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[harderdaddy]

Text | Voice | Video | Action What are yah stupid? You know what ta do. kisses~

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[harderdaddy]

[Oh wow. Angel's face lights up as though she's pulled out a kitten and not a big ass gun. There's practically hearts in his eyes, and he eagerly takes it, inspecting it with hands that are clearly not unfamiliar with holding a weapon, checking it's workings and looking puzzled over its strange build and weight. It's a moment before he finally fixes her with a suspicious glance.]

Prove it like I can borrow the thing, or prove it like shoot someone?

[primedirector]

[It looks like the bastard child of a six-shooter and a pistol, with no hammer for the obvious cylinder, blocky and dense.

And immediately Jesse feels a little bit mean about giving it to him, with the way he lights the fuck up.]

Prove to me that you can handle things without it if something comes up, and maybe we can talk about getting you your own.

[She reaches into her leather jacket and pulls out an ID card: it's obviously government, some federal-looking logo, but the picture on it is of Angel: a formal looking passport photo, with Department: The Lounge printed on it.]

I can find you with this, if you're screwing around. But if you start threatening people with it, I'm making sure your next warden knows you've lost your gun license. Fair?

[harderdaddy]

[It's nothing like his preferred Thompsons, or Val's bedazzled babies, but it's unique enough that Angel's intrigued.]

Sounds a little like you're encouraging me ta go lookin' for a fight?

[Prove he can be a good boy. Not shoot some fuck in the face. He can handle that. Probably.

He frowns at the ID card, not loving the idea of this thing tracking him, but he guesses it's not all that different from Vox's cameras keeping an eye on him to report back to Val.]

You're either real confident or real stupid to hand me this before yah know what sorta person I am. [Rather than point the real gun he points his fingers in a mock gun shape, pointed right at Jesse. Could've blown her away just for fun if he wanted to. He thinks at least.]

...Fair. But go easy on the stalking, mm? Yah might walk in on somethin' yah don' wanna see.

[primedirector]

You got that fluff in your ears too, toots? 'cos that's literally the opposite of what I said.

[Vaggie said you're not the "running around stabbing" kind of inmate. I'm holding her to that.

She shrugs, tipping her drink in acknowledgement before she takes a sip.]

Only one way to find out. I like to give people the chance to prove themselves - what you do with that is all on you.

[harderdaddy]

Prove I can handle shit without blowin' people's heads off, I got it, jeez.

[He does enjoy the occasional turf war though...

He makes a face at the overly moral view point. It's like he never left the hotel at all.]

What inspirational movie did yah steal that line from?

[primedirector]

Foster parents, actually. Granted, I didn't actually stick around to see if they'd follow through, but it's not a bad principle. People will say all sort of shit to your face and then do the opposite behind your back. I wanna see you prove you can handle it.

[harderdaddy]

[Angel shifts his weight and sets the gun on the bar top, taking a long gulp of his drink.]

I still don' see why your opinion of me s'posed to matter. I know what I can handle. And I only play good boy for people who pay. I ain't gonna change my behavior for you one way or the other.

[primedirector]

I mean, it's probably not. I'm definitely not paying. But your opinion of you matters. [She tilts his bottle at him.] And given your circumstances, I don't think it's as pretty as your outfit.

[harderdaddy]

[...well that is a hell of an accurate read, and it makes Angel stiffen, that mask not quite so sure and his eyes narrowing.]

The fuck is that supposed to mean? You don' know shit about me, bitch. I'm Angel Dust. There's not a demon in hell that don't want me. I know what I'm fuckin' worth. [He spits angrily, more mad that she's right than anything. His worth has shit all to do with his actual opinion of himself.]

[primedirector]

[She is certainly not cowed, and stares back at him with even defiance.]

I don't give a shit about your reputation. You basically just said your pimp kills people for you. That doesn't sound good - that sounds like he's making sure his investment doesn't get damaged, not that he cares about you as a person. I've heard that fucks you up pretty good.

[harderdaddy]

[Not unless they've paid for the privilege at least. But that's not exactly a comforting argument.]

I don' gotta deal with shit.

[Avoidance is much easier. He slams back what's left of his drink and pushes away from the bar.]

I'm fuckin' done.

[primedirector]

[She watches him with that deliberate impassive expression. If she gives him an inch, in letting him see her sympathise or freak out, he'll push harder and try to take the mile. She knows his type.

I'm not letting anyone push me around. Not even you, Angel. Sorry.

Instead she just takes another swig of her beer.]

Thanks for hearing me out.

[harderdaddy]

[He flips her off with of 3 of his 4 (current) hands, the 4th reaching back to claim the stupid gun from the table before he stalks off, heels clicking loudly.]