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timetechs[ It's a good thing Dave's usual outfit includes a pair or shades, because the sun refracting off the rusted metal is already obnoxious af, and that's without the noxious heat and wind whipping sand into his face. There's one pro to hiding out as a face in the crowd, but the press of people doesn't really beat out the five billion cons, chief of which is the way he's gonna be burnt to hell and back, nothing but a walking bit of crispy fried home cooked chicken even with the 100 SPF sunscreen he put on before trekking out. That was five hours ago, and sitting in what pathetic bits of shade he can find while he moves from cafe to cafe and browses the stalls, waiting for his target to show, isn't gonna do it.
Not that the lobster tint to his skin is gonna cut it as an excuse if he fucks up and misses the target. Even the gun against the small of his back lost its cool an hour in, just one more piece of searing heat leaving him to stew in his own sweaty juices. Not that he wants to pull the thing out and use it. A gunshot in a crowded market is just gonna 'cause a mess, draw attention, keep him from getting the fuck out and back to his shitty but airconditioned hotel room. Thank god Rose sprung for that much, Dave can't even bitch at her about subpar accomodations when the fancy fuck hotel he'd usually be holing up in suffered a suspiciously timed outtage last night.
No reason for the target to stay in, which means Dave won't have to stay out in the sun another day and get a burn on top of his burn. Shit like this is how he knows she really does love him.
No reason for Dave not to bring her the stupidest souvenier he can find, either. He's deciding between a snake charming flute (guaranteed to work with no moneyback guarantee, probably 'cause the poor, stupid asshole who tries it'll end up dead before they can ask for one) and a gaudy little costume jewelry tiara Rose'll wear around for at least two weeks and Dave'll call her Your Majesty; she won't be able to help smiling. Just as he decides on the tiara, he spots the dude he's here to off.
And a red laser sight on the back of the dude's head.
Oh, hell no, he did not get turned into Kentucky Fried Dave just for someone else to steal his contract.
Dave waves away the stall owner and goes tripping over to $1.5 million dollar dude. Literally tripping; he crashes into the guy's shoulder, knocking him out of the way right as the sniper takes his shot. Of course, everyone starts screaming at the gunfire crack and the mini explosion as an innocent piece of fruit explodes thanks to the high powered round. ]
Holy shit! [ Dave says, slides the hidden blade out of his wrist sheath, and knifes the dude in the gut. ] There's a shooter!
[ He adds it for good measure, even if his tone is real damn bland. And then he joins the panicking, GTFOing crowd as the target starts listing to the side, blood spreading across his shirt.
Speaking of. He looks up and sees the sniper, rifle bag slung over his shoulder, dropping down a fire escape a level at a time. Dave pauses just long enough to make sure the douche in the pointy shades meets his eyes and lifts his middle finger in a friendly salute. Suck on it, kill-stealing dickbag. ]
Not that the lobster tint to his skin is gonna cut it as an excuse if he fucks up and misses the target. Even the gun against the small of his back lost its cool an hour in, just one more piece of searing heat leaving him to stew in his own sweaty juices. Not that he wants to pull the thing out and use it. A gunshot in a crowded market is just gonna 'cause a mess, draw attention, keep him from getting the fuck out and back to his shitty but airconditioned hotel room. Thank god Rose sprung for that much, Dave can't even bitch at her about subpar accomodations when the fancy fuck hotel he'd usually be holing up in suffered a suspiciously timed outtage last night.
No reason for the target to stay in, which means Dave won't have to stay out in the sun another day and get a burn on top of his burn. Shit like this is how he knows she really does love him.
No reason for Dave not to bring her the stupidest souvenier he can find, either. He's deciding between a snake charming flute (guaranteed to work with no moneyback guarantee, probably 'cause the poor, stupid asshole who tries it'll end up dead before they can ask for one) and a gaudy little costume jewelry tiara Rose'll wear around for at least two weeks and Dave'll call her Your Majesty; she won't be able to help smiling. Just as he decides on the tiara, he spots the dude he's here to off.
And a red laser sight on the back of the dude's head.
Oh, hell no, he did not get turned into Kentucky Fried Dave just for someone else to steal his contract.
Dave waves away the stall owner and goes tripping over to $1.5 million dollar dude. Literally tripping; he crashes into the guy's shoulder, knocking him out of the way right as the sniper takes his shot. Of course, everyone starts screaming at the gunfire crack and the mini explosion as an innocent piece of fruit explodes thanks to the high powered round. ]
Holy shit! [ Dave says, slides the hidden blade out of his wrist sheath, and knifes the dude in the gut. ] There's a shooter!
[ He adds it for good measure, even if his tone is real damn bland. And then he joins the panicking, GTFOing crowd as the target starts listing to the side, blood spreading across his shirt.
Speaking of. He looks up and sees the sniper, rifle bag slung over his shoulder, dropping down a fire escape a level at a time. Dave pauses just long enough to make sure the douche in the pointy shades meets his eyes and lifts his middle finger in a friendly salute. Suck on it, kill-stealing dickbag. ]
