Post by Connor McManus on Jul 12, 2009 1:53:05 GMT -7
Connor and Murphy McManus had spread their news far and wide. Known as The Boondock Saints in their home town of Boston, the two took out a number of mob bosses and other scum bags with little effort and unbelievable skill. Things had gotten quieter since, but there was still evil in the world, plenty of bad men for the McManus twins to lay waste to. But for tonight, the two headed to McGinty's. They favorite place, just down the block from their apartment, to have a drink or 5.
Donning his black pea-coat over his black t-shirt and dark jeans, Connor hollered to Murphy. "Ay, Murph! Ya 'bout ready, or what? Quit primping an' let's go." Murphy wasn't primping, neither of them spent much time on their looks. It was just a good natured ribbing, one brother to the other. Connor pulled his Celtic cross rosary from a peg by the door, slipped it over his head and kissed the icon before dropping it to hide under his shirt. Murphy appeared beside him, grabbing his identical cross as well. Connor sniffed the air near his brother, cracking a cheeky, lopsided grin. "What is that? Cologne? Who ya trying to impress now, Murph? Got yer eye on Doc?" Connor laughed.
Doc, the well-mannered barkeeper at McGinty's had a slight problem with tourette's. Not to mention he mixed up his metaphors far more often than he got them right. Slapping Murphy on the back, Connor swung open the door and started down the 4 flights of stairs, pausing to light a cigarette midway. "S'been too quiet lately. Perhaps we should take out an ad?" Connor smirked as they moved into the dusky street.
A few folks meandered by, on their way to or from work. Connor paid them no mind, intent on hitting McGinty's for a cold one, and a few shots of good ol' Irish whiskey. The two walked in tandem, left feet striking the pavement at the exact same moment, almost as if it were practiced. Connor reached the door to McGinty's first, taking one last drag from his cigarette and flicking the stub away. "After you." He grinned at Murphy as he held the door.
The place wasn't quite full, but plenty of people were inside, drinking away their hard earned money. Any money spent by Connor and Murphy in the bar wasn't so hard earned, but taken from various mob hits, leaving the brothers well off, financially speaking. "Doc! How's the evenin' been treatin' ya, you old bastard?" Connor flashed a big smile to the barkeep, settling himself on a stool in front of the bar. "Coupla drafts, and a shot or two fer us both." Doc smiled at the twins. "C..c...comin' right up, C...Connor. FUCK! ASS!" Connor couldn't help but laugh, slapping the table with a $20. Doc placed 2 Guinness drafts in front of Connor and Murphy both, when his eye caught the money. " Get that shit off me bar. Ya know yer money's no good here."
Connor shrugged, taking back the $20, and lifted his beer to Murphy. "To evil men. And to us huntin' them down." He winked and downed half his beer in one long swallow. Doc returned with 2 tumblers filled to the brim with Irish whiskey, what the brother's normally called shots, in truth were more like triple shots. Connor scooped his up, tossed it back, and chased it with another glug off his Guinness. "Ahhh, now that hits the spot don't it?" He slapped Murphy on the back again, shedding his coat but making sure his gun was tucked firmly in the front of his jeans, his t-shirt covering the firearm. Neither of them had ever bothered with getting a permit to carry concealed. But it never stopped them from being armed.
Donning his black pea-coat over his black t-shirt and dark jeans, Connor hollered to Murphy. "Ay, Murph! Ya 'bout ready, or what? Quit primping an' let's go." Murphy wasn't primping, neither of them spent much time on their looks. It was just a good natured ribbing, one brother to the other. Connor pulled his Celtic cross rosary from a peg by the door, slipped it over his head and kissed the icon before dropping it to hide under his shirt. Murphy appeared beside him, grabbing his identical cross as well. Connor sniffed the air near his brother, cracking a cheeky, lopsided grin. "What is that? Cologne? Who ya trying to impress now, Murph? Got yer eye on Doc?" Connor laughed.
Doc, the well-mannered barkeeper at McGinty's had a slight problem with tourette's. Not to mention he mixed up his metaphors far more often than he got them right. Slapping Murphy on the back, Connor swung open the door and started down the 4 flights of stairs, pausing to light a cigarette midway. "S'been too quiet lately. Perhaps we should take out an ad?" Connor smirked as they moved into the dusky street.
A few folks meandered by, on their way to or from work. Connor paid them no mind, intent on hitting McGinty's for a cold one, and a few shots of good ol' Irish whiskey. The two walked in tandem, left feet striking the pavement at the exact same moment, almost as if it were practiced. Connor reached the door to McGinty's first, taking one last drag from his cigarette and flicking the stub away. "After you." He grinned at Murphy as he held the door.
The place wasn't quite full, but plenty of people were inside, drinking away their hard earned money. Any money spent by Connor and Murphy in the bar wasn't so hard earned, but taken from various mob hits, leaving the brothers well off, financially speaking. "Doc! How's the evenin' been treatin' ya, you old bastard?" Connor flashed a big smile to the barkeep, settling himself on a stool in front of the bar. "Coupla drafts, and a shot or two fer us both." Doc smiled at the twins. "C..c...comin' right up, C...Connor. FUCK! ASS!" Connor couldn't help but laugh, slapping the table with a $20. Doc placed 2 Guinness drafts in front of Connor and Murphy both, when his eye caught the money. " Get that shit off me bar. Ya know yer money's no good here."
Connor shrugged, taking back the $20, and lifted his beer to Murphy. "To evil men. And to us huntin' them down." He winked and downed half his beer in one long swallow. Doc returned with 2 tumblers filled to the brim with Irish whiskey, what the brother's normally called shots, in truth were more like triple shots. Connor scooped his up, tossed it back, and chased it with another glug off his Guinness. "Ahhh, now that hits the spot don't it?" He slapped Murphy on the back again, shedding his coat but making sure his gun was tucked firmly in the front of his jeans, his t-shirt covering the firearm. Neither of them had ever bothered with getting a permit to carry concealed. But it never stopped them from being armed.
