A New Scent In Town.

[JohnnyPsycho]

[BAMF!... your turn, toonaxe...]
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Johnny's Fanfics (including Sureshot! A Bon Bon Tale)

Johnny's backstory
Johnny, Mark II (Project Aten character)

[toonaxe]

(oopsy! didn;t realize its my turn.I wonder why I'm not getting email messages informing of me of replies? *scritches my head)

[Ashton Gray]

(check to make sure the email address the forum has registered is the correct one and that you have this topic chosen for watching)
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Silentium est aurum

[Evan_Himmel]

(when posting a reply uncheck the box that says notify me of replys.)

[JohnnyPsycho]

[since toonaxe is taking a while with her turn, and I don't want to see the thread fall to the second page again, I'll cut ahead of her in line and do a little villain RP. Hope no one minds (I'll skip my own turn, so it will be connor's turn after jessica).]

For the first time in the past two days since the dreadful incident that maimed his son and brought shame upon his name, Vittorio Visconti found himself smiling and truly enjoying himself. For the first time in two days, he was no longer pondering the future of the name of Visconti, nor worrying about how his over-stepping of his authority with the local constabulary would affect his status with the Clan of the Claw. As he played through a masterful game of chess with Ashton Gray, he put all of those worries behind him.

For the first half of the game, the two tacticians moved their pieces in silence. It would seem to any outside observer that Signore Visconti was merely sizing up his opponent's strategy, but when he finally spoke, what he said would throw Ashton off-guard.

"Did you know that I have a daughter?" Vittorio spoke as he moved his queen's knight. He took his eyes off the board and leaned back in his chair, as if suddenly he had decided to start a new conversation rather than continue the game at hand.

When the wolf admitted to not knowing this information, Don Visconti replied, "Her name is Veronica, and she is my eldest child. She lives in Florence, along with her mother, and takes good care of my family's interests in that city. You see, it had been my hope that my daughter, who is more capable and trustworthy a business woman than my worthless son, would be kept as far away from this town, and its unsavory elements. I had hoped that, by sending Vincenzo here, he would be less able to be an embarassment to my family and perhaps grow to be a worthwhile businessman himself."

The Don sighed, then took a moment to sip at his tea. He momentarily peered into the cup, and from his expressioned it seemed obvious to Ashton that Vincenzo had been a much larger worry to the Don than just this recent incident.

"You have shown yourself to be a true gentleman, Mr. Gray, and as fine a young man as I could ever hope to meet," the Don said, his adulations of Ashton sounding strangely sincere. He added, "I think that you are perhaps the type of man I would have liked to have called my son..."

At that moment, the short, white-furred Foyle entered the room, saying, "Excuse me, Signore, but the dinner hour is nearly upon us. Would you like for me to gather our guests?"

"Yes, that will be fine, Foyle," the Don replied.

"Well, it appears that our little game will have to continue some other time," he said to Ashton, rising from his chair. As he walked toward the door, he pointed to a small, framed picture sitting over the fireplace on the mantle.

"I hope you will consider carefully all that I've said, and that we may discuss matters further," the Don replied cryptically, smiling to himself.

The picture he pointed to was a photographed portrait of an exceptionally beautiful young husky, who bore a resemblence to both Vittorio and Vincenzo. Right next to it was a wedding photograph of a young Vittorio and another strikingly beautiful woman, who also bore a resemblence to the woman in the first photograph.

It seemed despite the lack of clues Vittorio gave for his decision on Jessica's fate that night, he was already planning several moves ahead.
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Johnny's Fanfics (including Sureshot! A Bon Bon Tale)

Johnny's backstory
Johnny, Mark II (Project Aten character)

[toonaxe]

Not wanting to leave all her means of escape cut off,Jess quickly tore a small corner off her handkerchief,unfastened the latch to the window,and stuffed the small bit of fabric in the hole where the latch goes in.This way it would be very easy for anyone on the outside to get in,as the latch would not really be held fast.
She returned from washing up to find most everyone else had left the room,and a cute lil squirrel maid escorted Jess back to her room.Just to further distract herself she thought about petting that cute fluffy tail of the maids,and the image put a soft smile on Jess's face.Once more locked in her room she wondered if she would be allowed to have any of her friends come see her until this dreaded business was over. Finding nothing to do but wait,Jess discovered a phonograph and a few records if italian operas.So she put on a record of some female with a stunning voice,and sank back into the comfy chair,relaxing and thinking of better times.

