IC Contact

[bitcher]

You've reached the voicemail of: Tobias Beecher.

Please leave your message after the tone.

Comments

[liprings]

Uh huh. [ He shoves Beecher's face back (a little less hard than he'd shoved on his hand and chest, you're welcome), and pulls his shirt back down again, wiping blood off his hand on the fabric. ]

You stab my cock, and I rip out your goddamn throat with my teeth, how's that?

[ An empty threat — there's a hex on him stopping things like that. Not that he'll ever be saying it! ]

[bitcher]

Peachy. [he wipes at his face once, feeling the sticky smear of blood.] Sounds like a deal.

...Now remind me what the fuck you're even here for? To drag me to the Bahamas?

[liprings]

Or whatever, yeah. I told 'em to surprise me.

[ He starts out the door, but pauses to make sure he's being followed. And he'd better be, he has all sorts of more annoying tricks up his sleeve if not. ]

Maybe we'll be real lucky and get Disneyland.

[bitcher]

Screw you. I still haven't agreed to shit. [stubbornly standing his ground, the lawyer in him coming out.]

I'm going to need way more information before I even pretend to think about this.