Quoted By:
It doesn’t take you long to come up with the answer to your question. Stuffing the <span class="mu-g">SERUM</span> next to your <span class="mu-g">ROCKET-PROPELLED GRENADE LAUNCHER</span> and <span class="mu-g">GUNKY FLINTLOCK PISTOL,</span> you nod at your hostage-turned pal. His uh… his body, his choice… hashtag.
“Thanks, Stan.” Replies the Rent-A-Cop as an apologetic smile forms on his face and a relieved one creeps onto Syb’s. “Don’t worry–I won’t be <span class="mu-i">that</span> easy to get rid of.”
Yea, well, you mutter, leaning against the yacht-print pillows for more support, you might give him shit all the time, but he’s, y’know, <span class="mu-i">Art</span>. You don’t want him having any more close calls, damn it!
“Hah. You <span class="mu-i">ARE</span> a big softie.” He replies in a playful tone. “And <span class="mu-i">no one</span>’s having any more close calls, Stan–not if we have anything to say about it, right?”
Holding out his hand for a high-five, you look at it and grimace. You’re uh… you’re still pretty sore an-
“Wuss.”
The <span class="mu-s">HELL’D</span> he say!? Gritting your teeth for the impending pain, you immediately bring your hand back and whip it forward with a resounding <span class="mu-i">SMACK!</span>
“<span class="mu-i">OW.</span>” Art hisses through clenched teeth as he retracts his sore hand. “Damn it, Stan…”
Goddamn right, you are, you snicker as Syb giggles behind her hand. As the laughter dies down a bit, you stiffen a bit as the Rent-A-Cop’s hand gently pats your shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Stan–we’ll uh…” He mutters, looking you in the eye with determination, “Whatever the hell’s floating around in your bones–we’re gonna fix it. One way or another.”
Damn right, you will!
“One more thing about the <span class="mu-g">SERUM…</span>” Art adds, earning a raised eyebrow from The Goth next to him, “If uh… if something <span class="mu-i">DOES</span> happen to me… or one of the others… and there’s a few bones lying around to gnaw on…”
An uncomfortable silence forms between you two as neither of you speak up in response.
… Yea? What!?
“Seriously?” Art asks, put off by you shouting out of nowhere, “If someone’s on Death’s Door, give it to them <span class="mu-i">then</span>, alright?”
Ah. You had a feeling he was gonna say that.
“No you didn’t.”
Shut up, Art, you hiss, braving the aches once more to sock him in the arm, you’ll <span class="mu-i">do</span> it!
“Cool.” He replies, rubbing his now-sore forearm.
>CONTD.
