"You think Starbucks would hire some bodyguards? They got the money for it."
Having reached his truck, Sir Binklesworth, bless his soul, Alex lowers the metal pipe into the truck bed (because it isn't valuable and rare enough like yesterday's sword and spear to keep in the truck's interior) and opens one of the cab's doors to the backseat. His first aid kit is there, as is his sword -- previously, his other self's sword, hey -- in its leather sheathe, worn, but in decent condition.
For a human-made sword in the middle ages/early Renaissance, anyway.
"You wanna sit inside and I'll help you out," he says, motioning to the backseat. "I'm a paramedic, so theoretically, you're in good hands."
no subject
Having reached his truck, Sir Binklesworth, bless his soul, Alex lowers the metal pipe into the truck bed (because it isn't valuable and rare enough like yesterday's sword and spear to keep in the truck's interior) and opens one of the cab's doors to the backseat. His first aid kit is there, as is his sword -- previously, his other self's sword, hey -- in its leather sheathe, worn, but in decent condition.
For a human-made sword in the middle ages/early Renaissance, anyway.
"You wanna sit inside and I'll help you out," he says, motioning to the backseat. "I'm a paramedic, so theoretically, you're in good hands."
Smile!