like you're satin in a coffin | travis+wade

[crownless]

[All in all, Travis Touchdown wasn't the sort for gainful 9-to-5 employment. There were only so many respectable gigs to be had in Santa Destroy--less so, with the city's economy in shambles post-UAA--and even those weren't paying half what they had compared to, say, two-three years ago? As reluctant as he was to admit it, there was only so long he'd be able to last on the leftovers of his old UAA days. Picking the old beam katana back up was going to happen sooner or later.

So why not sooner? And why not take out somebody big while he was at it, too?

One thing led to another and after way too goddamn long he got a hit. Some mob thing or whatever; like he could really afford to question it, especially not now that he'd jumped on board for sure. And lo and behold, here he is: still wearing the same old dorky t-shirt/jacket/jeans combo, still brandishing a light-up sword like an idiot and whacking a bunch of slower idiots with it. Straight up for cash now, though. Something about it doesn't sit right with him, and then he remembers:

It's just a job. The daily grind.

Travis grits his teeth, extricating his sword from some unfortunate sucker's skull.]

'Least I fought you head on. And didn't beat you to death with a baseball bat. [He chuckles, humorless, and moves down the hall in search of the real target.

He hates having to go back to this. But he's not good at much else nowadays.]

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[crownless]

[And it's all too easy, all too mechanical and methodic as he steadily carves his way through the hotel. There's no shortage of manpower to stand up against him--but they go down like so many flies. The men charge at him one after the other, too clumsy with their guns, fumbling knives, sloppy with their beam katanas.

Goddamn amateurs.

Regardless, his sword rips through flesh again and again, and the wallpaper drips red soon enough. His muscle memory's pretty damn good, when it comes to killing, and poor matchups or not, he can feel the pressure building. He even forgets for a moment or two that he's doing this because he's just that flat broke: maybe there's a rankings fight at the end of this door, even, and Sylvia's standing a safe distance away in heels and a tiny skirt...

Travis snaps abruptly back to reality. He can't afford to get too excited here or he'll lose focus and become one more faceless corpse in the pile of bodies trailing behind him. The target's a floor up and waiting, but there's voices coming from a nearby set of double doors. He can't risk getting shot in the back as soon as he turns around, so...

Better say hello to whoever's hanging out here, eh?

Travis tightens his grip on his beam katana and slams his foot against the room's doors. Always one for making an entrance.]