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"he's no casualty... Not yet." Taking a deep drink of beer he looks on as the cadets walk out.
Waldemar will attempt to drink the rest of his night in peace, a probability when he has laid down the law so early, and will retire, hoping for a nice solid night of sleep before Tor's next job. As he is about to head out he eyes the waitress. Spoiler:
Nice end on that... "When you off?" Smirking, he thinks to himself: "I can rest when I'm dead."
WS: Shooting his left fist out as fast as possible Waldemar catches the cadet right square in the jaw as his right hand grabs for the back of his head and smashes it into the table. He draws one of his Emanuelle's and levels it at the others, still glaring at the bleeding cadet on the floor. "I told ya to leave."
Staring right back, he says coolly, as if its almost a habit, "Well now, I know ya think yer the Emperor right about now, but you have two ways outta this mess. Face down in another pint, or face down in the gutter... breathing, if I'm feelin' generous." He tucks the right side of his coat back, showing the hilt of his pistol. And it really was. Ever since he was expelled it seemed every few months as another up and comer in the school started to think he was a real hot shot he'd have to have his go at ol' Waldemar. Spoiler:
"Maybe its a rite of passage now? To stand me in the eye and hope to hell and back I don't fire?" He didn't necessarily mean it, if at all possible he'd rather not have to waste a shot in this chump kid's forehead. But what had to be done had to be done.
"Yeah yeah Tor, Sigmar almighty you almost killed us with that pocket volley-gun ya got there! I'm just heading out to the Keg, I'll see ya in the mornin!" Walking off stashing my coins into the satchel, I make way to the Powder Keg, the Gunnery School's closest, and therefore most prominent bar and tavern. Sure, I know I'll see some faces from my days in school, but after a few drinks they won't matter. They know better than to cross me. Entering, I walk straight to the bar. "Hey Hans, yeah, gimme a Double-Barrel and a Hochland Long Rifle. I'll be in the corner." Laying a few coins I head to my table.
Failing but only barely I begin to cough and wheeze.
Glancing at the iron piece in Torak's hand, as useful as it would be to have a new form of the repeater pistol, a real leg up on my competition and any slug that got in my way, I had always like the trustworthy pistol in my holster. The smooth barrel firing the one shot necessary to do the job. With the opportunity to only squeeze off that first shot, it had taught me to aim, be precise. "Oh and I suppose you expect me to take this out right now and fire a few rounds do ya? Have ya even shot it once yet? These fingers of mine are my lifeblood, and I don't plan on blowin 'em off in another attempt. Get one of the recruits runnin' about to do it!" Waldemar snatches the coins out of his dwarven employer's dirty hand. "Now, if you excuse me, I'm heading off to spend a little time in a bottle."
I'm slightly agitated by the sight of hard work being recklessly tossed aside, but I know better. Torak does this time and time again. Truthfully, I would just like to get paid so I can relax before he sends me off again for something else for him to not use. I can never keep up with his eccentricities. "Well, it looks like those were worth my neck getting. Now, if you don't mind, the coin? I think tonight should be a good one down at the tavern."
Waldemar stands in the shop, wearing a combination of his old black Nuln uniform, darkened leather pants and boots, a large wide brimmed hat. He has a scarred yet not entirely ugly face. While young his skin already showed the creased tanned look of leather. Producing the package, I place it on his workbench. "This took some work gettin' ya know? The Border Princes are a ways off-- say...What's that yer workin' on Tor? Looks like a whole lotta mutilated hand waitin' to happen."
You wanna know what I got for ol' Torak? Well, it some plantstuff from the Border Princes, I dunno, when ya grind it up I guess it can make a man cough himself to death, something like that. Look, I'm paid to get it not know what it does.
Waldemar is ready to go. Might change the picture, but it works.
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