( the thing about being in cahoots with one ( 1 ) zidane tribal means that you're pretty much setting yourself up to go along with any sort of hairbrained idea the kid comes up with, and while they all usually tend to work themselves out along the way, there are never any fewer than a handful of kinks in his carefully-laid plans.
this time, though, it seems to be going a little better than either of them had previously predicted. the plan had been to liberate a few wallets from pockets and make a discreet exit, and while he will never doubt monkeybutt's ability to pilfer what he needs, the proper course of action for this particular plan had been something that blank himself hadn't really expected.
especially since he is essentially being used. being used to make it easier for the other to make out with their loot, and even though he's sure there had to have been other, better options, this is all they have going for them, and damn it all … he's gonna make sure it works.
he's in the middle of picking his target – eyes pouring over the crowd until he catches sight of what looks to be a pretty-far-gone guy with a glass still in his hand, swaying on his barstool even as he leans back to drain the rest of whatever is in it. he's not big, lean for his build, and while blank prides himself on being fast, he doesn't want to make a mistake and pick the Wrong Guy just on the off-chance that he ends up taking too many hits to the face for a couple of gil.
anyway.
he briefly makes eye contact with zidane before breaking away to stalk up to the guy on the stool, who really, really doesn't know what's about to hit him. quite damned literally. blank puffs up, squares his shoulders, and taps the poor sap on one of his. ) Hey!
I saw you lookin' at me. You got somethin' to say?
( never mind.
not even giving him time to respond.
this one lands a pretty square punch to the edge of his jaw, and damn it, zidane, you had better be watching for your chance or he is never doing anything for you ever again. )
if you thought i would go with anything but 3 you don't know me very well.
this time, though, it seems to be going a little better than either of them had previously predicted. the plan had been to liberate a few wallets from pockets and make a discreet exit, and while he will never doubt monkeybutt's ability to pilfer what he needs, the proper course of action for this particular plan had been something that blank himself hadn't really expected.
especially since he is essentially being used. being used to make it easier for the other to make out with their loot, and even though he's sure there had to have been other, better options, this is all they have going for them, and damn it all … he's gonna make sure it works.
he's in the middle of picking his target – eyes pouring over the crowd until he catches sight of what looks to be a pretty-far-gone guy with a glass still in his hand, swaying on his barstool even as he leans back to drain the rest of whatever is in it. he's not big, lean for his build, and while blank prides himself on being fast, he doesn't want to make a mistake and pick the Wrong Guy just on the off-chance that he ends up taking too many hits to the face for a couple of gil.
anyway.
he briefly makes eye contact with zidane before breaking away to stalk up to the guy on the stool, who really, really doesn't know what's about to hit him. quite damned literally. blank puffs up, squares his shoulders, and taps the poor sap on one of his. ) Hey!
I saw you lookin' at me. You got somethin' to say?
( never mind.
not even giving him time to respond.
this one lands a pretty square punch to the edge of his jaw, and damn it, zidane, you had better be watching for your chance or he is never doing anything for you ever again. )