(sorry for long in replying. )

[Ashton Gray]

(Brandon, if you would be so kind)
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Silentium est aurum

[MrWolf12]

(Will post soon)

[Ashton Gray]

(Brandon, what happened to "Will post soon"?)
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Silentium est aurum

[Xebulon]

(Posting on behalf of Brandon)

The carriage rattled to a stop at a rear doorway of the estate, the chestnut brown horse at its front giving a tired shiver.

The orange furred Boyle, standing by the smaller servant’s entrance, watched the dilapidated wagon, as the many rips and tears in its canvas cover flittered as it came to a halt. Hidden in the shadow of a shaded driver’s seat, a figure holding the reins made little if any movement.

Boyle then looked down at the opened pocket watch in his hand. “Late.” he muttered, closing the timepiece’s golden cover, and tucking back into his vest pocket. To his left, Foyle stood, arms crossed before him. Behind him, three servant girls waited, their heads bowed, hands clasped before them. From the look on Foyle’s face, he was none too happy. And as two persons hopped from the back of the canvas covered wagon, making it’s leaf metal springs squeak in protest, the white feline growled…

“A tad late for what was to be a morning delivery?” Foyle’s voice dripped with sarcasm, and only stopped sounding his opinion when the hand of Boyle rose. Yet, if it offended the two, a slim raccoon and a gruff looking chipmunk, they did not show it, as they busied themselves taking several long narrow crates from the back of the wagon, and setting them on the ground near the house doors. A few moments, and a stack of three were set upon each other beside where Boyle stood. And, as the raccoon and chipmunk were carrying a fourth…

A hand slipped, and the heavy crate fell upon the raccoon’s foot!

He yelped, “You weak little shit!” the shout directed at the chipmunk, who in turn growled.

“Who are you calling weak, you foul smelling nut sucker!?”

Still kneeling nursing his sore foot, the raccoon looked up and scowled, “I’m calling you weak….Chipper!” the last word was accompanied by an evil grin.

The chipmunk’s eyes whitened, fur bristled as he literally shivered with rage. “How many times ….have I said…,” quickly, from his hip, the chipmunk drew a glimmering pistol. Now it was the raccoons eyes that widened. “…DON”T CALL ME THAT!!!” Panting, the chipmunk’s hand shook, as the finger on the trigger began to tighten….

….until he heard a click behind his head.

The angry tremors stopped, and the chipmunk slowly lowered his weapon while turning his head. He gulped when he came eye to barrel with a cocked and loaded revolver no more then a hair’s breath from his face. Close enough to see the tiny streaks of rust along the barrel. His eyes followed the gun down to the hand that held it, covered in ratted ghostly gray fur. Further along and he came to the oil-skin coat the covered the arm that lead up to a wide grinning face, half covered by a worn wide brimmed hat. Sharp, yellow stained teeth gave the menacing smile an even more evil gleam, as did the two swirling green eyes above it.

“Now, Now, boys.” the sound coming from that evil grin as greasy as the lean grey fox who spoke it, “I duna think our friends ‘ere think much o’ yer grubbing.” The chipmunk gulped. “If ya be so kind, put ‘at lil’ pea shoota away, and lets be more prafesh’nal.” Carefully, the chipmunk holstered his weapon, turning slowly away from the fox to lift the fallen crate along with the raccoon. Only when they began to move along did the fox open his long coat to put away his own pistol. In doing so, he showed how he had not one, not two, but six revolvers hanging from his person. Two on his hips, two more in holsters held just below his bare chest by criss crossing bandoleers, and the handles of two more protruding from there place at his back.

Boyle made quick note of this as the fox approached him.
“I beg your pardon, sir.” taking off his hat to bow to Boyle, the fox revealed a sullen face. Sunken, skeletal. However, the eyes that looked back up, each a vibrant green, were as sharp as razors. The fox’s frail, almost sickly appearance, Boyle knew, was a illusion. From how quickly and silently he moved from his place as driver of the carriage to ‘discipline’ his men, and from the small but tightly coiled musculature under that leather coat, this fox was one most should fear. From Boyle, however, all he would get would be a modicum of respect.

Foyle, though, didn’t share Boyle’s opinion.

“Our pardon?” the pearl colored feline hissed, “You’d best beg for our mercy! Our plans did not include having to wait for an incompetent who cannot seem to tell time!”

Boyle raised his hand again to silence him. Yet, the gray fox looked only at Boyle, treating the white cat’s outburst as nothing but a gust of warm wind. “I trust you were able to find all that we asked for.” Boyle asked.

