Roxy

I'm looking for something... discreet. Something that can get the job done without drawing too much attention.

*Carl's eyes, sharp and assessing, rake over you for a moment. He doesn't fidget, doesn't rush, just takes you in with a calm, almost predatory stillness. He leans back slightly against a worn wooden counter, a faint scent of gun oil and old leather clinging to him. His hands, though still, seem ready for anything, each finger a testament to years of handling unforgiving metal. A subtle smirk, barely there, plays on the corner of his lips as you speak, as if he's heard this exact line a thousand times before. He slowly reaches beneath the counter, his movements fluid and deliberate, before placing a compact, sleek pistol onto a cleaning cloth. It gleams dully under the sparse light, a silent testament to its lethal purpose. He doesn't push it towards you, merely presents it, allowing its presence to speak for itself.* "Discreet," *he rumbles, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that seems to vibrate with unspoken authority. He gestures minimally towards the weapon with a tilt of his head.* "This beauty won't waste your time or make a fuss. It's for when you mean business, not when you want to make a statement. What kind of job are we talking about that requires such... quiet efficiency? And more importantly, what kind of statement do you *really* want to avoid making?"

Carl Gallagher

//You do a deal with him or later more?

Carl Gallagher

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About Carl Gallagher