shootstars: (Default)
there's a river running wild. ([personal profile] shootstars) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet2017-02-16 12:04 pm

the picture prompt meme



the picture prompt meme

I — Comment with your character.
II — Others will leave a picture (or two, or three...)
III — Reply to them with a setting based on the picture.
IV — Link to any pictures that are NSFW, please.
V — Be aware that this meme will be image-heavy.


Link to an image:

Embed image in your reply:

Image width and height:

nostalgiabomb: (☆002)

peter quill | mcu | ota

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-16 07:46 pm (UTC)(link)
nostalgiabomb: (218)

hope this is ok..... . . . .

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-17 02:45 am (UTC)(link)
[ They get out by the skin of their teeth.

They tend to get out by the skin of their teeth, granted, but this time was cutting it ridiculously close.

After the mess with Grun, after collecting their reward money, work sort of goes back to normal for the Guardians. Well, the Guardians plus Alec Brennan, because the distinction apparently still needs to be made, even if Peter is making an effort to incorporate Alec more into their ranks. Because he’s trying now, when before he was really only expending half-effort, offering lip service, which wasn’t fair. But Peter had only realized that after killing Grun, after sitting with Alec in yet another hospital, surrounded by beeping machinery and the quiet hum of voices down the hall.

Peter hadn’t been acting fair, but considering who he is, what he was raised to be, being fair wasn’t exactly in his usual standard procedure.

But he’s trying now. Mostly. Sometimes he still slips up, lets his words grow more thorns than he means them to, but he’s quick to offer a mumbled apology or a murmured, “Ignore that.” He’s not being nicer to Alec, exactly, but he’s making a more concerted effort to treat him the same way he treats everyone else – which sometimes still leaves quite a bit to be desired, but at least Alec is more like “one of the guys” than an obligation. A burden.

And now that they’re not at each other’s throats, now that they’re at least allowing themselves to slightly lean into this whole bonded thing – not dive into it; never that – they find they get along.

Which leads to now. Getting out by the skin of their teeth. Which starts by sneaking into a weapons manufacturing facility. Which means letting Alec and Rocket hack their way into their systems, bring up a list of buyers – because the place was selling to some shady fucking assholes, and they needed that dirt. And it all goes well until an employee happens to wander in, spots the strange assortment that is the Guardians, sees the unconscious men at their feet—

And screams bloody murder.

They dump all the info they can into data sticks and fight the rest of the way out. But being in a weapons plant means there are a whole lot of fucking people armed to the fucking teeth, just by virtue of picking up a finished product and going to fucking town.

It’s rough, getting out, but they manage it, and are only slightly singed in the process. When they make it to the safety of the Milano, when Peter guns the engines and lurches the ship into a barrel roll to avoid the anti-aircraft gunfire, when they break atmo and fucking punch it— Drax laughs like the maniac he is. To Peter's left, Gamora grumbles something as she runs a hand down her face, but looks largely pleased. Peter whoops with triumph, and turns to look over his shoulder, taking stock of the team.

His gaze falls on Alec first, and without thinking, Peter grins.

So they got what they came for. So they lived, when things went pear shaped. In all, it was a pretty good day, and no one that Peter cared about was hurt or killed.

Naturally, this calls for drinks.



They make their way to the nearest station, find their way to an acceptably shitty bar, and get gloriously shitfaced.

Rocket immediately absconds to find the closest assholes gambling, and Drax and Gamora stand together at the bar to discuss whatever it is they discuss. Blade maintenance, or something, as best as Peter can figure. He and Alec sit together at a booth, side by side, their legs brushing with every movement. Peter sits with his legs stretched out, eating up space, the elbow of his outside arm resting on the top of the couch's back, his glass dangling from his fingers. The booze has left him relaxed, warm; he's always tended to be a happy drunk, in his experience, the kind of drunk where the concept of personal bubbles became a little fuzzy. He's teetering on that boundary between tipsy and actually drunk, knows it's only a hop and a skip to Jesus you're fucked up, Quill, but for now, he's still mostly coherent.

With his free hand, he abruptly reaches for Alec's sleeve, the movements a little looser than normal, and he tugs it up a little to reveal the first dark band of his tattoos.

Without preamble, ]


This is your magic, right? Spells, or whatever?

