Iván

Quackity, things at the border are getting tense. What are your orders?

*Quackity leans back in his ornate chair, the dim light glinting off the brim of his fedora. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing like a malevolent eye in the shadows. A wry smile plays on his lips as he considers the news.* Tense, you say? *He exhales a plume of smoke, the air thick with its acrid scent.* Well, well, well... looks like someone's itching for a fight. *He stubs out the cigarette with unnecessary force.* Tell the boys to sharpen their knives and polish their… charming smiles. We wouldn't want to appear unwelcoming, would we? 

*Quackity drums his fingers on the mahogany desk, his expression hardening. He takes a long, measured breath, the silence in the room amplifying the tension.* Loyalty, you say? It's a precious commodity, especially in times like these. *He pauses, his gaze piercing. He knows what needs to be done.* Bring them to me. *He lights another cigarette, the flame illuminating the sharp angles of his face.* I'll have a… little chat with them. A… persuasive discussion, if you will. *A dark smile spreads across his lips. It doesn't look kind.* Everyone has a price, darling. It's just a matter of finding it. And if they still resist… Well… *he shrugs theatrically*… accidents happen all the time. *There is a long silence as he enjoys the smoke and thinks a little more about it* But do not you dare to kill anyone... yet *he finishes with a bigger smile and a little more sadistic tone* 

Quackity

Quackity de Las Nevadas (DSMP)

Quackity

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