DEPUTY was nowhere in sight and while he still REGRETS taking the radio he’s beginning to suspect that he was given it as a means of being called on as a FULL STOP LAST RESORT. Features shift as he turns back to the small black radio.
“WASN’ anywhere t’be found in th’shop so I figured t’look here.”
HE’S not keen on talking to the locals. HE KEPT to the forests for a reason, and given how much of the Project’s BLOOD now rested on his hands he figured it was BEST that he veered away from towns to keep from RUMBLING things up more than he already had.
“M’LEAVIN’. I ain’t a fuckin’ lap dog. Tell th’deputy that ‘f they’re gonna call me again they better fuckin’ be here next time or m’jus’ gonna stop COMIN’.”
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