I got fuckin' hospitalised by a dodgy sausage, lads. I will not elaborate further. Anyway, new chapter here.
Just a quick thing to note here. A lot of the books I've read and the lore I've seen of 40k shows that words like 'Fuck' and 'Holy Shit' aren't used, instead being replaced by 'Frak' and 'Holy Terra'.
The reason I haven't used this replacements is because 'Holy Terra!' doesn't sound as good as HOLY SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-
Lmao.
Anyway, this chapter won't be focusing on Selena. Other forces are at play, after all. Without further ado, let's begin!
The life of a thief was dangerous. Roman knew it, Neo knew it, and every other person with an IQ above room temperature knew it. There was always the chance that you could get caught by the police, and there was always the chance of getting whacked by the mob. This line of work came with it's risks but it also came with it's rewards. Murderous cults were not one of those risks… usually.
He was in his safehouse, an apartment in the more rundown areas of the city. The place was mostly abandoned, and the only people in this place were himself, Neo and a bunch of shady tenants who he never bothered to learn the names of. The place itself was within the territory of some gang called the Lumens. He had the pleasure of working with them once, and they seemed reasonable. More reasonable than his present employers, at least.
Roman took another puff from his cigar as he looked over the map of Vale. A few dust stores were marked on the map, all targets for any future robberies he'd have to conduct. Before Cinder came, he rarely ever touched those kinds of stores. It was the same thing with pawnshops. It wasn't because robbing them would bring too much heat on his head. Hell, he robbed a museum a few months back and that got his name in the papers, but the reason he avoided dust stores was because their usual customers were huntsman. A certain red-caped girl proved that. He didn't rob pawnshops because he always needed a place to sell of his goods. Granted, he couldn't dump them off at any of the major stores, but the smaller shops were more than willing to sell of his illicit goods.
Roman wasn't that worried about getting any heat from the police because a certain string of murders was keeping the police busy. Roman walked over to the window, which overlooked the street below, and gave him a good view of the apartments located across from his. Four police cruisers were stationed outside and a bunch of officers, twelve at least, were guarding the place. A full police cordon was set up around the apartment, and Roman knew why.
He had heard the commotion some time around midnight. At first, the sight of a police cruiser outside his apartment made him anxious. Someone might of tipped off the police to his location, and things were about to get messy. When the two officers instead went towards the other apartment, he breathed a sigh of relief. In retrospect, if they wanted him captured they would of sent an army his way. This was probably nothing more than a call for a domestic disturbance.
Of course, he had to have a look and see what they were doing anyway. Neo, being the lazy asshole that she was, was fast asleep, and he learned his lesson back when he had to call for her help in escaping that kid back at the dust store. He snuck out, his cane in hand, and he went over.
Then he heard the screams. They were muffled, but he could hear them. In that moment he was, and he hated to admit this, a little afraid. Having a murderer, someone who kills police officers at that, right next to the place where you are hiding out wasn't a good omen, to say the least. Roman contemplated going inside, but to be frank Roman valued his life more than any potential information he could gain from going inside.
The screaming went on for an hour or two, and then it was all silent. Roman watched from a nearby hiding spot, as he saw a few figures, five or six of them, leave the building. After another short wait, he snuck inside. The smell of blood hit him first, and as he went upstairs, the stench grew worse as he approached. He came to a door and opened it up.
The sight inside made him puke.
He remembered standing there, throwing up his guts onto a nearby wall. To his horror, Neo had been awoken up by the sounds. She had come to investigate the mystery that lay within. Now, Neo was a bit of a psychopath. She got a kick out of toying with people, and he had no doubt in his mind that if he wasn't here to hold her back she'd go on a killing spree.
She vomited up her insides as soon as she saw the dead body. Roman had, against his better judgement, decided to phone the police. Even if his safehouse was nearby, it was a risk he was willing to take.
Now, Roman stood by the window as the cops went about their business. He knew full damn well who did it, the eight pointed star being the biggest clue, and he knew that they would do it again and again and again until whatever itch they had was satisfied. They were not mere terrorists like the White Fang, fighting for an idealistic cause and spilling blood along the way. They weren't soldiers like Atlas or, to the best of Roman's knowledge, the Damned 53rd.
They were sadists and psychopaths. Murderers hellbent on getting their next high. If this was the kind of company Cinder was willing to keep, then he wondered what her end goal truly was. If it was to spread fear throughout the city, then she would succeed.
