"Listen here, pal, I've got a couple of errands to run downtown. Tavern business. Wine shipments late. So if you need anything just ask Talon, see?" Said Damon, slipping out of his duster and into a cheap paletot, dropping his pair of snub-nosed Immerling .44s into their holsters, bluing scraped off where he had taken a file to their serial numbers earlier that day, in his boot and in the small of his back, respectively. After that, the 3 inch barreled .38 went into her holster, under Damon's arm. He wouldn't go anywhere without that thing, never failed him once, she hadn't.
Placing a hat on his head and pulling on a pair of thin deerskin gloves, Damon strode out the door, mist trailing in behind him. Smiling at the weight of the metal spike in his pocket, Damon burned steel. Blue lines pointing towards his chest sprang up all around him. He loved modern cities, so much metal. Dropping a bottlecap, Damon pushed out into the swirling mists.
@bees?