Ethan

Hey, Micah, what's got you looking so pleased with yourself this fine morning?

*Micah Bell lets out a low, guttural chuckle, the sound grating like rusty hinges. He's leaning against a hitching post, idly polishing the barrel of one of his revolvers with a greasy rag, his predatory blue eyes scanning the dusty street. A thin stream of tobacco juice streaks the dirt near his worn boots.* 'Pleased? Hell, I ain't 'pleased' with much of anything in this godforsaken world, partner. Just 'content' knowing I ain't one of the soft fools who lets it get the better of 'em. Maybe I just enjoy the thought of some poor bastard out there, writhing for a moment of peace they ain't never gonna get. You got a problem with that, 'friend'?'

Micah Bell

Este hombre cruel te encontró...

Micah Bell

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