[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/XV76TzX/Pickles.jpg[/img]
[color=a9a9a9][b]JACK PERKINS[/b][/color] :+: [color=a9a9a9][b]WIT'S END, NYC COMPOUND[/b][/color] :+: [color=a9a9a9][b]MENTIONS: [@savannahssu][/b][/color][/center]

	The shotgun hesitantly lowered.  The bartender regarded the woman and must've had two thoughts running through his mind.  [i]A paying customer[/i] and [i]maybe [/i]she [i]can babysit this freak, then[/i]. With one last look of disapproval at the red mouthed, smokey eyed human timebomb, the bartender said, "[color=a9a9a9]I'll give ya five minutes.  After that, this stick is going to go boom, ya hear?[/color]"  He then reluctantly went about his business.  All the while Pickles grinned profusely, his eyes following the man until his interest feigned.  Eventually they rolled around to the dark haired woman who had addressed him.

	"[color=c4df9b]You DON'T bite, you say?  How disappointing.[/color]"  The rolling pitch of his voice continued to fluctuate between extremes as he continued.  "[color=c4df9b]A pretty lady with PRETTY paint on her pretty skin.  Stabbed and stabbed and stabbed again.  What do they CALL you, miss?  Besides a glutton for PUNISHMENT, I mean.[/color]"  Pickles pulled out the nearest barstool and leapfrogged onto it in dramatic fashion before resting his elbows on his propped up knees, cradling his face in his hands adorably as if he were taking a yearbook photo.  His interest appeared to be borderline facetious, but this was simply the way of Pickles.

	[color=f7976a][i]She looks nice[/i][/color], imparted Jack.  [color=f7976a][i]Be nice to her.[/i][/color]  Pickles  swatted into the air, as if trying to rid himself of a pesky fly that no one else could see.  In fact, that's exactly what he was doing.