User:Fightin'Mick
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The Introduction to "Mick"
A grim gleam shines in the man's blue-gray eyes as you approach him within the sparsely furnished back room of the Zeally Arms pub. He tiredly removes a studded leather jacket that has various band names painted on it and begins to rub at a black bandanna that is tied around his neck. He is wearing a t-shirt that has a band called Witch Hunt on the chest.
"How's it going Mick?" You ask as you take a seat in a looted five-star chair and lean back. You notice several empty bottles of whiskey lining the back wall along with a fireaxe leaning on the couch arm.
He runs his fingers through the mess of spiked dirty blond hair and looks out of a boarded up window as a ray of sunlight illuminates his eyes. A distant gunshot rings out and his hand unconsciously begins to play with the grip of a pistol that is situated on the arm of the looted couch.
"Amazing." He replies wryly.
You shake your head. Mick had always been sarcastic.
He leans down and from a large milk crate and produces two Guinness tallcans, where and how he looted the beer is beyond you. He looks at you his mind taking a break from his thoughts and offers you one.
"Here."
You thank him and take the tasty beverage. He cracks his and takes a sip with a satisfied sigh. You see a picture laying next to Mick's leg on the couch. The edges are worn and dogeared from constant use but the picture of a blue haired, red eyed, Japanese albino girl with silk smooth cream colored skin is still visible.
"Hey, Mick?" You ask after a sip of the dark stout.
"Yea?"
"Who's the girl in that picture?"
He looks at it and gently hides it away in his jacket almost as if he is trying to place a delicate treasure within a locked chest. He takes another drink with a haunted look.
"Some one I lost."
You roll your eyes. "Where is she?"
He strokes the pistol unconsciously again. "Alive somewhere. I know she is."
You shake your head and take another drink. Mick never liked to talk about her, that is unless he was drunk and feeling depressed.
Outside a loud feeding groan sounds out. You stand up still holding your can in alarm the instinct to flee growing in your gut you hand grabbing your worn, but trusty, back pack. Mick calmly stands up and pulls on his leather jacket and begins to quietly whistle an Irish tune. You turn around and see a D.I.Y. made machete strapped to his thigh. He checks the clip on his pistol and loads the weapon before placing it into it's worn holster on his opposite thigh. His combat boots clomp on the deep blue Greek rug, most likely a looted piece from a museum, on the floor as he passes you still whistling merrily.
"Mick where are you going?"
He turns around and flashes a wolfish smile a dangerous light shining within his stormy eyes.
"I'm going to go get rid of that racket." With that he straps on a gas mask over his smiling face and walks to a hole leading to the sewer passageway leading to the street. Before he enters he pulls out the machete and glances back at you. "One thing comrade."
You stare at him. "What?"
"Don't drink all my beer before I get back."
A slightly better introduction
Welcome to the Fightin'Mick. I have the slight flare for the dramatic, and theatrical, if you can't tell from the above article. But hey its just what I do.
On to the important stuff. I am looking for a place to settle down and start a group with other Survivors who are against PKing, GKing, and the undead. At this point I am hiding out in Shore Hills and am looking for other Survivors to form a group. Let me clarify: I don't dislike the Zeds. In fact if anything I appreciate them for making my day interesting as I hit one and have ten chase after me in Brooksville straight up to Shore Hills. So on my behalf: "Bless your rotten hearts. By the way, head shot!"
"Grab your weapons and kill 'em all. Why?! Don't be stupid, they sure as hell won't spare any of us. Hey... where did my beer go....?" -The Fightin'Mick
After slugging downing several pints of stout in [[1]] South Blythville I made an uneventful trek through Greentown into [[2]] Brooksville once there I ran around trying to support the other Survivors until the entire north western side was decimated. Wounded and exhausted I took cover in a [[3]] Bandit Queens safehouse to strike out against the Zeds infesting the north west corner. Thanks to the BQ's friendly first-aid assistance I survived, after a chewy run in with some less than friendly Zeds, to carry on my dream of visiting as many of the pubs in Malton before somebody gets to my brains, again.
Following one to many shots of whiskey and an Irish Carbomb at The Brookman Arms; I got into an argument with myself and after a brief run in with a several Zeds, once more the chase was on, I kicked rocks north to hide out in Shorehills. Now I'm hiding out eating a few peanuts and drinking a few pints in the Zeally Arms pub until I decide to uproot and move to Brooksville, or at least a red suburb once more for some more brain-spattering fun.
I often run down to Brooksville to help out where I can (kill one zed and run before they start sniffing after myself) and try and report any nasty business in Brooksville to any body I can throw a shout at as I run through their building.
