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Grim Wolf
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When the debris settled, Tyler was in a different position than before--standing by one of the booths nearby, his eyes narrowed. There was a slightly wider gap between him and Travis than there had been a second before.

He cocked his head. He was still grinning.

"Nah," he said. "Keep this up, and you're gonna die." He hopped back so that he was sitting on the counter of the stall he was near. His eyes weren't glaring, but oddly cheerful. "Ya can't play this thing half-assed," he said. "Ya want to stay low, stay low. If you want to fight, fight. Ya can't do both."

And then he gave a little gasp, slipped off the counter, and fell onto the ground within the stall.

There was a long, long moment of silence.

Then Tyler burst up, whirled, and grabbed at two things half-hidden in the shadows at the back of the stall. When he turned around, there were unbroken bottles of dusty brown glass in each of his hands.

"If you're going, leave my stuff," Tyler said, his face slightly dirty from the fall. "Otherwise, this ain't ending 'til one of us is dead."
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V6 Players

Tara Behzad: "They don't get to decide how I die."

Lizzie Luz: "I don't want to go."

Alex Tarquin: "No more masks."

V5 Players

V4 Players
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Stagecoach, and other vehicles · Central Grounds