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The Deck, Wednesday Morning
Wednesday, December 11th, 2013 11:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
suitably_heroicThe rest of the island might be falling all over itself dealing with the new interlopers and the stupid gun machines, but Atton didn't care. Well, okay, that was a lie - he'd cared enough to get his blasters out of the weapons locker. He hadn't used them in a while. They could probably use some upkeep.
He was now draped over a chair on the deck, his feet propped up on a table. One blaster on said table, the other in his lap - he was cleaning it. Really meticulously. There'd been dust and grime all over, and that just wouldn't do.
Especially not if this ended in somebody shooting at him. Which this kind of thing usually did.
[[ open! ]]
He was now draped over a chair on the deck, his feet propped up on a table. One blaster on said table, the other in his lap - he was cleaning it. Really meticulously. There'd been dust and grime all over, and that just wouldn't do.
Especially not if this ended in somebody shooting at him. Which this kind of thing usually did.
[[ open! ]]