Snippet #1634909

Joey scrubbed his scalp, grunting at the surprising amount of grime that came up with it. The city was filthy and sooty, and his hair attracted it like a magnet, if he didn't wash up, his hair went greasy. He wasn't blessed with perfect genes like some other people in this hideout, but what the fuck ever man. He wasn't out to impress anybody...who could think of romance in this dystopia where you kill or be killed?

And then the boss 'man's voice echoed down into the showers. They were ALL meeting for this treaty? No! He was supposed to be the one who stayed and made sure the hideout didn't get razed to the ground while the bossman was out negotiating treaties and trade agreements and whatever. Even if he didn't respect his superior's age, he admired the kid's gumption. Soul got things done, and the Poisons were pretty well off as far as the gangs could be. They had food, they had weapons and a full stockpile of ammo. Their scavenging turned up more than enough necessities that they could support a veritable village (and he supposed with the newbies in tow, they were a village now).
Joey turned the shower off and toweled himself dry, throwing on his jeans, a t-shirt, and his hoodie. Suit and a tie? He didn't have one. He had a few changes of clothes, but that was it.
Bossman wanted him to dress up? They should raid a motherfuckin' Mens Wearhouse then.

He emerged from the basement and into the common room where Soul and Jesse were standing and conversing. He pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and looked at the two before offering a half-grin, making it apparent that he was missing one of his canine teeth, while another was chipped. One of the Bullets got a suckerpunch in during one of his first gang throwdowns, and he didn't get medical assistance in time. He personally felt it added to the rough n' tumble, rock n' roll appearance that Poisons were known for. He looked like a man who didn't mind getting his hands dirty at all.
His grin faded when he realized that nobody else was returning this gesture.
"Well then. Do we really have to go meet up with those bloody Sirens and all the other wankers out there? All of us?"
He scratched the back of his neck and grumbled. But he had to go along with it, just be sure to keep your boots tight and your gun close, because any meeting of the Big Four was bound to turn nasty right quick with the most innocuous of side-comments. He'd be sure to keep his eyes peeled for anything resembling a weapon while they were at the table.

At Soul's glare he held up his hands.
"Fine, fine, let's just do this. Let me wake up the little shits and get them watching the hideout and then I'm ready to go."

He turned to Jesse then, "You wanna come with? We are practically adults around here." He smirked, taking one potshot at the bossman's age before he disappeared to go wake up the new recruits and have them play watchtower. ("Yes you can help yourself to whatever is in the fridge, but don't call us unless it's an absolute emergency. Number's by the phone.")