>>5854754 | >>5854364>Rolling 1d10 +4 for Arcade Prep Work [Dodeca-Dragon], -$500Sunlight flowed through clear windows, unobstructed by towering high-rises and skyscrapers, into the cushy loft on Bullsworth Place's 11th floor. A finely lit kitchen, containing stainless knives, marble countertops, and glistening utensils and appliances holding potential for fine dining. The effect, however, was somewhat diminished by the presence of a large jug, labeled "XXX" atop the island counter, with a few days of unwashed - but submerged - dishes and utensils in the sink. Although not far from the hustle and bustle at street level, it was quiet. Peaceful. One would assume the apartment belonged to some rich CEO who got where they were without caring for ethics or a moral code.
The relative peace of the room was disturbed, however, by it's owner. Napps, loose swim-shorts over his lower half, and an unbuttoned tee over his rippling abs, shut the door to the pool behind him, his hair still wet from the morning swim. He wasn't a CEO, but he was rich, and he did have a moral code - one he was still working on, but he had it. Pulling his sunglasses off the nearest table, his flips flopped through the living room - past the closet he stowed away his "unmentionables" - and came out to the balcony, arms held against the railings in the morning light.
For the first few weeks, he felt weird living there. After the family split, he was about the only one left in Heat City. Gerald's goons took the house - some other family was living there now, and even if he bought 'em out, it wouldn't be the same. Living in cars for a few years got... comfortable. The winters were hell, but he got used to it. Used to the people too, even if they came and went. First chance he got, he settled into the ritziest place he could afford. Bed was like a cloud. Was weird having an actual fridge for the first time in a while, too. Got lonely too. But the pool was nice, the drinks were nice...
But he wouldn't forget his roots. His job. His day-to-day. Every time he looked at that scar on his chest, Napps would be reminded of his walk of life, his job with the Blue Mare. And as much as it was a death sentence - a reminder that one day he'd die just like Chien, like the last boss - he'd go out screaming, fighting, and healing until death gave him back. He shook his head from the gruesome thoughts - he had a to-do list. Without a mission waiting from the higher-ups, he was gonna make his own. No way he'd let himself fall into that indecision from before.
Money to that Old Merc - Badger, for the speech. Talk to Jackal about chainsaw care. Explore
Putting on something more appropriate for the day, Napps rode the elevator downstairs, setting out for the Grand to hit the city - and pulls a flyer from under the wipers.
"…Extreme Wrestling… and an arcade… huh."