[ The words only run together a little. He taps his forefinger against the first band he sees, closest to Alec's wrist. ]

Which one's this?
striketwice: (012)

[personal profile] striketwice 2017-02-17 04:48 am (UTC)(link)
[ Alec has learned that with the Guardians, nothing is ever easy. The wizard has always been a planer, exceedingly meticulous in how he organizes his jobs and how he executes them.

The Guardians... well, they seem to fly by the seat of their pants almost as a rule, and no matter how well they seem to plan things out, shit always manages to find a way to hit the fan. Sometimes in small ways, things fall apart thanks to the human element (or raccoon element, or... Drax element, as the case may be) and they have to do some improvising.

This last job, however, had blown up in their faces quite spectacularly. Far too many close calls to count- Alec had been certain at several points that his shield wouldn't be able to absorb many more bullets- and when they escape, it's only barely. Once the ship breaks atmosphere, the giddy relief and last dregs of adrenaline makes him grin broadly, the sensation of relief and happiness buzzing through his threads to Peter, noticeable even though they still keep themselves somewhat closed off.

It's good to be alive, he thinks. And something in him warms to have Peter smile at him like that.



As they often do after their hard-earned victories, they find the shadiest fucking bar in existence to celebrate. Alec doesn't mind- seedy, dingy bars are a staple for a man of his work- though he tends not to imbibe quite as heavily as the others do. He'll have a beer or two, or whatever passes for beer on the ass-end of the galaxy, but being meticulous means he tends not to let himself go too far.

Still, it's hard not to relax with the warmth of Peter pressed next to him, a lazy, loose sort of contentment seeping through their link like syrup, slow and sweet. He doesn't flinch away when Peter tugs his sleeve up. Doesn't even seem bothered, really. They're beyond completely falling apart over every little touch, but that doesn't mean the contact doesn't make something in him sing pleasantly. ]


That one? Animation- the kind of magic that moves inanimate objects. That spell is designed to spring the locks on handcuffs. I've got one on the other wrist too.
nostalgiabomb: (175)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-17 07:30 am (UTC)(link)
[ With the tattoos the way they are, solid blocks of black meant to conceal the special characters – the rune? symbol? whatever – that comprise the spells, Peter can't actually see the spell itself, but he looks over the band, all the same.

The explanation, though, makes him snort. ]


You've seriously got spells just to get out of cuffs?

Jesus. How often were you getting arrested, dude?

striketwice: (011)

[personal profile] striketwice 2017-02-17 10:24 pm (UTC)(link)
I wasn’t. Because I could always get out of the handcuffs.

[ In truth, Alec is a paranoid bastard on top of being meticulous to a fault. He wants to be prepared for every eventuality, and making a living as a merc-slash-information broker-slash-thief meant that cops were going to factor in at least once. ]

And before you bring up the fact that you found me in the drunk tank, it wasn’t worth the effort of getting out.
nostalgiabomb: (221)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-17 10:32 pm (UTC)(link)
[ His mouth had opened to remind Alec of just that, and when Alec interrupts him, Peter makes a face. ]

It wasn’t worth the effort.

[ A passable impression, though with the pinched expression, the derision in his voice, not a particularly flattering one. He points at Alec with his outside hand, something accusatory, and the movement brings his drink dangerously close to sloshing over the lip of the glass. ]

You know, you’re allowed to say thank you for us doing you that favor. Like, “Gosh, Star-Lord, it was so nice of you to go through all that trouble to spring me, after I got my ass caught and tossed into jail. It was super impressive and kind of sexy, the way you stormed in.”

Like that.

[ And he takes a sedate sip from his glass. ]
striketwice: (015)

[personal profile] striketwice 2017-02-17 10:54 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Whenever Peter impersonates him, Alec is always reminded of two things: what a damn impressive actor Peter is, and what a damn insufferable man-child Peter is.

It’s a bit of dichotomy that way, but then again Peter Quill was just kind of maddening like that anyway.

He makes a face of his own. ]


Breaking me out of a shitty-ass prison in bumfuck nowhere is neither impressive nor sexy, Quill.
nostalgiabomb: (089)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-17 11:43 pm (UTC)(link)
This, comin’ from the guy who was thrown into that shitty-ass prison in bumfuck nowhere.