The door to Neo's room opened up, and out came the little fiend herself. Her brown and pink hair was a mess, and her mismatched eyes turned towards Roman. They were both a little shaken from last night's events, and they knew full damn well that things were going to get far, far worse.
Roman took one final puff of his cigar, then he dropped it into a nearby ash tray. "So, how's my little devil doing?" Roman asked his partner in crime.
She yawned, and Roman saw the bags under her eyes. He had them, too. Sleeping wasn't exactly an option, especially after last night. He was going to have nightmares for weeks. Roman moved over to the cupboard, then he brought out a bowl and a box of cereal. He pored it into the bowl, then brought out some milk. As he worked his magic, Neo sat down at the kitchen table. Roman stuck a spoon into the cereal, then brought it over to her.
Neo dug in almost instantaneously, and Roman let out a chuckle. Watching the tiny girl- Sorry, woman (It was hard to forget that she was 23 when she was practically a midget) dig in to the food briefly distracted him from last night's events.
Roman pulled out a fresh cigar, lit it, then put it to his mouth. Right now, he had two objectives. The first was to get Cinder the dust she wanted, which wouldn't be that hard of a task with the police as distracted as they were. The second was to find some way to deal with those cultist bastards. Roman had a code, and even though that code wasn't written down in stone, it felt good to have. The cultists might have been a good distraction for the police, but they had to go.
The problem with that goal was Cinder. Cinder had brought the cultists for some reason. If it was to spread fear, then they were succeeding, but if it was to be extra muscle then she could of gotten the help of those soldier fellas or the White Fang. There was something bigger here, and it needed investigating.
Great, now he felt less like a master thief and more like a private detective. Granted, he'd make a badass private detective, but the thought was still a little bit odd.
The soldiers Cinder had brought along treated the cultists with absolute disdain. They were both one bad encounter away from gunning each other down in the streets. The White Fang were just as hateful of the cultists, and although the Damned 53rd were all human as far as he'd seen both groups would probably work together against the bastards. The Faunus that made up the White Fang had family and friends that lived in this city, and the thought of those cultists spilling their guts like a butchered animal was no doubt a sour one for them. It was a sour thought for him.
His scroll rang, and he instantly picked it up. Neo turned her attention to him, her bowl of cereal now finished.
Cinder wanted to speak to him in person.
Roman regretted not investing in a warm coat as he and his little companion made their way towards the warehouse. It was the middle of the night, and the cold air got to him as he walked. He had the money for a good coat, he just thought that wearing it would cramp his style.
He had an image to maintain. Sue him.
The warehouse was only a short distance away from his current abode. He still didn't want to be doing this shit, after all, because he was about 99% sure that those damned cultists were going to be there too. At least he'd have the white fang and those soldiers for protection if things went south.
Cinder was gone for quite awhile. The only thing she said was that she was gone to meet with some people, and that if he ran away in the time that she was gone then she'd get those cultists to skin him alive. The threat worked like a charm.
Roman turned a corner with Neo, and they found themselves around the back of the warehouse. A few white fang, all in casual clothing so as not to raise any alarm, were guarding the back entrance. If the police came by, they'd run in and alert everybody to leave.
Well, they'd alert him and the soldiers to leave, then they'd leave a bunch of dead cultists as a parting gift.
The White Fang guards let him and his partner inside, and Roman bid the cold night air farewell as he entered into the slightly warmer warehouse. White Fang grunts milled about the warehouse, doing random tasks here and there. There were a bunch of crates about, most of which were filled with dust from his recent endeavours, and the grunts were preparing them to be shipped to who knows where.
Cinder was nowhere to be found, of course. She was probably late on purpose, as a not so subtle way of saying 'you are practically dirt beneath my boot and I'm wasting your valuable time because I can'. At the very least, a certain group of soldiers had managed to arrive on time.
Ten soldiers, including Sgt. Jacob Moriah himself, were congregating around a pile of crates near the entrance to the warehouse. Moriah was a bald man, with a massive scar across his face. His eyes were a deep purple, and all his men shared that feature. His green armour was chipped in a few places, and his khaki fatigues looked somewhat worn. He was a veteran, no doubt about it.
His weapon, a lasgun as he called it, sat on top of a nearby crate. The soldiers around him all had their lasguns slung over their shoulders. They eyed Roman and Neo wearily as the duo walked over towards one of the crates.
