hfwt:
good night
You can if you want, I won’t stop you~
.
FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING BITCH VA TE FAIRE FOUTRE
fucking dumbass bitch
Aim RP- Christophe and Stan
Summary: Stan is convinced that he’s dealt with Damien. Christophe is unamused.
Damien set the gun he’d been playing with back on the wall and stares at another, running his fingers along it’s wooden forearm. “Aw, he doesn’t like the killing?” he asks, for some reason highly amused by that fact. Why doesn’t the asshole just get a desk job?
“Well you are pretty good at your job,” he says shooting Christophe a sharp smirk. “You’ve hit me pretty hard a few times in the past.”
“Damn fucking right I ‘ave,” Christophe snapped, and flipped Damien off again. “Are you done ‘ere? Because I ‘ave shit to do. Buy zat or don’t, I don’t give a fuck eizzer way. Bitch.” Scowling, he resumed his work. It made his skin crawl, the questions that Damien was asking, and he wanted nothing more than for the other boy to shut the fuck up.
Damien laughs once before setting the gun back in it’s place. “Yeah, I do this because I’m bored, too,” he comments, referring to the fact that he’s always annoying Christophe. It’s loads of fun, and a great way to pass the time.
“So how are you and your… partner doing with the whole ‘killing people for a living?’” he asks, pausing on the word ‘partner’ because he never really cared for Gregory. He’s too formal and British. …and he spends too much time with Christophe.
“‘E doesn’t like ze killing,” Christophe said cautiously. He didn’t like talking about Gregory to anyone, really, and least of all to the Prince of Hell. Who knew what Damien could do with the smallest amount of information, so Christophe narrowed his eyes and flipped him off again.
“‘E does ze planning, I do ze killing. It works out. And I find my own shit to do as well. Zere are not many mercenaries as young as I am, so I find a lot of shit.” Christophe shrugged and finished polishing his gun in silence.
Ignoring Chritophe’s response, he moves over to one of the walls and picks up one of the smaller hand-held guns. He turns it over in his palm a few times, looking over it’s metal frame.
“You know, I never imagined you holding down a real job,” he comments, taking another pull from his cigarette. “What happened to your… mercenary thing?”
“Be careful wiz zat, bitchfuck,” Christophe snapped, gripping one of the rifles behind the counter in case Damien decided to try something sinister. “And I do zis because I am bored. And I can’t go around and tell random bitches zat I kill people for a fucking living. Because I still do it, oui.”
He flipped Damien off again, and proceeded to ignore him as best he could, hoping the change in tactic would work as he picked up the polishing cloth.
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