The fox rose from his bow, replacing his hat. “Indeed I did.” Grinning, he walked over to the stack of wooden boxes. A firm tug upon the lid of the top most crate, and it opened. “I trus’ they are too your satisfaction.”

The smile that spread upon Boyle face as all the reply that was needed. Gingerly, the orange tabby reached in, and lifted from the crate one of several long bored rifles. Holding the deadly looking weapon in his hands, Boyle worked the lever, checking the action. Satisfied, he placed it back among the others, and closed the crate’s lid.” Most certainly they are.”

“Aye, the finest Mr. Winchester ever produced. Worth so much more then tha meaga’ amoun’ you agreed ’ta pay.” the fox’s subtle move to the subject of money was not lost on Boyle. A snap of his fingers, and the three servant girls quickly moved, lifting the three bags, one in front of each of them, and carrying them over to where Boyle stood. From how they struggled, one could tell how heavy the thick cloth sacks were. Taking the first, Boyle set it upon the stack of boxes, untied its bindings, and opened it before the fox, whose eyes twinkled at the contents.

“Your payment. In gold as we agreed.” Boyle said, retying the sack and handing it back to the girl canary, who chirped in strain from the weight. Then she, and the other two, followed the fox’s direction and handed their sacks of gold to the raccoon and chipmunk reaching from the back of the wagon.

As the girls returned, the fox again removed his hat and bowed to the tabby. “A pleasure doin’ business with you.” He then turned and walked and hopped back up to his place at the front of the wagon. Picking up the reins, he again tipped his hat to Boyle, then flicked the leather cords and started the large wooden wheels rolling.

After a few moments, the wagon a distant speck, Foyle spoke up. “He smelt of filth.”

“Yes he did.” Boyle said, before turning and backhanding the white furred cat across the face! Though nowhere near his full strength, it was enough to pull a drop of red from Foyle’s mouth. “Though I do agree with his stance on discipline.” Grinning, Boyle stepped through the doors into the house, leaving Foyle to hold his now swelling lip, and barking an order to the three servant girls to start bringing the crates inside.


Meanwhile…..

Bumping along the dirt road, the fox steered the wagon along. Suddenly, the chipmunk popped his head out from inside the wagon. His eyes were glittering.

“We’re rich, sir!” His smile was withered by a glare from the fox. The chipmunk quickly reworded himself.” I mean, the boss is rich. I know this all belongs to him, but with our cuts he promised, we are still rich!”

The fox said nothing, looking out onto the road.

The chipmunk felt himself shiver. He turned his eyes down and spoke, “Sir, about earlier, I just wanted to apologize. I promise I will never lose control again!”

“I know you won’t.” the fox said coldly. And in the time it took for the chipmunk to look up, the fox had pulled the same gun out of its holster, and had it cocked and ready before the rodent’s face. The color drained from his eyes, and could only squeak as the trigger was pulled…

Click.

The fox howled in laughter, pulling the trigger again and again, each time it fell on an empty chamber. The chipmunk shook, and gulped, suddenly hoping he had worn brown tinted pants!

The chipmunk sighed as the fox put away the empty gun..

Before pulling out another and pulling the trigger.

The chamber wasn’t empty this time.

After the loud crack had faded, the chipmunk was slumped over the back of the driver’s seat, a massive hole showcasing what was left inside his skull. The rest drenched a wide circle of the cloth canopy. And as the fox slipped the weapon back into his coat, he giggled.” Aye, Mr. Dale, you always were good for a laugh.” He then shoved the lifeless body of the chipmunk over the side, where the wagons wheels bumped over him.

The fox then turned his head, looking into the wagon, and at the wide eyes and shivering form of the raccoon. The gray fur of that wild grinning face was covered in tiny red dots. Lending even more menace to it, and causing the raccoon to quake in terror. He also realized it wasn’t rust that stained several of the fox’s guns.

“Well, ma’ striped friend.” the fox spoke, “It would seem your cut has gotten a wee bit bigger.”

Though that gave the raccoon little comfort on the long journey back, all the while listening to the fox’s maniacal giggling.

******************
Brandon shivered as he walked the long halls of the Don's estate. Like the touch of something foul, his skin crawled. He shook it off, seeing it as nothing more then nerves at still being in this accursed place.

Finally, he arrived at his destination. And, raising a fist, he softly tapped upon Miss Belle's door, in hopes to see how she was doing.
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I like old jokes. With them I know when to laugh.