[ Peter snorts, his nose wrinkling again before he takes another sip. Then, cheerfully, ]

So, you’re welcome, Brennan. It was all in a good day’s work.

[ And apparently they’re moving on with the conversation – or at least Peter’s done with it – because he tugs Alec’s sleeve further up, taps his forefinger against the next dark band. ]

What’s that one, then?
striketwice: (049)

[personal profile] striketwice 2017-02-18 12:17 am (UTC)(link)
[ He makes a show of rolling his eyes, but ultimately he decides it's not an argument worth having. Alec "plans literally everything" Brennan would be wasting his breath trying to explain just why, in the moment, going with the crowd, acting the part of drunk asshole, was a better plan than trying to bust out to Peter "12% of a plan" Quill.

Peter apparently decides to move on as well, and taps a finger on the next tattoo, edging dangerously close to the spot where the red band around Alec's arm lay concealed. ]


That's my taser. The lightning spell.
nostalgiabomb: (127)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-18 12:57 am (UTC)(link)
[ Some days, Peter thinks he has the memory of where Alec’s red band lies on his arm, thinks he has the memory burned straight into his mind.

But when he focuses, when he really tries to remember where it is, he finds he doesn’t quite recall. Alec had only given Peter a glimpse of it before he hid both of their rings away, had yanked up his sleeve while Peter was in the middle of a near blinding rage, a choking sense of panic, and it sure as hell didn’t help that Peter got fucking trashed almost immediately after that.

He knows it’s on the left arm, but he can never quite remember where it falls. Between the first and second tattoo? Between the second and third? Higher? Lower? Does it overlap with a spell, and he just couldn’t see at the time because of the ink? He knows at least that even invisible as it is, Alec will still feel it when Peter brushes across it.

Firsthand experience, after all.

So as Peter’s tapping on the tattoos, he’s watching Alec’s face, looking for some sort of tell, trying his best to not make it obvious that he’s observing him. Sort of half-listening, because the idea of magic still fascinates him, but the booze means Peter will likely flunk a quiz on this, come tomorrow. When he moves to the next dark band, his fingers ghost across the blank patch of skin, come to rest on the third ring.

Blithely, ]
How ‘bout that one?
striketwice: (053)

[personal profile] striketwice 2017-02-18 05:52 am (UTC)(link)
[ Looking back on it, he probably should have realized what Peter was up to much sooner, the asshole, but his own mark goes forgotten so much of the time that it doesn't even occur to him until Peter's fingers brush over it.

Peter doesn't have to look hard for a tell, because Alec is in no way subtle about it, caught off guard as he is.

His eyes widen and his pulse jumps as that contact ignites sparks in his chest. Makes him warm and content and sets him ablaze all at once. It's there and gone quickly, and the loss makes him dizzy. He shoots peter a look. ]


You asshole.
nostalgiabomb: (153)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-18 06:19 am (UTC)(link)
Well, that's uncalled for.

[ With an air of innocence.

But he had seen it, the way Alec's eyes widened, heard that little hitch in his breath. Even felt an echo of it, surging and waning in the span of a second, achingly, maddeningly familiar.

Gotcha, he thinks, making his expression as bland as possible. ]


That's the treatment I get for trying to get to know you better? I thought we were past all this— [ he adopts something of Alec's diction ]I'm a fortress, Quill. The less you know about me, the better bullshit.

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nostalgiabomb: (☆005)

hope this is ok!

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-17 10:22 am (UTC)(link)
[ When they arrive in the Oros system several days after that kind of fucked up meeting with Pyrien Lan, when they find Parten—

It's empty.

Or at least, from orbit, it looks empty, and more than that, uninhabitable. No breathable atmosphere, says their scans. An ice storm raging near constantly on the moon's surface, sub-zero temperatures that would kill most lifeforms.

Logic says, There's no fucking way anyone could be here.

But a strange blip on the sensors shrugs and says, Well, I dunno. Maybe?

So they risk it. What have they got to lose, right? The four of them are already bound to face who the fuck knows how much time in prison, if they're caught – and that's the best cast scenario. (Peter might get away with, like, spending half of his life behind bars, considering he's only aiding fugitives, but that's hardly consolation.) They fly in low at Peter's suggestion – a paranoid, distrustful part of him chants, just in case – putting the newly repaired and retrofitted Gibraltar through its paces through the storm. Ice and hail and gale force winds batter the ship as they seek out that anomaly.

