What more could there be to life than lounging about the working district? A question often brought to Johnny's own mind. There was nothing better than being a nuisance to those around you while waiting for some dirty work to come your way. But it seems the dirty work around these parts only got so... dirty. His last three jobs had been collecting debts and he had even sunk so low as to assist a man unloading some wares for a pretty penny.

The night had cloaked him fairly well considering his worn attire was comprised of hardened dark leather. A crimson bandanna adorned his forehead, half shaded by his dark hair. He was nako, feline. Two ears were usually pinned back, bushy black tail swishing contently back and forth. But other than those two characteristics and pronounced canines, the rest of him resembled huma. His weapon of choice were two short swords that he often rubbed down with a mild poison. Nothing fatal, just a dab of ointment that would cause a bit of an intolerable and excruciatingly painful burning sensation to the flesh around the wound from the said swords. Without dirty deeds to be had or a winning side to pick, he spent his days wandering about, occasionally picking fights that obviously put him in the advantage, or trying to find a way to further his own advantages.

After a while, however, lounging got terribly boring... You could only offer your services so many times before it made you look desperate. Not that he was hurting for coin... He was just a greedy bastard and wanted more. A drink was in order, and so he set off for the Iron Drake.

The slums smelled as they always did, like filth, to his enhanced smell anyway. Wrinkling up his nose in disgust, he meandered off towards the tavern, offering a grimace at the huma and his rather... massive companion as the exited, waiting for the ability to slip past them through the door. The tavern's air was welcomed. The thick, smoky atmosphere was like a home away from home... Sorta. He chose a seat in the back of the tavern, raising his fingers for a drink, fuzzy black ears pinned back against his head. He had been in the market for business, seeking new poisons so he could up his ranks in the mercenary guild...

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Every second the clock ticked madness into the silence of the slums and on a tired mind every tick induced even more exhaustion. He was on his last repair, tired eyes slipping closed only to pop back open with the sudden fall of his head. The sudden interruption of that weightless feeling that brought about the harsh realization that there was still work to do. Picking up an soldering tool, he set to work finishing the job on something small, something simple. A wrist watch whose owner wished to have modifications made.

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New Orleans Will Rise Again!