[center][h2]Krunk-Mobile, Prisoner Bay[/h2]
[sub]Don't got it[/sub][/center]

[color=ed1c24]"Ehy,eh. Fine. I'll go get them."[/color] Zerraf yawned, forming his left hand into a mock gun. The thumb was the hammer, the pointer finger a barrel. With a lax pulling down of his thumb, a great gust of wind was thrust from the source of the end of Zerraf's pointer finger. So great was the gust that it dislodged the bars in front of him, as well as any nearby spherical guards that may have unfortunately been caught in the gust of wind. Hand in his pocket, Zerraf would trudge forward and swing his head as a pendulum to look left and right, barely searching for direction in any sense of the word. Little motivated him like his shining rapier and flintlock pistol.