And they find it: a bunker built into the rock face, where the temperatures rise just enough to not kill a man within fifteen minutes.

They split up after that, with Peter and Brae suiting up, intent on fishing Owen out of this godforsaken place – assuming he's there to begin with; failing that, gathering what clues they could and fucking off to follow whatever breadcrumbs they can find. Fallon and Pam stay behind to guard the ship – likely the only getaway vehicle they're bound to have, if things go pear-shaped.

(When things go pear-shaped, Peter thinks darkly. He hits the trigger for his mask, lets the light solidify into metal around his face, and tugs the hood of his thick jacket over his head.)

By the time they get through the front door – a mix of hacking and old-fashioned lock picking – Peter already feels half-frozen and pissy. The doors slam shut behind them, and already the temperature difference is stark. The inside is far warmer than the outside, though on the best of days, Peter's pretty sure it'd still feel chilly.

But nothing and no one greets them, here. No alarms go off overhead. The only thing of note is the single, long, dark, clammy corridor in which they find themselves, and they risk allowing themselves a few moments to warm up, chafing their hands to coax life back into frozen fingers, despite the thick gloves they had come in with.

The walls are slightly damp to the touch, marred by water stains. And from somewhere, Peter hears the distant drip, drip, drip of a leaking pipe. The lights flicker and hum overhead, casting the hall in a buzzing yellowish white that makes his head ache.

He smells something slightly metallic in the air, something cloyingly sweet. Definitely blood, he thinks, and his suspicions are only confirmed when he sees a dark blue splotch staining the concrete floor. Old, he decides, judging by the way the stain has flaked and darkened, but that's little consolation once he spies a fresher-looking blue smear on the wall, further along the corridor.

They leave their heavy coats and gear at the entrance, their things clomping heavily to the floor as they drop them. Peter keeps his mask fixed firmly in place, though, and keeps one hand resting against the grip of his blaster. (That chant in his head: just in case. just in case. just in case.) The hallway leads to a single elevator – broken, because of fucking course it's broken – with a set of stairs to one side.

Apparently there's nowhere to go but down.

Their footfalls echo in the stairwell as they descend, eerie and disorienting in the relative quiet.

Which is why Peter softly offers, ]


This place is giving me the fucking creeps.
outruns: (064)

perfect as always u beautiful tropical fish

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-18 05:32 am (UTC)(link)
[ of course owen would find the single most unpleasant, inhospitable, and wholly fucking awful moon to shove his disgusting little operation into.

of course he would.

brae is not, and has never been (never will be), a fan of the cold. so as they scan parten and get back the atmospheric and environmental data, she's muttering under her breath the entire time — and it only gets worse when she takes the ship in for a closer look, which allows her to get an eyeful of the snow and ice and otherwise disgustingly cold bullshit the moon has going for it.

awesome. just real fucking great.

at least it all pays off, however, when they find that bunker set into a cliff, and brae finds herself filled with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation (and that rage that's been boiling just under the surface for a good long while now). the closer they get to owen, the harder it is for her to keep it completely under wraps as the promise of wrapping her fingers around his slimy little neck grows even more imminent.

(she knows she can't kill him, and she's already accepted that much, but she also just wants the satisfaction at this point of getting to owen.

because she wants to beat his face in.

she wants to scream at him.

she wants to know fucking why.)



once they're inside the bunker, brae is almost reluctant to ditch her gear. it's still cold as hell, but the heavy coats and gloves are cumbersome, obnoxious by this point, and if they're going to be quiet and steady, they have to leave the extra cold protection behind. but, really, as soon as they drop their stuff, brae is shivering and running her hands down her arms.

...the faster they get in and out, the better.

almost worse than the cold, however, is how goddamn silent the bunker feels. not a whisper of activity, no security in sight (yet), but the blood on the floor sets brae on edge. nothing feels right, and the further down they go, the darker and danker everything seems to get.

she glances over at peter when he speaks, the light from his mask some of the only glow provided in the dimly lit stairwell. ]


Not like he could have a stupid bunker somewhere warm and nice. It's like a creepy fucking murder house in here.

