[color=696969][center][url=https://fontmeme.com/fonts/punk-typewriter-font/][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/240122/96b51cbc48bd377db299e57ead156677.png[/img][/url][/center][b][color=634533]Time:[/color][/b] A.M.
[b][color=634533]Location:[/color][/b] River Port Forest
[b][color=634533]Interactions/Mentions:[/color][/b] [@Conscripts] [@mole]
[b][color=634533]Equipment: [/color][/b] Knife, drugs, and wallet looted from dope peddler
[center][h3][color=634533]✠✠✠✠✠[/color][/h3][/center]

Whatever secrets that lizardman was fixing to spill to Aurora died in his throat when Vasco spoke first. [color=C2B4A7]“You know what I been thinking? I ain’t never owned a proper pair of lizard skin shoes.”[/color] He swirled the beer in his glass, foam clinging to the sides, before taking a sip. [color=C2B4A7]“Hear they last forever if you take care of them right. Waterproof too. Imagine that.”[/color]

The glass hit the counter hard enough to make the bartender jump and retreat to the far end of the bar. In a few strides, Vasco reached the wooden pillar where the knife still jutted from their earlier disagreement and wrapped his fingers around the handle. He yanked it free with a single tug on his way to Zarnak. 

His eyes measured the lizardman from snout to tail. [color=C2B4A7]“Figure with a specimen like you, I could get a three-piece suit, couple pairs of wingtips, maybe even one of them fancy valises the fellas from New York carry.”[/color]

The lizardman's throat worked up and down. [color=a187be]“Y-you wouldn’t f-fucking dare,”[/color] he hissed, but the stutter gave him away. Amazing what an ice water bath does to a tough guy’s constitution.

Vasco laughed. [color=C2B4A7]“Pal, I absolutely would.”[/color] He flipped the knife between his fingers. [color=C2B4A7]“You think the green man’s bad? See, between the two of us, I’m the real hoodlum. I used to break and put fellas in the ground for a living and for fun.”[/color]

He jerked his chin toward Aurora, who stood watching with that particular blend of horror and resignation Vasco had seen before—on judges, on priests, on good women who found themselves in bad company. [color=C2B4A7]“And sweetheart ain’t gonna lift a finger to stop me. Cause you see, for all her high-minded talk, when chips are down, your scaly hide ain’t worth squat next to her brother’s. She don’t wanna get those pretty hands dirty, so she’ll just turn away and pray for our damned souls.”[/color]

Vasco circled Zarnak slowly, appraising him like merchandise as he considered where best to start skinning from.

[color=a187be]“Kill me, you’ll n-never find out where the p-pretty boy elf is,”[/color] Zarnak managed, desperation seeping through like sweat.

Vasco shrugged, loose and easy. [color=C2B4A7]“Too bad for them, then.”[/color] He settled on the thug’s left arm, where muscle bunched beneath scales that caught the light like oiled metal. [color=C2B4A7]“Maybe a nice belt and a wallet might ease their grief some.”[/color]

The lizard’s jaws parted, but Vasco pressed the knife tip against a scale where arm met shoulder, silencing him. [color=C2B4A7]“Save your breath, buddy. I want those shoes more than the elf.”[/color]

The blade slipped under with surprising ease. Vasco worked it flat against the connective tissue, separating the tough outer layer of scales from the flesh beneath.

He was no backwoodsman—he’d grown up where streetlamps outnumbered trees and concrete covered the earth. But he’d stood behind enough butchers in enough basements, watching as the Family’s problems disappeared one cut at a time. Some things you learn without meaning to.

Being a thug, Zarnak had probably survived worse—most muscles do—but Vasco understood the difference between pain and suffering. When you’re trading punches in an alley, the blood pumping and fists flying, your body gives you something for the pain—a rush that makes you crave it. But strapped to a chair? That slow, methodical suffering with nothing to do but feel every second of it? That's when even the toughest wiseguys start singing.

He’d separated about six inches of scale when Zanark’s curses turned into something useful.

[color=a187be]“S-storehouse! STOREHOUSE!”[/color] The word tore from his throat.

Vasco paused, cupping his bad ear and leaned closer. [color=C2B4A7]“What’s that? Gonna need you to enunciate, pal. Can’t hear so good.”[/color]

[color=a187be]“There’s a storehouse! Near the graveyards! Behind the large abandoned warehouse! That’s where they took him!”[/color][/color]