Neo immediately sat on top of it, and it was clear to Roman that she was glad to sit down. Roman would of done so himself, but he needed to keep up the appearance of not being a lazy piece of shit.
There was a noise outside, faint at first but growing closer. It was the sound of a vehicle- No, multiple vehicles approaching. Almost immediately, Moriah got up off of his crate, and he picked up his gun. The man looked ready to kill. Considering who was coming to their little meet up, Roman couldn't blame the soldiers for being on edge. Those cultists were trying real hard to blow their cover.
The garage door opened up, and Roman watched as a black cargo truck pulled in. Behind it, another truck, a white one this time, came into the warehouse. Another vehicle, this time an inconspicuous red car, pulled in along with it. He didn't need to guess who was in there.
Cinder Fall stepped out of the car, and soon she was followed by Mercury Black and Emerald Sustrai. As she came out of the car, the doors on the cargo containers of the two trucks opened up, and out came the cultists that Roman so despised. They were heavily scarred, their bodies marked with modifications and occultic symbols, the eight pointed star being the most common. They had a ramshackle assortment of weapons. Some of them were armed with swords, others with scrap knifes, and most of them had a pistol by their side.
Moriah's men and the White Fang grunts visibly tensed as another figure stepped out of the black truck. The first thing Roman saw was the strange red robes that covered the man's body. The second thing he saw was the strange looking staff that he wielded with his metal hands. It was a garish mishmash of different components, topped off with an eight pointed star at the top.
When he turned around, Roman recoiled. The thing's face, and Roman believed that the creature of steel that came out of that truck deserved to be called nothing more than a thing, was comprised of a strange, metallic breathing apparatus connected to something under his robes, and two red, glowing eyes.
The White Fang and the soldiers gripped their weapons tight as Cinder and the machine approached. Cinder's amber eyes glanced over towards Moriah and his men, before she turned her attention back to Roman. "I see everyone is here. Good."
Moriah instantly raised his lasgun, and all his men responded in kind. The cultists reached for the weapons, and the White Fang raised their own in support of their unlikely comrades in the Damned 53rd. Cinder, being the bitch that she was, smiled callously. "Now, now. Is that any way to treat your friends?"
"Quiet, witch! You consort with monsters, heretics and criminals! You are no friend of ours!" Moriah shouted towards the woman, the disdain clear in his voice.
"Funny that. Your the ones that came to us for an alliance." Roman made sure to note that bit of information.
"An alliance of convenience! Those savage cultists that you call allies have committed atrocity after atrocity! Even worse, they threaten our cover!"
"Yeah, that they have." Roman butted in. The man was right, the cultists were practically begging to be found.
"That is for me to worry about… and you to tolerate."
Moriah kept his lasgun steady. "My tolerance only goes so far, witch."
"Well… I guess we'll just have to wipe you out, then. I'm sure we can feed your dear Castellan a sob story about how you bravely fought and died."
"To die fighting the enemies of the Emperor is an honour!" Moriah and his men looked ready to throw down, and to Romans shock, the White Fang looked ready to go down with them. He was about 99% sure he heard those soldiers calling the faunus 'dirty abhumans' a while back, so it was pretty strange, to be honest.
Roman, deciding that now was the time for diplomacy, not bloodshed, butted in once more. "Now, now, gentlemen. We do not have to come to blo-"
"Silence, coward!" Moriah barked.
"The thief is correct. Bloodshed would be unadvised." The mechanical monstrosity finally decided to speak.
"You have shed the blood of hundreds of innocents! If blood is to be drawn this day, let it be in a fight against you and your wicked gods!"
"My internal calculations indicate that that, too, is unnecessary. The cultists under my command act under the misguided belief that their rituals will bring forth daemons from the warp. It will not." Daemons? The Warp? Roman was storing that little nugget of information for later.
"But my lord, Khorne demands-" A cultist spoke. He was quickly silenced by a plasma round to the head. Silence reigned as the smoke dissipated from the end of the mechanical monstrosity's plasma pistol.
"For the sake of our agreement, further civilian casualties are unadvised." The machine spoke to his followers.
Roman had no clue what the fuck was going on, and to be quite frank he really didn't want to at this point.
Cinder smirked. "...Good. Very good. Now then…" Cinder turned towards Moriah, his men and the White Fang. "If you know what's best for you, you will stand down and listen to what I have to say."