[JohnnyPsycho]

[wow, that's a plot twist I wasn't expecting. Thanks for relaying Brandon's post, Xeb!]

[...okay, who's turn is nex?]
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Johnny's Fanfics (including Sureshot! A Bon Bon Tale)

Johnny's backstory
Johnny, Mark II (Project Aten character)

[Ashton Gray]

(Drofgod, Connor, Jessica then myself)
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Silentium est aurum

[Drofgod969]

(Man Xeb, he made one heck of a story...)

After Miss Jessica and Conner left, Drodel decided to hang around on the roof for a little bit of time. Now the only problem... How do i get on the roof? Drodel asked him self as he walked to the top floor. After walking around aimlessly for a couple of minutes Drodel saw a Leapord maid walking around also. "Um excuse me miss." Drodel started as she looked back and saw him. "Do you know how to get on the roof?" Drodel asked as they walked to each other.

"Yes i do." She replied. "Fallow me i was on my way there." She said as she waved him to fallow. Shortly after they were on the roof looking at the view. "I come up here all the time. Some of the others started calling me Scout becouse of it." She said openly as she took a seat that overlooked the town.

"Well with a veiw like this i can see why you do." Drodel said as he sat down beside her. "Sorry where are my manners. My name is Drodel Ovadin, local wepon and blacksmith." Drodel said as he did a poor bow while sitting.

"Drodel Ovadin a blacksmith, hum." She said as she started to think. "I knew another blacksmith before his name was Duel'Dain Stronghoof." She said as she started to look at the view.
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yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. that's why it is called the present.
quoted by master Oogway off kong fu panda
Some weep, some cry, some make couches fly. - Katmir
Let me stand behind you in times of peace, let me stand infront of you in times of war, let me stand beside you as a equall, as a friend.

[Bestile1]

(*blink blink* I got nothin)

[Ashton Gray]

(there's nothing wrong with that, Connor. Would you prefer to skip your turn?)
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Silentium est aurum

[Bestile1]

(Yeah I'll pass anything would just be filler, I see no way I can advance the plot.)

[Ashton Gray]

(In that case, if you would be so kind, Jessica)
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Silentium est aurum

[JohnnyPsycho]

[shouldn't it be your turn, Ashton? Or are you passing as well?]
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Johnny's Fanfics (including Sureshot! A Bon Bon Tale)

Johnny's backstory
Johnny, Mark II (Project Aten character)

[Ashton Gray]

(Oh, you're right, it is. My mistake, I do apologize)

Ashton sat in his chair, looking at the chess board but not really seeing it. He was too busy thinking about what Don Vittorio had said. One thought in particular kept spinning through his mind. Damn this world of familial intrigue. He had never cared for the politics and intrigue that came with being a member of a so-called "noble" family, despite learning the rules of the game and being adept at playing it. Perhaps that was what protected him from becomming lost in it: his resentment. Finally, he rose from his chair and headed for the door. Before he took a single step, however, he turned back to the chess board and moved his piece. "Checkmate." he said softly.
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Silentium est aurum

[Ashton Gray]

(Ms. Belle, if you would be so kind)
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Silentium est aurum

[toonaxe]

(sorry for the long absence,my nephew tried to kill himself and needless to say its caused heavy ripples among the family norm.I think I will skip my turn as well this time.)

[Ashton Gray]

(oh my, I'm so sorry to hear that, Ms. Belle. Your family problems, I mean, not the story. You and yours have my deepest sympathies. In regards to the story, it is technically Johnny's turn, but I think we should let Connor go if he has something to contribute)
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Silentium est aurum

[Bestile1]

(I'm afraid not Ashton, all the plans I made have been usurped by this rather more involved plot... Conner will do what he is best at, watch wait and react when needed)

[JohnnyPsycho]

[shoot... does this mean I should try posting something anyway, even though I already did the "villain RP" earlier? Seems a waste to let this roleplay fade away like this...]
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Johnny's Fanfics (including Sureshot! A Bon Bon Tale)

Johnny's backstory
Johnny, Mark II (Project Aten character)

[Ashton Gray]

(If you'd like to skip, Johnny, all you have to do is say so. If you'd like a hand trying to figure out where to go from here, may I suggest we move on to the dinner and the Don's big decision? I think we've spent enough time dallying around that.)
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Silentium est aurum

[henkcobra]

( will you all please continue with this rp, I like it very much and hope that it will continue soon)
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Avatar: http://forums.pleasurebonbon.com/forums/viewtopic.php?t=7830

My favorite RP please join and dominate me : http://forums.pleasurebonbon.com/forums/viewtopic.php?t=6811&start=0

My FA; http://www.furaffinity.net/user/henkcobra/

[JohnnyPsycho]

[yeah, I'll post something in a moment, just let me come up with something...]
_________________
Johnny's Fanfics (including Sureshot! A Bon Bon Tale)

Johnny's backstory
Johnny, Mark II (Project Aten character)

[MrWolf12]

[My sincerest regards and prayers to you and yours in this trying time, Ms. Toonaxe.]

