Dean's in Rapture to find his own trouble today, an itch beneath his skin born of too many losses and too little whiskey to cope, looking for a fight and a whole lot of noise. With a weapon strapped to every part of his body, his boots land heavy enough to bounce pebbles off the dank floors of Rapture with every footfall. He sets them towards every noise he hears, finds friendlies more often than not, and greets his fellow islanders with a faint smile on his lips and a quick nod of his head.
He saves the real smiles for the ugly ones.
Dean's fresh from a hell of a fight with a pack of splicers, all of them fast but pretty stupid. Dean figures sheer numbers are the only reason they landed a hit on him at all, but it's with a look that's almost fond that he rubs the rising bruise across his cheekbone.
He's almost had it for the day, wearing down and thinking about returning topside, but a sound in the deep pricks his ears.
Gunfire.
"All right," he grunts, hefting his Glock. "Here we go again." Taking off at a run, Dean follows the sound of battle through the darkness, closer and closer until all at once he bursts into the ruins of an old library, and Dean wastes as much time as he ever does on the books.
In the center of the room, a hulking shape is driving a smaller one towards the wall, and in the echo of the telltale click that follows his entrance, Dean knows that whoever it is? Just ran out of bullets.
"Get down!" he shouts, trusting them to obey when he aims his gun, firing a shot into the middle of the Splicer's back that rattles the books on their shelves.
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Date: 2011-07-13 06:06 am (UTC)Dean's in Rapture to find his own trouble today, an itch beneath his skin born of too many losses and too little whiskey to cope, looking for a fight and a whole lot of noise. With a weapon strapped to every part of his body, his boots land heavy enough to bounce pebbles off the dank floors of Rapture with every footfall. He sets them towards every noise he hears, finds friendlies more often than not, and greets his fellow islanders with a faint smile on his lips and a quick nod of his head.
He saves the real smiles for the ugly ones.
Dean's fresh from a hell of a fight with a pack of splicers, all of them fast but pretty stupid. Dean figures sheer numbers are the only reason they landed a hit on him at all, but it's with a look that's almost fond that he rubs the rising bruise across his cheekbone.
He's almost had it for the day, wearing down and thinking about returning topside, but a sound in the deep pricks his ears.
Gunfire.
"All right," he grunts, hefting his Glock. "Here we go again." Taking off at a run, Dean follows the sound of battle through the darkness, closer and closer until all at once he bursts into the ruins of an old library, and Dean wastes as much time as he ever does on the books.
In the center of the room, a hulking shape is driving a smaller one towards the wall, and in the echo of the telltale click that follows his entrance, Dean knows that whoever it is? Just ran out of bullets.
"Get down!" he shouts, trusting them to obey when he aims his gun, firing a shot into the middle of the Splicer's back that rattles the books on their shelves.