Information

Rumrunner
Legacy Name: Rumrunner

The

Bloodred Kumos
Owner:

Clopin

Age: 12 years, 1 month, 3 weeks

Born: March 9th, 2012

Adopted: 12 years, 1 month, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: March 9th, 2012

Statistics

Level: 40
Strength: 115
Defense: 94
Speed: 101
Health: 93
HP: 93/93
Intelligence: 183
Books Read: 173
Food Eaten: 5
Job: Gear Polisher

"I promise, you won't feel a thing."

To be honest, this wasn’t the first time he’d been tied up and left hanging upside down from a rafter. It had happened at least once before. But it didn’t make the rush of blood to his head any less dizzying, and the numbness in his arms and ankles any less annoying.

“I don’t think that’s true.” He craned his head, trying to catch sight of his little brother. He wasn’t even sure he was here. They’d split up shortly before he’d gotten caught. “I’ve never met a man who was nice to a rum thief.” He couldn’t see him, and the Golden Apple employee took the opportunity to poke him with the butt of his rifle, making him revolve slowly and sickeningly, like an ornament on a Christmas tree. Nerves were welling up inside of him– oh god, they might’ve killed Penny. In these kinds of situations, he regretted ever getting tangled up in this business.

“Yeah yer right. Boss’ll probably let us unload buckshot into you till you bleed out.” The man leaned on his rifle, in no hurry to do anything about the intruder he had trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. “You come here with anyone? This isn’t a one pony rodeo by any means. So where’s your lackey?”

It was a bit of a struggle to keep his eyes from lighting up with relief as his broad-shouldered brother slunk from the shadows, a hay sickle in his hand. Trigger wasn’t really sure what he’d done with his gun, but he knew that if his brother had an opportunity to fight with something that produced a lot more viscera, he’d usually take it.

“Around,” he replied vaguely, fixing his eyes on the man before he could notice that his gaze had been over his shoulder.

He closed his eyes before the man got a chance to reply, seeing as Penny had come up behind him and pulled the sickle straight into his belly, pressing a hand over the man’s mouth to muffle any sounds of pain. “I resent being called a lackey,” he hissed, sharp grin on his lips as he withdrew the stained sickle, letting the man go and shoving him down.

“Can you maybe not be so bloody?” Trigger mumbled through pursed lips, eyes still pressed shut.

Penny let out a laugh, stepping over the man. “You’re in the wrong business, y’ sap.”

“We can’t all be as hardboiled as you. Now cut me down.”

photo credit:Millhills via photopin (license)