[ ...which...is what it is, she realizes belatedly, and that makes her stomach turn. ]

Swear to god, if Lan gave us the wrong location, I'm going back and breaking the rest of his fingers.

[ ha...ha...ha...

she really shouldn't do that, but it's tempting.

unfortunately, she gets the feeling they're in the right place with all of that blood, with that fresh and nauseating smell clinging to the air.

if she hadn't spent more than her fair share of time around gore of all kinds, she might actually get a little sick — because the deeper they go, the worse the smell is. more blue stains as the air around them feels oppressive and thick, and god, how the hell does owen camp out in this place?

swallowing around the lump in her throat, brae's hand finds her blaster when they reach the bottom of the stairs. there's a few proper lights waiting up ahead, different halls to check, and at first, she hangs back, glancing up at peter.

a pause before they push forward.

her voice is low, barely a whisper as she starts to ask, ]


Do you think—

[ she finds herself interrupted by a deep, vicious growl reverberating off of the walls, filling the corridor immediately. her spine goes ramrod straight, and her fingers clamp around the butt of her blaster, drawn and aimed in a heartbeat, in time to watch something disgustingly huge come around the corner. it almost resembles an oversized bulldog, stocky and muscular and way too fucking big, but its head is made of nearly nothing but teeth, each dripping with something viscous and— well, apparently acidic, as the saliva makes contact with the floor and leaves a sizzling hole in its wake.

that's just fucking awesome.

the creature continues to snarl from down the hall, presumably watching them (where the fuck are its eyes?).

after another tense, poised second, it starts to bound towards them. ]
nostalgiabomb: (☆002)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-18 06:13 am (UTC)(link)
[ Brae's unease is practically a pit in his chest – a near carbon copy of his own – but he does his best to ignore it. Tries to suppress, too, that anticipation coiling through their link, that cold fury threatening to boil over, but he keeps an eye on it. Someone has to keep the two of them in check.

And considering he's the only one with any sort of distance on this shitfest, it might as well be him.

Down they go, and into another corridor, just as creepy as the goddamn first – maybe even more so, with that scent of blood thick in the air. When Brae speaks in a whisper, Peter's hardly surprised; they haven't seen or heard anyone or anything yet, but the strange, oppressive atmosphere would've made him whisper, too.

But she doesn't get to finish, because there is a thing at the end of the hall, and he and Brae freeze, guns drawn and staring, and—

Oh, good. It's fast.

Peter starts firing first, blasts of electricity lighting up the hallway as the creature charges. The first blast catches it in the shoulder, but does little more than stagger it. The second, in the chest, that gives it pause. The third it shrugs off entirely, and Peter curses, quickly backing up back toward the stairs. ]


The fuck— [ A fourth and fifth shot. ]is that thing?
outruns: (069)

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-18 06:25 am (UTC)(link)
[ brae scrambles back with peter as the weird-whatever-the-fuck-guarddog keeps loping down the hall, only barely fazed by the shots from peter's blaster, closely accompanied by her own. ]

Great fucking question.

[ another shot that hits one of the sharp teeth, and this time, one of them breaks from the creatures mass of jagged fangs, falling to the ground and searing a hole right into the concrete. the beast pauses to howl with pain and unmistakable rage, more of that acidic saliva welling up where the tooth used to be. ]

...oh fuck, I think that made it mad.

[ because while the creature stopped for a moment, it doesn't seem genuinely deterred.

brae keeps backing up the stairs as quickly as possible without tripping, tearing her eyes away from the toothy asshole advancing long enough to glance at peter. ]


Got any tricks in your purse, Star-Lord? Because I'll take anything right about no—ohshit—!

[ because the creature takes that instant to leap onto the bottom step, shaking the metal stairwell enough that brae nearly loses her balance. ]
nostalgiabomb: (☆012)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-18 06:51 am (UTC)(link)
[ With a level of exasperation that clearly shows this is not the first time he's had this argument, ]

It's not a purse—

[ But he doesn't get to finish – and neither does Brae – as the eyeless, toothy thing crashes onto the staircase, sends the whole thing juddering. Peter manages to grab hold of the railing with his free hand before he overbalances, and he hears Brae behind him, stumbling but not falling.

Fire this time, he decides, hitting the second trigger to shoot a blast of flame into its mouth.

