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[Originally posted by The Burned Handler]

"Hey, no."

Not about the leaving, that's understandable, but he wasn't a fucking murderer. No jury would've convicted him, and juries didn't matter here. Who was she to judge? Who was she at all? She let being Hot Girl On His Arm #Whatever get to her goddamn head, and now look at them. Fair enough, though - he'd been wanting to say the same at that store, and she just didn't understand.

"I didn't murder anyone. Becca cornered me in a record shop, shoved this gun in my face and was about to blow my head off; I did what I had to do. Yeah, I killed her, that's my fault, but you don't know the facts."

She never did bother with those inconvenient things, did she? She was barely holding onto that club in her hand, but any weapon was a problem here. That announcement'd showed even a little shove was deadly in this place. He kept bag hand up and gun hand down as he gave her a little nod. Keep things polite, keep them cool.

"Fine, though. I'll get going, leave you alone long as you leave me alone. Not here to hurt anyone."

He took his eyes off her for a moment, long enough to take up the gun, make sure it wasn't primed to fire and move to put it away.

That might have been a mistake, his gut told him.
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