Mickey Milkovich (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
likewhatilike) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-06-09 09:06 pm
likewhatilike) wrote in thecapitol2013-06-09 09:06 pm
Entry tags:
OPEN
Who| Mickey Milkovich, OPEN
What| Oh god is someone not happy about being here
Where| Lounge, Training Center
When| Sunday evening
Warnings/Notes| swearing and anger issues
Lounge
Mickey is cleaner now than he probably has been in months. The anger from being grabbed and scrubbed clean still hasn't abated and, really, he's driving himself crazy. This all seems way too complicated to be something his father cooked up for punishment and Mickey thinks he's been punished enough but who knows when Terry will leave him be, if ever. But this place is driving him mad, everything is too shiny and new and clean. He doesn't need to look out the window to figure out that he's not in Chicago anymore, not even Northside, this is some place much nicer. He hates it.
He automatically cases the place, locating doors and windows, figuring out exit strategies or what piece of furniture would be best to duck behind if a gun fight broke out. And damn does he feel naked without a gun and knife somewhere on his person. He's not defenseless, god no, he fight just as well with his hands but it's nothing like the security of a gun.
The best he can do is find something heavy to hold on to, blunt force trauma would work just as well as a gunshot when everything was said and done. He doesn't know what it is he picked up, some stone thing probably worth more than his life, but it'll do.
He makes his way out of the room slowly and finds himself in some sort of lounge. There are other people mulling around and instead of jumping in and causing a scene like he would usually do he decides to side step in, lean against the wall, and watch.
He wipes his thumb against his bottom lip, a cigarette would be great right about now.
Training Center
Eventually he makes his way to the training center. After a quick look around where he realizes there are no guns around for him to nick he heads towards the knives. He picks one up and feels its weight in his hand, it's not the type of knife he usually keeps on him but it'll do just fine. As a test he throws the knife at one of the set targets, it doesn't hit where he wants it to. With that placement it would slow down and enemy but not kill, the target wasn't even fucking moving. That wouldn't do.
He picks up another knife and tries again.
What| Oh god is someone not happy about being here
Where| Lounge, Training Center
When| Sunday evening
Warnings/Notes| swearing and anger issues
Lounge
Mickey is cleaner now than he probably has been in months. The anger from being grabbed and scrubbed clean still hasn't abated and, really, he's driving himself crazy. This all seems way too complicated to be something his father cooked up for punishment and Mickey thinks he's been punished enough but who knows when Terry will leave him be, if ever. But this place is driving him mad, everything is too shiny and new and clean. He doesn't need to look out the window to figure out that he's not in Chicago anymore, not even Northside, this is some place much nicer. He hates it.
He automatically cases the place, locating doors and windows, figuring out exit strategies or what piece of furniture would be best to duck behind if a gun fight broke out. And damn does he feel naked without a gun and knife somewhere on his person. He's not defenseless, god no, he fight just as well with his hands but it's nothing like the security of a gun.
The best he can do is find something heavy to hold on to, blunt force trauma would work just as well as a gunshot when everything was said and done. He doesn't know what it is he picked up, some stone thing probably worth more than his life, but it'll do.
He makes his way out of the room slowly and finds himself in some sort of lounge. There are other people mulling around and instead of jumping in and causing a scene like he would usually do he decides to side step in, lean against the wall, and watch.
He wipes his thumb against his bottom lip, a cigarette would be great right about now.
Training Center
Eventually he makes his way to the training center. After a quick look around where he realizes there are no guns around for him to nick he heads towards the knives. He picks one up and feels its weight in his hand, it's not the type of knife he usually keeps on him but it'll do just fine. As a test he throws the knife at one of the set targets, it doesn't hit where he wants it to. With that placement it would slow down and enemy but not kill, the target wasn't even fucking moving. That wouldn't do.
He picks up another knife and tries again.