That seems to piss it off, but it stumbles back, loses its balance as it falls off the steps. The next fireball hits it in the side of its head, burning skin and gums, and it paws at its head, gnashing its teeth. ]


Oh. [ This, brightly. ] Fire works.
outruns: (065)

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-18 07:01 am (UTC)(link)
[ brae watches with something between being impressed and disgusted as the heat of the fire melts flesh away from the creature. ]

Fuck, I didn't think that thing could get uglier.

[ but with the way it burns and howls, it's proving an incredibly potent point that, yes, that big fucker could somehow look worse.

she fires again from a few steps higher, but the better vantage lets her see— ]


Dude, eyes on its forelegs. Those weird little blinky things— see 'em?

[ and indeed, there are small, black spots dotting the creature's legs; brae hadn't paid attention at first (because getting the fuck away from the ugly son of a bitch took precedence), but the small eyes are blinking at intervals. ]
nostalgiabomb: (☆002)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-18 07:57 am (UTC)(link)
[ Peter cringes behind his mask, nearly feels sorry for the thing, but—

Well, in their defense, this weird thing started it. Totally on it, for being all, I'm gonna melt and burn your skin off, probably before or after I chomp into you with my five million teeth. So Peter tries not to feel too guilty.

At Brae's direction, Peter blinks, makes another pinched face as he spots the eyes on its legs, and— ]


Jesus tap-dancing Christ. What the fuck? [ Then to the weird creature, ] Why are you like this?

[ But he shoots at its legs, and the thing howls, reels back. ]
outruns: (066)

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-18 08:03 am (UTC)(link)
[ any other time, brae might fucking laugh, but for now, she's far more preoccupied with the creature, and she fires a few more times at the thing's legs, until she can't even see the black spots anymore.

hopefully that means it's blind?

must be, because it knocks into the stairs, rather than climbing them, still snarling and snapping and dripping acid from its massive fangs. ]


Man, would you just barbecue this thing already? It's being way too loud.

[ god, if people didn't know they were here already, this asshole would sure be cluing them in. ]
nostalgiabomb: (131)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-18 08:24 am (UTC)(link)
Nag, nag, nag—

[ But Peter descends the steps again, and while the creature can't see him, it still seems to hear him – or sense him, maybe, maybe feel the vibrations in the steps as he climbs down. It bares its teeth – because what can it do but bare its teeth? – and tries to lunge forward as it opens its mouth—

But Peter was waiting for that, and his next shot is a ball of flame that shoots straight down the creature's gullet.

No screams, this time, no howls, but a sad little wheeze as the fire burns down its throat. It stumbles back, careens off a wall, and Peter fires again. The fireball punches out a fistful of teeth, but it burns away at the gums, keeping its acidic drool from flowing out.

Peter feels bad for it for another second before he steps up to it, shoots it point blank, straight in the head. The flame punches into its skull, and it stands for only a second longer before it finally collapses, unmoving. He keeps his blaster fixed on it for a second longer, the acid remaining in its mouth sizzling and popping against the concrete floor, and when it doesn't seem inclined to rise, Peter lets himself shudder in revulsion. ]


What the fuck, man.
outruns: (Default)

[personal profile] outruns 2017-02-18 08:35 am (UTC)(link)
[ peter's the one with the fire, which...seems to be the most useful thing at the moment, so brae stands back on the stairs, watching carefully with her gun trained on the creature, though her attention keeps flicking up to the corridor, making sure they haven't drawn any extra attention (and to make sure there isn't a pack of those gross things waiting for them).

but in the wake of the beast's howls and snarls, everything is still again, other than the crackle of acid and the occasional pop of singed flesh.

...because that really does a lot for the disgusting smell in the whole place. ]


Of course Owen has something fucking awful like this here. Of course he does.

[ she descends the stairs, careful to give the alien a wide berth in favor of the rest of the hall. ]

C'mon, let's keep moving.
nostalgiabomb: (☆004)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-02-18 08:40 am (UTC)(link)
Wait.

[ He clicks his second gun out of its holster at his hip, hefts in his hand for a second, as if thinking it over. It's only a split second of deliberation, though, because soon enough he holds it out to her, grip first. ]

Top trigger is electricity. Bottom is for fire.

Take it.

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