DeusExAlice
I sell body horror and body horror accessories
In here we'll go over just what you claim to be, maybe a concept you have and if anyone has any ties with each other. The good, the bad and most especially the ugly history you all have.
Follow along with the video below to see how to install our site as a web app on your home screen.
Note: This feature currently requires accessing the site using the built-in Safari browser.
Basically, her loyalty is pretty much ironclad for as long as her current superiors can avoid messing up. How much it ends up shaking when things go to hell depends on how bad the screw-up was. She'd probably find the solidarity of Hooper's cultlike Faced to be interesting instead of creepy.In the south – the Glades – we did things different. None of this skulking knife-in-the-back bullshit. There was real solidarity down there. I never had to question the motives of my lord or elders. Hell, I never even had to think. Maybe you find that terrible. That's okay, but you'd change your mind if you really lived in the wilds. You could survive, sure, but without any hivemates – and no strong foundation of leadership, someone who called all the shots and called them very well – could you really flourish, or be happy, or feel safe, ever?
For all my reminiscing, you might wonder why I'm here in the first place. Long story short: I made a mistake. Can't go home. I went north looking for something I value almost as much as Pugnax. I want -stability-. Comrades who deal with threats head-on, who'd put their faith in me and vice-versa. And I want to follow someone unstoppable.
Midas is a Hoarder. He sells pieces from his collection, but that's alright, because they always come back to him. Always. He's got the guns, the tech, the loot, but not the nerve. He stole this hoard, and he's afraid you're going to steal it back in turn, and that makes him nervous as hell.I’m Midas. I run this place, this curio, whatever the hell you wanna call it, and I got what you need. I do, I really do, just give me a second to look in the back and I can find it, no problem. You buy it, fine. You break it, I break you. You lose it a day or a week or a month later, tough shit. I’m not your mother. Keep track of your own fucking things, I’ve got my own problems. Don’t wave your money in my face, I don’t want your stamps or caps or gold or cash. Idiot. Show me something good, something that doesn’t look like shit, something pretty, something useful, something I freaking want and I’m sure we can reach an agreement. Oh, you don’t got anything like that? Well then get out, why you wasting my time? Maybe the other hacks around got what you need, but I doubt it. I’m Midas, and I got it all.
Where’d I get all this stuff from? Don’t you fucking ask that. Who the hell do you think you are? Why do you care, I got it, nothing else matters. Maybe I got friends who get it for me, maybe I run the ruins myself, maybe I gotta fairy godmother chained up in the back wired to a grenade who doesn't wanna get blown to pieces. And maybe I pull it out of my own ass, you prick. None of your business, any case. Asking questions isn’t going to make you no friends in these parts, not in my fucking shop. There’s no secret, nothing I’m hiding but this shotgun under the counter. Ah, you noticed that, did you? Well get out. You come back, I’ll blow your goddamn brains out and feed it to the dogs.
‘Where’d I get it from,’ indeed. Asshole.