If there's laughing -- even if he's the butt of the joke -- then there's probably not going to be any fighting. Wolfwood turns half-away from the guy with a huff, directing most of his attention instead to the surrounding laundromat.
He can draw his gun faster than really should be possible, and he hasn't missed a shot in years. So long as everybody stays friendly, there won't be any reason to demonstrate that particular skill set, right?
"You didn't scare me, asshole," he grumps, heading over the the nearest machine and pulling the door open. This place smells awful, but mildewing clothes are still an improvement over bloody and tattered ones. "Bein' cautious isn't the same thing as bein' afraid."
It's really asking too much to find a black suit in his size in one of these dryers, isn't it?
It's not in Guy's nature to continue needling; he's amiable now it's clear there's no immediate danger and he passes the other man to pick up the clothes he'd scattered in his hurry to hide. Oversized shirts printed with strange pictures and writing, jackets, one or two pants made of sturdy material. Guy's picks have all been practical, with a preference for brighter colors - a stark contrast to his fellow laundromat scavenger.
"Name's Guy, by the way." So quit calling him 'asshole,' bud. He pops open another machine and wrinkles his nose. "Pleasure meeting you."
The clothes in the machine he's opened are far too colorful and way too small for him -- they're for a kid, he realizes a moment later, as he closes the door and moves stiffly on to the next machine. There's no point in wondering what happened to that kid, but just because it's futile to worry doesn't mean it's easy not to. Is that kid and their parent out in the rain somewhere, wandering in the dark? Did something come through here and scare them away before they could finish their washing up?
Did something come through here and take them, before they could finish up?
The next machine down is full of black clothes, but they're lacey delicate things. God dammit.
"Wolfwood." He slams the second dryer shut. "What the hell happened here?! Where are all these people?"
Guy straightens up at the slammed door and, for a second, his hand darts for the sword. Instinct. He drops his hand.
It's a good question. All the lights are on, but no one's around. In the hour Guy prowled around...
"I know just as much as you do. When I arrived, there wasn't a soul in sight."
A strange occurrence he wrote off, creepy as it was. Because what could he do? Panorama remained far away. There were still great distances to travel. Nobody could be helped here, because there was nobody to help.
Guy shrugs. "From the looks of things, I'd say the storm kept them from coming back. Or they had to run."
From what, he won't speculate on, nor does he care to find out. There's a reason why, when Wolfwood entered, Guy had hidden behind the machines.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2026-03-17 08:52 pm (UTC)He can draw his gun faster than really should be possible, and he hasn't missed a shot in years. So long as everybody stays friendly, there won't be any reason to demonstrate that particular skill set, right?
"You didn't scare me, asshole," he grumps, heading over the the nearest machine and pulling the door open. This place smells awful, but mildewing clothes are still an improvement over bloody and tattered ones. "Bein' cautious isn't the same thing as bein' afraid."
It's really asking too much to find a black suit in his size in one of these dryers, isn't it?
no subject
Date: 2026-03-19 04:02 pm (UTC)It's not in Guy's nature to continue needling; he's amiable now it's clear there's no immediate danger and he passes the other man to pick up the clothes he'd scattered in his hurry to hide. Oversized shirts printed with strange pictures and writing, jackets, one or two pants made of sturdy material. Guy's picks have all been practical, with a preference for brighter colors - a stark contrast to his fellow laundromat scavenger.
"Name's Guy, by the way." So quit calling him 'asshole,' bud. He pops open another machine and wrinkles his nose. "Pleasure meeting you."
no subject
Date: 2026-03-19 04:18 pm (UTC)The clothes in the machine he's opened are far too colorful and way too small for him -- they're for a kid, he realizes a moment later, as he closes the door and moves stiffly on to the next machine. There's no point in wondering what happened to that kid, but just because it's futile to worry doesn't mean it's easy not to. Is that kid and their parent out in the rain somewhere, wandering in the dark? Did something come through here and scare them away before they could finish their washing up?
Did something come through here and take them, before they could finish up?
The next machine down is full of black clothes, but they're lacey delicate things. God dammit.
"Wolfwood." He slams the second dryer shut. "What the hell happened here?! Where are all these people?"
no subject
Date: 2026-03-22 03:31 am (UTC)It's a good question. All the lights are on, but no one's around. In the hour Guy prowled around...
"I know just as much as you do. When I arrived, there wasn't a soul in sight."
A strange occurrence he wrote off, creepy as it was. Because what could he do? Panorama remained far away. There were still great distances to travel. Nobody could be helped here, because there was nobody to help.
Guy shrugs. "From the looks of things, I'd say the storm kept them from coming back. Or they had to run."
From what, he won't speculate on, nor does he care to find out. There's a reason why, when Wolfwood entered, Guy had hidden behind the machines.