Moriah slowly lowered his weapon, and soon everyone else followed. The tension dissipated a little, but it was still there. "...Fine, witch. We will listen to your accursed words."
"Thank you." Cinder sat down on the hood of the car. Emerald and Mercury stood on either side of her, and the mechanical creature stood nearby. She turned towards the cultists. "...bring out the crates." The cultists complied, and they all brought out four large, long crates. "A good associate of mine assisted in bringing these to help in our… plans. Open them up."
The cultists opened up the crates, and everyone gathered around. Moriah's eyes instantly lit up at the sight, and Roman almost dropped his cigar. Neo came to see what all the fuss was about, and her eyes went wide when she saw the contents.
Missile launchers, heavy machines guns, mortars, the god damned works. Cinder had just brought a bunch of crates full of high grade military hardware into their warehouse. The weapons were coloured white, and the logo of Atlas was clearly embedded upon them.
Moriah looked to Cinder. "…How did they get their hands on Imperial hardware?" Imperial hardware… now that was something to keep in the back of his mind. Roman had a lot of information to gather, and the fact that Moriah referred to the equipment as 'Imperial' suggested that they were, in fact, not mercenaries, but instead soldiers of some empire.
"Rumour has it that a certain ship crashed into Sanus about two years ago. The Atlesian scientists have been picking apart it's contents like vultures ever since."
"...Fuck." Moriah pinched the bridge of his nose. "There a better be a damn good reason for you bringing this shit here."
"There is… and you will find out in due time. I do not need you to use these just yet, but I should inform you that more equipment is coming."
"Cinder, please, for the love of all that is holy, don't tell me that your planning on starting a war in my city." Roman spoke up.
"I will do as a please, Torchwick. You would do well to remember that."
Roman sighed, before taking yet another hit of his cigar.
"Now, where was I? Oh, yes." Cinder continued. "I believe that in a few nights a large shipment of dust will be arriving at the docks. I want you to grab It for me. I hope you lot can work together for this. Otherwise, well… I can always replace you."
"...Fine." Moriah responded, for both his men and the White Fang.
"Good. Very good." Cinder walked over to the door of her car. "I bid you goodnight." She stepped inside. The mechanical monstrosity returned to the black truck, along with his men. The cultists from the white truck stayed behind as Cinder and her associates left.
Roman wasn't exactly a betting man, but he bet his trusty cane that things were only going to heat up from here. It was coin toss as to whether or not he'd be able to escape it.
Bit of a shorter chapter, but then again there isn't much more to add to this chapter. Anyway, I thought I'd do a little omake just to make things worth it. I'll probably do one for each chapter.
A couple of things to note. The idea of the Imperial Guardsman and the White Fang sticking together against the cultists may sound a bit odd (The Imperial Creed says mutants are a big no-no, after all), but do remember that the cultists are quite literally evil incarnate. The two groups stick by each other because the cultists are so much worse.
Anyway, let's begin with the omake.
Omake 1: Warehouse Showdown
Roman was known as a man of many talents. He was a master thief, capable of stealing almost anything he put his mind too. He was a lady magnet, successfully attracting many adoring fans. Even Lisa Lavender, the enigmatic newscaster, was taken in by his charms. He was even a kick ass chef, or so he thought. Neo disagreed, but she just wanted to be a contrarian.
Roman, sadly, was not a great diplomat. Sure, he might be able to took down a madman with a gun, or perhaps even convince the people of the underworld to aide him in his endeavours. He couldn't stop the showdown happening in the warehouse, though.
Moriah's men stood their ground, the lasguns in their hands steady. The men looked ready to kill, and Roman had no doubt in his mind that those soldiers would take as many cultists to hell with them as they could.
The White Fang grunts stood by their side, their motley assortment of assault rifles and pistols ready to fire. It was an odd sight, since Roman was about 99% sure that those soldiers were more racist than Jacques Schnee himself, but common enemies made strange bedfellows.
The cultists snarled as their held their weapons up, ready for the coming clash. Pistols, shotguns, rifles and assault clubs were the weapons of choice for the bastards. Their mechanical monstrosity of a leader held his plasma pistol in his hand as he searched for any weaknesses in the enemy ranks.
Cinder's smirked. "Now, gentlemen… is that any way to treat-"
"DIE, WITCH! FOR THE EMPEROR!" Moriah shouted at full volume.
