[centre][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/220329/54d22eda9517d8b594df230169ba5e94.png[/img][/centre] Mac opened tired eyes to dim light shining in through his bedroom windows blinds. His fingers instinctively grasped for the comforting grip of his Overture poking out underneath the pillow next to him, but found nothing. His eyes went wide as he jumped out of bed, quickly looking to his nightstand. His M-10AF Lexington wasn’t where it should be either. Grabbing up the kukri somewhat hidden between the bed and the nightstand he crept to his bedroom door, heart pounding and thoughts racing. As quickly and quietly as he could he made his way through the hallway and down the stairs, clearing rooms as he went. Finally reaching the living room, he laid eyes on Ash reassembling the components of his Overture. She, apparently sensing his presence, looked up at him. Shock much the same as he’d felt a minute earlier crossed her face. She glanced downwards at his torso, and then even lower, eyes going wider than even before for a second before the pistol dropped onto the table and she leaned back deep into the chair and convulsed with fits of laughter. Mac, unamused, looked down at his nakedness, face going a shade or two more scarlet as realisation hit him. He placed the kukri down on the table and picked up a sofa cushion, covering what he could. [color=6ecff6]“I… I guess you could call that a pistol.”[/color] Ash managed to blurt out through persistent laughter. [color=6ecff6]“A Derringer, perhaps?”[/color] She continued, holding her stomach. [color=39b54a]“You took my guns!”[/color] Mac spoke indignantly, his brow furrowing. Ash through some sheer force of will managed to get her laughter under control. She sat up straight, giving her an unusually regal look and quickly cleared her throat. [color=6ecff6]“I did… But as you can see, I was cleaning them. I’m truly… truly sorry for the panic.”[/color] [color=39b54a]“Well, uhm… thanks. I’m sorry for my reaction. Don’t much like being without my guns, ya know how it is.”[/color] Her lips seemed almost pursed and her eyes were still shining with humour, but she nodded quickly to show her understanding. Slowly, she picked up the heavy revolver she’d dropped and rotated it in her hand, looking at it curiously. [color=39b54a]“What?”[/color] [color=6ecff6]“Nothin’. Nothin’... Just. Overcompensating much?”[/color] She said the words rapidly, barely managing to get them out before she burst to laughing again. Mac sighed heavily, lobbing the pillow at her and retreating back upstairs. — An hour later Mac was back, fully clothed this time and relaxing on the sofa. Ash’s legs were stretched out across his lap as she filed her fingernails, looking at them in the same way she’d looked at his revolver earlier, only a lot less mocking. Mac’s phone buzzed on the coffee table, startling them both with its loud reverberations. Holding Ash’s legs so as not to rudely toss them off himself, he leaned forward and picked it up, silently reading the message that came through. [color=39b54a]“Huh. A beautiful woman gave me her [i]real[/i] number… That’s a first.”[/color] He smirked. [color=39b54a]“Got a meeting tonight at Afterlife.”[/color] Ash simply raised an eyebrow, her expression otherwise unreadable. [color=6ecff6]“It really is the city of dreams.”[/color] [color=39b54a]“Thanks for cleaning my guns, annwyl. Judging from how we met, I’ll probably need them if I work for this lady.”[/color] [color=6ecff6]“In this city, you’d want them clean if you were going to do laundry.”[/color] Ash smiled as Mac chuckled. [color=39b54a]“True enough.”[/color] — Later that night Mac was driving through the city, well on his way to Afterlife. It struck him that for him it was simply a club, at least tonight. Many others wouldn’t see another morning in this city however, their destination a far more literal interpretation of the word. An intrusive thought claimed that they were the lucky ones. He hated driving through the city. The towering buildings and innumerable vehicles were suffocating. He felt closed in. There weren’t nearly enough places to escape to with assholes and psychopaths looking for a victim in most of the holes you actually could run down. If that wasn’t enough it felt like you were always being watched or listened to, not to mention the trash lining the sides of the more impoverished streets, which was a majority of them. Fuckin’ repulsive place. Finally he reached the club, pulling his truck up not too far from a dumpster outside. Checking his weapons one more time, he stepped out of his vehicle and headed for the club's stairs. A descent. Fitting, he thought. He wasn’t thirty seconds into the building when a bloke a head taller and considerably wider than him blocked his path. [color=39b54a]“Hello. I’m Mac Kieran Iceni, here to-”[/color] [color=f7976a]“I know. You don’t have an inconspicuous face or accent… Head down to the crypt, if Eddie ain’t there, she will be soon.”[/color] Mac nodded politely as the man moved aside, walking briskly past him. He smiled at the cute bartender, but not wanting to ruin his intent to arrive early, didn’t stop. The place was as he’d heard. An old morgue. Filled to the brim with folk that looked considerably like him, only most of them dressed themselves with far more style. Plenty of gang tattoos on display too, unsurprisingly. Banger to merc was probably one of the most common job switch ups in the city. He found his way easy enough, soon descending yet another set of stairs and heading through what he hoped was the final door. He wasn’t disappointed. He’d seen enough makeshift command centres in his subservience to the British government to immediately recognise what he was looking at. Not a bad setup at all. Plenty of space and even the autopsy tables had been repurposed for better use. Leaning against one, he waited. Smirking, he took out his phone and messaged “Arrived safe. <3” to Ash, stifling a chuckle as he imagined her baffled and hopefully exasperated face as she read it.