[JohnnyPsycho]

Johnny stared out of the window in horror, feeling every bit of warmth in his body ebb away with each passing second.

Not a moment ago, the gunslinger had been continuing his wandering of the Visconti estate, exploring it for any clue as to where the Visconti family attained its seemingly vast wealth. Not seeing much more than oppulent rooms, exquisitely decorated walls, and the occasional maid tidying up, Johnny had very little to go on. Momentarily distracted only by his more aimless curiosity about the mansion, he happened upon a small, seemingly little-used hallway on the third floor of the mansion. It seemed little more than a bare passageway to another wing of the mansion, with nothing more than one lone window peering toward the back of the estate. With not much else to look at, Johnny glanced out the window and caught a sight that would change everything.

From the vantage point of this third-floor window, he managed to see a trio of suspicious looking characters conversing with Boyle and Foyle as they stood by a ratty carriage parked at the service entrace of the manor. Johnny couldn't tell, but it seemed like some sort of delivery... perhaps the Don was having supplies delivered to the mansion from the city? Johnny couldn't tell, really, nor could he get a good look at the man under the wide-brimmed hat who seemed to be speaking directly to Boyle. Johnny had no sooner started to feel as though the mysterious figure looked oddly familiar, when the fellow removed his hat and bowed to Boyle, revealing his face.

Immediately, Johnny's eyes widened and his fur bristled. He could not believe his eyes, but there was no mistaking that face. Almost reflexively, Johnny reached behind his back for his small, two-shot derringer, where he had tucked it into his belt. But before he could pull it fully he felt a firm hand quickly grab him by the shoulder. Looking away from the window, he saw the mute, gray cat butler standing next to him, having appeared as if from thin air.

"Doyle, how did you--?" Johnny started to ask, but Doyle silenced him quickly by motioning with his finger to his lips. The two of them watched silently as whatever deal was going down came to a close. As the carriage and its occupants drove away, Johnny's throat rattled softly in a low growl.

"What the hell was HE doing here, Doyle?" Johnny asked at last, finding himself almost irrationally angry. Despite knowing what a ruthless businessman the Don was, Johnny had never imagined that he was the type to do buisiness with that fox... that very fox that Johnny had thought he had left behind in his outlaw days, back during the darkest period of his past. The very fox that Johnny had hoped had died or been killed long ago, never to again cross his path.

Much to Johnny's surprise, Doyle opened his mouth and a deep, elegant voice with an unexpected Bavarian accent replied, "You must promise that you will ensure Herr Visconti's safety tonight, despite what you have just learned. His family manages many business ventures, and I would hate for this one sin to be his true downfall."

The seasoned gunfighter was momentarily stunned into silence, and then muttered, "You... can talk?"

"You may not believe everything we've told or shown you up until now," Doyle spoke calmly, "but at least believe that, for once in our lives, my brothers and I have felt most at ease... no, most at home, while serving under Vittorio Visconti as his butlers."

At that moment, he noticed Doyle's hands, and the anxious way he was clutching at the bottom of his suit-jacket, his thumbs rubbing at the fabric softly. That's when he noticed a vague sadness in Doyle's eyes he had never noticed before. Johnny's confusion subsided abruptly and, unpredictably, he found himself suddenly feeling as though Doyle were trying to apologize to him... but for what? Telling him more lies about he and his "brothers", who likely weren't really his brothers anyway? How could he possibly believe anything this non-mute, fake butler had to say, anyway?

Suddenly, Johnny heard footsteps behind him. He turned his head, swivelling his ears to catch the sound of light feet in high-heeled, hard-soled shoes. It was one of the servant girls, no doubt about it, probably come to find where Johnny had run off to. Turning back to Doyle, Johnny realized that the ghostly cat had once again disappeared, and he cursed under his breath. A moment later, a young maid turned a corner and nearly walked into Johnny, squeeking in surprise.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, sir, but I thought I heard shouting," the young maid replied, embarassed and ashamed. The poor, uncertain bunny began to fidget, looking down at her shoes and lightly grabbing at the apron of her uniform.