Then the bullets and lasbolts started flying.
A lasbolt nearly caught Roman's head as he ducked behind one of the crates for cover. Bullet holes riddled the crate as missed rounds flew around the place, hitting god knows what else. Screams and shouts filled the room as soldier and cultist alike fell to the chaos of battle. Neo immediately jumped from her spot, and ended up landing right into him. She was small, though, so it didn't do much except annoy Roman.
Roman peeked behind his cover, then ducked behind it again as a plasma round flew past. He tried again, this time to see the carnage. Dead bodies littered the place, many of them filled with far more bullet holes than necessary. The cultists and White Fang grunts were going down fast, but the soldiers held their own.
The cultist leader fired off round after round as he retreated towards his truck. A lasbolt round caught him in the arm, and he stumbled back. Another round made it's mark into his chest, followed by a flurry of bullets hitting him all over the place. He raised his plasma pistol, and fired off a shot.
A shot which made contact with Moriah's head. The poor bastards head exploded as his body crumpled to the floor. His men responded to the death of their comrade by unleashing their anger onto the cyborg.
The mechanical monstrosity took hit after hit, finally succumbing to his wounds and crumbling to the floor. Some of the cultists decided to enter the cargo trucks, possibly for cover or to retreat. Throughout this whole mess, Cinder Fall was standing behind one of the cars. Seeing an opportunity to finish the fight, she charged out with Emerald Sustrai behind her. Cinder's eyes glowed with an amber hue, as she summoned two swords out of thin air.
The soldiers and White Fang grunts turned their fire towards the woman as she charged in. Behind her, Emerald Sustrai leaped into action, firing off round after round into the group of soldiers. Two of their number fell instantly, and Roman could see the men reaching for their grenades. Emerald was too busy focusing on a white fang grunt that shot at her to see a loose grenade fall right at her feet.
She quickly paid for her mistake. The grenade exploded, and she was sent flying off into a bunch of crates, her aura failing her as she hit her head, gaining a pretty painful concussion in the process. Cinder snarled, then quickly turned her attention towards the remaining enemies.
Lasbolts and bullets were caught by her aura as she cut two of the soldiers down, leaving two others left. She turned towards the men, and they responded by splitting off and focusing their fire on her. The last of the cultists were being mopped up by the white fang grunts, although that group of two or three cultists that went into the truck still hadn't come out yet.
Cinder cut down the first soldier, then turned her attention to the final man. Behind her, the white fang grunts ran out of ammo, and they reached for their swords. They charged at her while she was distracted by the soldier, who shot round after round into her chest. She sliced his arm off with her sword, before beheading the guy. She turned her attention towards the grunts.
"FOR CHAOS!" Roman failed to notice that the three cultists that had entered the truck had came out with a rocket launcher while he wasn't looking. They aimed towards the white fang grunts (And, by extension, Cinder).
"NO YOU IDIOTS, DON'T-" Cinder shouted at the top of her lungs, but it was too late. The cultists fired off their rocket launcher.
And then it made contact and exploded. It was massive, sending crates, shrapnel and body parts flying as the explosion enveloped Cinder and the remaining grunts. Roman took cover behind the crate, and so did Neo.
Then, Cinder's charred head landed right on his lap. He squealed as he picked it up and chucked it away.
"HAHAHAHAHA. CHAOS IS STRONG!" One of the cultists shouted as the remaining members watched the fireworks.
Roman, taking his chance, leapt out from behind cover. Neo disappeared with the help of her semblance, to help attack the remaining men from behind. Roman aimed his cane gun, and fired. The round landed right into the chest of one of the cultists, killing the man instantly. The last two cultists turned towards the thief, only for one of them to find a sword through the heart, and the other finding their throat slit open as they turned to face their dying comrade.
Roman and Neo both caught their breathe as they surveyed the remains. Everyone was dead, with the exception of the duo. And perhaps Mercury aswell, Roman was pretty sure he saw the guy run off half way through the fight. Smart kid.
Oh, and their was also their observer, as well.
"...What the fuck." Qrow Branwen blurted out as he looked over the ruined battlefield.
Roman stood still for a second, before turning to face the huntsman. "...You saw nothing."
"Like fuck I did. Holy shit…"
Well, shit. Roman had to admit, if things were hairy already, having Qrow fucking Branwen see the whole damn thing was only going to make things worse.
