RP prompt to Veritas: 'Where did you get
Karen and Murphy had become very close friends, and through him, she also met his twin brother, Connor. Both of them were likable guys... loved their friends, each other, their families. Both men were super smart, but also precocious troublemakers. It was what drew Karen to them both. They lived their life, and like Frank Castle, they took justice into their own hands. They went after the evil of men and did not go after women or children. They had a code, and through that code and their religious upbringing, they became vigilante heroes in their Bostonian home and later all over the country.
Karen had met them once they had traveled back from Ireland with their father to Boston to finish their vengeance that took down their father and their officer friend. Karen couldn’t believe the damage they suffered or how they even got out of prison.
Yet, they did, and that is when she met them. They remained undercover in plain sight. However, they still saw their friend Doc at his bar every evening and were never given up to the law. Doc’s was a vivacious place that was so amazing just because of the group of loyal and funny men that attended there.
Karen had walked in that evening tired and with a need for relaxation. She was in the area on a case about a missing father who went out on his family and stopped paying child support. It was a run-of-the-mill case, but Karen was glad it brought her to the bar so she could get to see if the guys were there.
When she walked in, tired from her lengthy drive and in need of a drink, she walked into one of the rowdiest of scenes that she ever thought she’d see.
In the middle of it was Connor, talking in his Irish Brogue at the top of his lungs, cursing, smoking, drinking lots of beer. The thing was that he was way more animated than usual. Karen got closer and tapped him on the shoulder a moment to get his attention. “The f*** you are going on about, Connor,” she said in a teasing tone as she was then swept up in an almost bear hug by the man. He smelled of lots of beer, shots, and cigarette smoke; it was a comforting smell if she had to say so herself.
“What the hell are you going on about?” She asked as she peeled off her light jacket to show herself in a tank top and a pair of shorts. She had coiled her red hair into a bun at the back of her head to keep her cooled off from the unbearable heat. That’s when she saw it.
This gun was beautiful:. It was an all-steel Deviant Ultralight with an integral scope base and recoil lug to allow top loading of BDL-style magazines and remove maximum weight while offering one slot on the rear bridge in the front.
It had a modified bolt handle, extra deep bolt fluting, tear drop knob, side bolt release. Remington Magwell with the feed lips for hinged floor plates, Remington style, rears tang. It was a light gun for its style and was made of the shiny silver that she ever did see.
Then there was the other gun. This beauty was a gun-metal gray, and it had beautiful designs all over it. It was undoubtedly a designer gun that the person would want back if they used it during a crime since it was so distinctive. Karen had to take a picture and look it up online to find out what it was? The piece was called: The MOLON LABE, which means “COME AND TAKE” (from me) was a phrase said by Leonidas I in response to the demand of the army of the Achaemenid Empire for the Spartans to surrender their weapons at the Battle of Thermopylae. So said the twitter post where she had gotten the information.
Whoever owned these two pieces would certainly be coming back to look for them.
“Connor, where the f*** did you find these guns? You do know that whoever owned these guns will be coming back to find them,” she whispered to the rowdy Irishman as she spoke.
That’s when she looked over her shoulder, and a group of darker skin men came walking into the bar, talking to people and asking them about who was the person who was showing off some gun pieces and where the hell he was located? None of the people wanted to point Connor out, because that was how loyal they were to the man.
One of the Spanish men came over to her then, trying to chat her up, putting his hand on her thigh and her shoulder and talking about how they should go somewhere private to ‘talk’. Karen pushed his hands away and told him to f*** off and leave her alone, but the man wouldn’t stop. That’s when the rest of his friends joined him.
They were big, burly men with all over tattoos, some on their faces and necks. It was apparent that they were in a gang or an organization, and now they had surrounded the pair as they sat there drinking their Guinness and shots of Jameson.
“Um...Connor,” she slammed the back of her hand against his upper arm to get his attention. Yet, he wouldn’t turn around at that moment. He was still smoking his cigarette and drinking his beer while acting like they weren’t there. Though, he did grab Karen by her forearm and pulled her around to his other side so that now his body was in the way of the man who had pawed at her.
When he finally spoke, his voice seemed calm with a hint of humor in it. “F*** off; I didn’t order any Mexican food...go back to makin’ your taco’s an’ chimichangas... Unless you brought enough with you to share with the masses here,” he huffed and pulled Karen a bit closer to him. She had her Llama III-A in her purse, which was leaning on the floor of the bar next to her barstool, and he had both weapons lying in front of him on the bar. Both were loaded, and Connor slowly removed the safety off the custom Glock and held it in his hand, which he brought close to his chest.
That’s when the rest of the people in the bar began to surround the men from behind. Karen knew that there was no way that this wasn’t going to become a bar fight with casualties and that she was going to have to fight her way out of this along with everyone else.
“The f***, Connor?” She stated the words in a soft but exasperated tone.