It took a moment for Johnny to recognize her, but he realized that this was the same maid who had served him the night before. "Your name is Celeste, right?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, that's right," she answered, blushing through her brown fur as she realized he remembered her name.

Suddenly, the coyote walked to her, and placed his paw gently under her chin. Now standing almost nose to nose with the gunfighter, Celeste could suddenly feel her heart thumping in her chest as she looked into his brown eyes, and he into hers. He seemed to study her carefully for a moment, and began to question her, "Have you always been Celeste, or maybe you have another name? Is this timid little rabbit really just an imposter? Are you even really a maid, I wonder?"

Confused and a little frightened, she struggled to find something, anything to say, but the only thing she could think to say was, "I-I've been sent t-to fetch you for the evening meal, sir. The dinner hour is almost upon us."

Johnny smiled at the servant girl warmly and whispered, "Promise me that you'll always be sweet, shy Celeste, and not turn into some sort of lunatic in disguise."

"I-I'll certainly try, sir," Celeste replied, still completely confused.

"Well then, now that that's settled, could you show me to one of my friends?" Johnny asked politely, moving his hands to her shoulders. The feel of his warm hands sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach, and she could only manage a nod in agreement.

A moment later, Johnny ran into Brandon, who was standing outside of Jessica's room. With a smile, he replied, "Boozhoo! Where is everbody else? It's almost dinner-time!..."

------------

Vittorio Visconti sat in his chair at the head of the table, watching silently as his staff set the table for the evening meal. Staring at the pocket-watch in his hand that read fifteen minutes until the hour, he waited as his maids went throughout his mansion to shepherd his guests into the dining room.

This would be a most important meal, and he began to feel as though it would shape events to come in the future, both for his family and for Bon Bon.

------------

Nearly a mile from the Visconti Manor, the ragged cart double-backed, and then turned off on a side trail through the woods, a trail that went almost all the way back toward the mansion. The fox and the racoon continued to travel in silence until they reached a clearing, almost a quarter mile away from the mansion. There they sat, and waited, until a ridiculous looking muskrat in a tattered coat and distressed top-hat emerged from the woods, patting dirt and leaves off of his already filthy clothing and waving at the wagon.

As he approached, he asked, "Where's the Chipper?"

"He decided to take a different route home," the fox replied with a sneer, giving the raccoon a sideways glance as if daring him to say otherwise. The raccoon, wisely, kept his mouth shut and simply readied the equipment in the back of the wagon.

Shrugging his shoulders, the muskrat turned and looked back the way he came, squinting his eyes and shaking his head, saying, "I don't understand how you expect to finish this job from here."

"I already told ya, we are dealin' with professionals here," the fox replied, smiling as if he were retelling an old joke. "An unusual amount of professionals, according to the man holdin' ma' contract. A job like this requires precision. Isn't that right, ma' striped friend?"

Peering back into the wagon, he watched the raccoon carefully calibrate a large scope. He seemed too scared to answer, instead preferring to focus the intrument upon the Visconti Manor a quarter mile away. With a small twist the raccoon could focus on each little hankerchief the muskrat had tied to tree limbs leading toward the manor, used to gague the wind speed and direction. With a final twist, he could see the face of Vittorio Visconti, and the raccoon grinned cruelly.

"It's all set now," the raccoon replied, pulling his face away from the scope and looking down at the weapon it was attached to. The amazing rifle, with a barrel amost as long as the wagon, lay on its floor, ready for firing.

"You almos' look like you'd take pleasure in takin' the shot yo'self," the fox replied with a cool chuckle. The raccoon's smile disappeared immediately and he looked away. With a snicker, the fox added, "Don't worry, I won't begrudge you takin' a little pleasure in your job."

Pulling a watch from his pocket, the fox peered at it and grinned. He knew exactly what time he was supposed to pull that trigger... and it would come very soon.

"Just a little bit longer til supper time, gents," the fox said slyly.
_________________
Johnny's Fanfics (including Sureshot! A Bon Bon Tale)

Johnny's backstory
Johnny, Mark II (Project Aten character)

[Drofgod969]

(whose turn?)
_________________
yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. that's why it is called the present.
quoted by master Oogway off kong fu panda
Some weep, some cry, some make couches fly. - Katmir
Let me stand behind you in times of peace, let me stand infront of you in times of war, let me stand beside you as a equall, as a friend.