Roman gulped as Qrow looked over the scene, before the man sighed and took a swig from his canteen.
"For your brave actions against those that would seek to do harm to the people of Vale, and by the power vested in me, I hear by pardon you of all crimes committed against the citizenry of Vale and against the state. Congratulations, Torchwick, your a true model hero!" Mayor Copperspoon congratulated the master thief as the man of the hour stood in complete silence.
Roman expected a lot of different things to happen after the events in the warehouse. He thought he'd been thrown in prison, or killed by any cultist stragglers.
He didn't expect the city to throw a fucking celebration for him in front of the Vale Council building. News reporters and crowds of eager fans watched as he shook hands with the mayor of the city.
"It was, uh, no problem. I'm just, uh… glad to be a model citizen of Vale. Yes. Definitely that. Ahah" Roman laughed nervously in response. The crowd just took that as him being a little bit humble.
"For your service to the kingdom, I present to you an honorary gold coin, minted in your honour!" Copperspoon handed him the coin.
"Ah, you shouldn't have. No, really, you should not have."
"There is no need to be humble, Mr. Torchwick. Why, for a second there, I thought this chaos would force us to close down the Vytal Festival. You have done the economy a service, as well."
"Yes… sure. I should really be going now."
"Nonsense! You've got a lot of adoring fans, you know."
"Oh, goodie…" Roman was going to kill Neo for leaving him here to deal with this shit. He turned towards the crowd. "Ahem. Thank you, citizens of Vale. Now, I would love to stay for the celebrations, but… you know, duty calls and all that stuff."
"Can I get your autograph?" Someone in the crowd shouted.
"Ahah, I'm afraid that-"
"Are you single?" Another person shouted out.
"What? Well, yes, but-"
"HAVE MY BABIES, HERETIC SLAYER!" Some lunatic with white hair, purple eyes and white armour shouted out.
"TORCHWICK! TORCHWICK! TORCHWICK!" The crowd shouted in unison.
Roman sighed as he looked at the crowd. If there was a god out there, they were fucking with him.
"MAGNUS, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS. THIS HAS GOT TO BE THE MOST ANTICLIMACTIC ENDING I'VE EVER READ IN MY LIFE." The God Emperor of mankind said, his text-to-speech device booming as he spoke his mind.
"I agree, father. I do not understand why the story needs to end on such a poor note." Rogal Dorn said.
Magnus the Red groaned. "Come on, it's a perfect ending!"
"NO IT'S FUCKING NOT. ABOUT HALF THE FUCKING VILLAINS DIE FIVE CHAPTERS IN. EVER SINCE WE FOUND OUT ABOUT THAT WHOLE ALTERNATE UNIVERSES THING, YOU'VE BEEN MAKING THESE FUCKING CROSSOVERS. HOW ABOUT YOU GIVE THEM A PROPERLY WRITTEN ENDING YOU DISAPPOINTMENT"
"...Fine, I'll rewrite the damned ending. Happy?"
"VERY. NOW THEN, I'M GOING TO HAVE MY WELL EARNED BEAUTY NAP. GO WRITE A FANFIC ABOUT GUILLIMAN AND THAT KNIFE EARED HARLOT HAVING SEGGS, OR WHATEVER IT IS YOU DEGENERATES DO."
"First, I don't need to write a fanfic about that. It's canon and you can't say it's not."
"Guilliman did ask me to reinforce his bed frame. I believe it was because of the hard se-" Rogal Dorn butted in.
"Okay, Rogal, we really don't need to hear that. Anyway, I'm deeply opposed to you considering my works as 'degenerate'"
"YOU WRITE FUCKING FANFICS, WHEN YOU COULD BE WRITING AN ORIGINAL STORY INSTEAD. WHY DO YOU CONSTANTLY WASTE YOUR TIME. IS THIS WHY THE WEBWAY PROJECT HASN'T BEEN COMPLETED YET?"
"...Noooo."
"YES IT FUCKING IS. EITHER STOP WRITING TRASH OR START WORKING ON THE FUCKING PROJECT."
"Look, I won't put any smut into the fanfic, okay?"
"...GOOD ENOUGH. NOW FUCK OFF. PAPA NEEDS HIS BEAUTY SLEEP."
The end. Thought I'd bring in a little TTS at the end for the laughs.
And if I don't write again, then good afternoon, good evening and goodnight!