tickle_me | → Fɪʀsᴛ Sʜᴏᴛ ←

[Action - Locked to Logan]

[Under normal circumstances, Revy might (...miiiiiiight) have taken half a second to think through the consequences of being less-than-delicate with the new appendages attached to her back. But these aren't normal circumstances, no sir -- these are Revy-challenged-Rock-to-another-drinking-contest-and-lost-miserably-thus-waking-up-feeling-like-a-team-of-mini-Sawyers-was-running-around-chainsawing-her-grey-matter circumstances.

As a result, wherever Logan might be in the village, he might hear a loud and resounding -- ]

-- AAAAUUGH! JESUS FUCK!

[ -- before a burgundy-haired girl in a white New Feather dress collapses gracelessly to the ground somewhere within Logan's field of vision, curled into a pathetic ball of bad feels. You're a superhero, aren't ya, tough guy? Do your superhero thing and go save this damsel in distress or something.]

***

[Action - Open to everyone]

[To be honest, Revy kinda wishes she could just lie around for the rest of the day somewhere, but survival instinct overrules it. Not only is she completely unfamiliar with this place, but some goddamn motherfucker took her fucking cutlasses. If she's going to let her guard down for even a tiny bit here, she needs to at least arm herself first. And then proceed to track down the asshole who stole her guns and kill him.

Unfortunately, she's going to be very disappointed once she gets to the weapons shop and realizes that it's pretty much all sharp pointy things as opposed to shooty killy things.]

Don't ya guys have any guns around here?

[She isn't Chinglish Gal, dammit!

Later, Revy goes to the clothing shop, looking for something to replace her shitty welcome dress with. She may possibly smell of vomit and alcohol. Feel free to tell her if it's bothering you, since she'll gladly move out of your way if you do. Ha! Who am I kidding? She'll just tell you to fuck off. It's precisely this attitude that's needed to brighten up such an overcast day, right?

At any point before or after these visits, Revy can be found dragging herself through Luceti's streets trying to get to her destination. She's trying her best not to look miserable, but it's not hard to tell she's feeling like crap. Maybe you saw her trip over something in the road (or nothing at all, really), maybe she's leaning against something for temporary support, or maybe it's just obvious from her expression that she's kiiiinda a Grumpy Gretel right now. Approach to assist at your own risk.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Oh geez. He knows where she's coming from, but yelling like that isn't going solve things. Better try calm her down.]

Hey, take it easy. Sorry to, uh, break the news, but there aren't any guns here.

[Revy considers him carefully.]

You the owner of this place or something?

No, I'm not. All I know is that if you're looking for a gun, this place is dry. You'll have to manage with something that isn't automatic.

Fuckin' A!

[Aaaand there's a swift steel-toed kick to the nearby wall. Revy is the most mature young lady, if it isn't already obvious.]

[The poor wall.]

I suppose you're into sharpshooting more than wood cutting?

Hell yeah. It's my goddamn job.

[Save for the time she was in prison, Revy's rarely been without a firearm ever since she picked up her first one and committed her first murder with it. Walking around unarmed is making her more nervous than she's willing to admit to herself. Blades are better than nothing, to be sure, but while she's competent enough with one, she's far from being on Shenhua's level.]

Fuckers took my cutlasses, dammit. I just had 'em fixed, too!

[Her job? ...He doesn't think he wants to know about that job. Best to leave it at that.]

Well, your cutlasses might be an easier find. They should actually be around some place from what I understand. Do you want some help looking for them?

[Oh, dear. Looks like someone misunderstood what Revy meant by her "cutlasses." Forgive her for being slow to pick up on that lost-in-translation bit, though, she's still sort of woozy from that hangover. Though apparently she's still got energy enough to shoot him a scathingly skeptical glare.]

You just said that there weren't any guns around here.

[He gives her a confused look, unsure of what she means.]

Cutlasses are short swords though.

[And then she finally manages a mild smirk.]

Nah. That's just what I call my guns.

→ Fɪʀsᴛ Sʜᴏᴛ ←

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