- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- Online Availability
- 3pm - 1am (GMT / BST)
- Writing Levels
- Beginner
- Elementary
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Nonbinary
- Transgender
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Monsters, supernatural, fantasy, romance, criminality, slice-of-life (modern or set in past, usually with some twists)
Eyeing the injured people before his gaze shot to the now dead woman behind the counter, Brandon scowled angrily beneath his mask. He didn't care much about the people bleeding around him, and hardly flinched when the poor teller's brains were splashed out on the wall behind her. No, the only thing that really hit him was just how pissed off he suddenly was. He didn't like the other masked man, and this was supposed to be his chance to prove that, hey, yesterday's fuck-up was completely uncharacteristic of him. He didn't want to have to let this other guy take all the credit for pulling off the robbery while Brandon went home, feeling underwhelmed.
"You should know by now that I like being fashionably late, pal. Do you wanna hand over that cash, 'cos you oughta know that I'm not gonna let you just walk out with it. Wouldn't it be fair. You know this is my fucking patch and I don't like you intruding on it, buddy," he sighed, moving to sit up on the counter while swinging his legs absently, seeming perfectly happy to be sat just feet apart from the man he personally wanted to see die at his own hand.
Eventually, though, he groaned and pushed himself back to his feet once growing irritated by the constant sniffling of an injured woman on the floor, though one good whack across the face with the baseball bat quickly put an end to her suffering. While he cleaned the blood from the weapon with his sleeve, he trailed back towards Skyler and, once jumping down from the counter, grinned brightly-- not that it could really be seen, only heard through his delighted tone.
"You really ain't giving me the cash?" He tutted, trailing a finger along the desk and chuckling at the smoke that arose from it. "Because, I'll be honest with 'ya, I don't really care if I leave here without a pound. I'm quite happy just blowing the place up and knowing you're unconscious getting burned to death. That'll be like Christmas to me, I ain't gonna lie."
"You should know by now that I like being fashionably late, pal. Do you wanna hand over that cash, 'cos you oughta know that I'm not gonna let you just walk out with it. Wouldn't it be fair. You know this is my fucking patch and I don't like you intruding on it, buddy," he sighed, moving to sit up on the counter while swinging his legs absently, seeming perfectly happy to be sat just feet apart from the man he personally wanted to see die at his own hand.
Eventually, though, he groaned and pushed himself back to his feet once growing irritated by the constant sniffling of an injured woman on the floor, though one good whack across the face with the baseball bat quickly put an end to her suffering. While he cleaned the blood from the weapon with his sleeve, he trailed back towards Skyler and, once jumping down from the counter, grinned brightly-- not that it could really be seen, only heard through his delighted tone.
"You really ain't giving me the cash?" He tutted, trailing a finger along the desk and chuckling at the smoke that arose from it. "Because, I'll be honest with 'ya, I don't really care if I leave here without a pound. I'm quite happy just blowing the place up and knowing you're unconscious getting burned to death. That'll be like Christmas to me, I ain't gonna lie."