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June 03, 2014: It's been a long time coming, but Domino's about to get one of her signature pistols back. (Language warning.)


An island being built from the wreckage of Greymalkin.



  • The Bamfs

Mood Music:

It's been about two weeks since Domino's had the infectious sentient fungus ripped out of her system. She's spent most of that time recovering, the toll of having pushed herself as much as she had for as long as she had capped off with one of the most unpleasant experiences of her life being too much to push aside.

Besides that, she's in the only place on the planet where she feels safe enough to relax her guard. All the same, two weeks is a helluva long time for her to do next to nothing but sleep. She's getting quite restless again. Exercising has taken up some of the time. Playing with the armory's taken up even more of it.

The lone albino sits on the edge of an alloy balcony overlooking the endless expanse of ocean around the island, tucked within the shade wearing a black bikini and polarized blue sunglasses. After getting all of that viscous black gunk out of her pores she felt like her skin could benefit from having a chance to breathe.

Only naturally, she's also got a bottle of alcohol cracked open on the table in front of her. And a pile of weapon-related hardware. Guns, blades, bullets, and ..spiked metal plates.


It's taken a great deal of time, searching for the elusive albino mercenary. And with five Bamfs, each with their own set and distinct personality, it's taken just that much longer. Stops along the way have included posing on Big Ben, playing on the Eiffel tower, skinny-dipping in the beaches in Monaco.. and if one were to track the different tabloids, no doubt they'd visited quite a few more places.

Here's hoping Bamf Prime doesn't find out about it. Well, most of it.

Any of it.

It must be written somewhere in Domino's life contract that nothing ever stays 'perfect', and thus, her genetic boost might have been created by a helpful angel just so she'll survive most of the vicious slings and arrows sent her way. As luck would have it, however, her natural born ability never counted on the Bamfs… all of which appear suddenly in rapid fire all around her at different levels in the air, dropping to the floor, the railing of the balcony.


One little blue-furred, be-tailed creature who lands on the balcony appears as if he's on a mission, but one look just beyond the bikini'd albino, and all is forgotten..

"Whiskey!" is announced in a high-pitched cherubic-sounding voice. All the others, now in all spots around the room (one hanging on the light off the ceiling, one clinging to a large curtain that covers the entrance to the balcony…), echo the joyous strain.



It's the first time where Domino -hasn't- jumped with a start when something suddenly teleports right into her personal space, let alone -five- somethings. Between all of the sleep, downtime, and booze, she's feeling rather mellow.

She also counted on this moment.

"Like a herd of cats to a fucking bag of catnip," she says aloud while scraping some caked on carbon out of the rails of a pistol slide. "Took you guys long enough, I'm already down two bottles."

Here she looks up and around at those furry little blue balls of fun, her eyes still hidden behind the shades. "What, no Big Brother? He's not still sore about me trying to cap him in the tail, is he?" Eh. She's hardly going to fret. That it's just the little guys sent to find her probably means that this Nightcrawler guy doesn't mean to yank her back to wherever it is he's currently hiding out at. So, why worry?

Though before any of the Bamfs can make a move on that bottle of whiskey she suddenly darts a hand forward and sets an open palm quite firmly onto the glass mouth of the bottle. "Payment when payment is due."

These annoying little guys still owe her something.


All five of the bamfs have set up; a couple on the ceiling, one on the drapes, one on the balcony, and one posing with a marble statue on the edge of the balcony, trying desperately to imitate the stance there. Glowing yellow eyes, all 10 of them, have their gazes locked upon that bottle (except, maybe the one on the statue.. he's still working it out..)

The single bamf that has made the discovery tears his attention (yes, TEARS) his attention away from the drink to narrow those glowing yellow eyes as his gaze lands upon Domino. While it's not… malice, she -is- figuratively 'standing' between him and what his heart truly desires (at this second, anyway!). Sitting back on chubby blue haunches, balancing on his tail, the bamf looks expectantly.

"Bamf? Bamf.."


Waiting. Expectantly. "What, you guys really need it spelled out?" Dom asks while staring at the spokesBamf for their entourage. "I want my goddamn gun back. Hell if I know which one of you all took it from me, you all look the same. I don't care. Gun. On the table. Right here," she demands while setting the tip of a polished black nail upon an empty space in front of herself. Almost as if it had been left open -exactly- for the wayward sidearm's return.

"You guys cost me over three grand of custom tuned German imported hardware. As can be expected, this does not make me very happy. Since you bastards are too jittery to kill, this is my deal. Gun for whiskey. I'm sure I don't need to go into any further detail."

"And I still don't have a damn clue what any of you guys are saying."


The Bamf in question crosses his arms across his chest as he sits there, looking all the world as if he's mulling the terms of the agreement. "Bamf," comes in something of a sullen response, and a couple responses come in behind him.

"Bamf.." echoes from the ceiling as one hangs from the light fixture, swinging back and forth.

The bamf on the statue's response is a somewhat distracted 'Bamf', though the pointed-toothed grin that rises as he finds -the- pose earns a happier sound, "Bamf!"

A long moment passes between the collective, and finally, that one 'spokesBamf' wiggles his three-fingered hand. The bamf that has been clinging to the curtains disappears in a cloud of magenta-hued stench, reappearing on the table, right in the middle of that empty space holding, yes… a particular pistol. Glowing yellow eyes look up towards Domino as he sets it down, pushing it a little such that it's centered with his tail. "Bamf."


There it is… Domino's been without that sidearm for -months.- How can she have a primary -pair- when there's only one of them? It just doesn't work that way! Now, seeing it on the table, still loaded, chambered, hammer cocked, and in -dire- need of a full cleaning…

"Yeah. 'Bamf,' kiddos."

One ghostly white hand lifts away from the bottle, palm turning upward in a 'have at' gesture before she reclaims the lost pistol. "Bottoms up." Reunited with a complete sense of familiarity she has the magazine set out on the table and the chambered round snapped out, catching it out of the air then setting it down as neat and tidy as could be next to the others.

Three months. -Three Months.- This is exactly the sort of situation which causes her OCD to flare. Her poor gun had been left full of carbon and grime and gods know what else for -three freaking months.- This simply Will Not Do.

Five seconds flat and it's broken down into its individual components, the albino woman setting her jaw as she gets a proper look at the 'damage.' "Hell, that's had time to take root," she mutters with a faint sigh.


'The Don' bamf watches the transaction, and rocking forward to get off his tail, he's gone in the next second, only to reappear on the bottle that Domino is just now beginning to loosen her grip on. Before it's completely left alone, however, he teleports the bottle out from under her hand… just to make a point, showing up on the opposite shoulder of the statue.

"Whiskey!" is called in a triumphant tone, and he holds up the bottle. The others, well.. it's a siren-song, and they flock to the one holding the desired alcohol. The moment that contact is made, all five of them disappear in a sulfurous cloud, a loud *bamf* sounding as air rushes in to fill the void of where the cherubic looking neyaphem had been gathered.


"Yes, I know you could have teleported it away at any point," Domino offhandedly remarks as the bottle and Bamf disappear in a cloud of ..bamf. When he reappears on the statue she nudges the sunglasses down her nose slightly, peering over the dark plastic frame to The Don. "But that would seriously stress future business interactions between us. Now, leave my shit alone and I'll stop throwing bullets at your big brother."

It's followed with a glance down to the barrel and a low sound of dismay from the back of her throat, reaching for the solvent and a wire brush. "Think something tried to nest in here…"

Looks like it'll be another few days before she's ready to leave the island, after all.

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