Сорян :С
Просто реально случилось столько всего, что игра совсем из головы вылетела

Особенно в те интимные моменты
Прижимаешь такая свое лезвие к горлу, а тебе по черепушке тукан долбит

*Смотрит на новую аватарку квинты.*

Но я вернулся
(меня ждали, йей)

Столько упущенных возможностей...
Интересно, птицы могут быть собутыльниками? :thinking:

Diego Llargo
вот этот еще хорош

Molly was in the middle of whisking when the knock came - three of them, actually, one after the other, loud, imperative. It figures, she thought to herself, and quickly wiped her hands on the hand-embroidered dish cloth and headed out of the kitchen. She paused in the living room to shoo a few hens out of her way - they knew better than to block her way like that. Honestly.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen, what can I do ya for?" she said once she had reached and opened the door. Two men wearing suits and sunglasses were standing on her dusty wooden porch.

The one on the left spoke first, "Ma'am. Good afternoon. Agent Jones and Agent Macklin, FBI. Mind if we come in?"

"Well - mi casa is suitcases, as my mama liked to say."

The two men remained impassive at this, causing Molly to sigh. "Because the sayin'...never mind all that, just come in, please."

Molly stepped aside to allow the men to enter her home. She gestured them towards the floral-print sofa by the staircase. "Take a seat. Can I get y'all a drink? I just whipped up some lemonade this mornin' that is, if you don't mind me tootin' my own horn a bit, is delicious."

"No thank you, Ma'am," Jones replied. He seemed to be the spokesman.

"That's twice now y'all have called me that. Please, call me Molly. Or, if that's a might too casual, you can call me Mama K."

Again, the only response was stony silence. Molly frowned.

Jones spoke up again, "Ma'am, we're following up a lead regarding an incident that happened not far from here early yesterday morning. A man and his family were killed in their sleep."

"My heavens!" Molly said, clasping her hands to collarbone. One of the hens nearby clucked in alarm at her sudden outburst. "Well, these are the times we live in, though, ain't they? You take the Bible out of school and what do you get?"

"The man was an informant for an important court case."

"Well oh-em-goodness, that's even worse! That poor man. Although I reckon it is dangerous work, bein' an informant for the FBI."

Agent Jones and Agent Macklin both cocked their heads ten degrees to the right at the same time - it would have been impressive if it hand't been so absurd. "Ma'am," Agent Jones began, "We did not mention he was working for us."

"Of course not, but you are here askin' 'bout him, and you're from the FBI...anyway, we can sit here shootin' at squirrels all you want, gentlemen, but I imagine you're not here just to bring me the latest news."

Macklin broke his silence. "Ma'am, the individuals were pecked to death."

Molly blinked at them. "I'm sorry - y'all mind repeatin' that?"

"Forensics indicated that they were pecked to death. All of them."

Molly allowed a small smile to creep across her lips. "Y'all came a long way just to yank an old lady's chain like this."

Agent Jones took over. "Ma'am, we do not joke about these kinds of matters."

Molly took a moment to let this sink in. "Pecked to death? Pecked to death, you say? But, my word, how would such a thing even happen? Did they have a pet bird?"

"No, Ma'am. And the report indicated it was at least five different birds that committed the murder."

"...and I just...I'm havin' trouble picturin' it, I s'ppose. I mean, I've been pecked a gracious plenty, especially by ol' Calpurnia, there, in the corner. But I can't imagine what it would take to kill someone through peckin'."

"It is a very unique case, ma'am. Anyway - we were wondering if you might have seen or heard anything unusual during the night in question."

"I mean, I s'ppose, you peck enough...eventually you start bleedin' so much...but still. Why would the chickens do that?"

The agents cocked their heads in unison again, this time to the left. "We didn't mention chickens, ma'am."

"Plus the coordination. You'd need some kinda ringleader, I guess, givin' orders and whatnot."

The chickens in the room had frozen, watching the scene unfold. Both of the men tensed and slowly rose from the couch. "Ma'am, I think we're going to have to ask you --"

"Birdbath," she barked.

Molly's living room erupted into complete mayhem. The chickens who had been in the room flapped at the lawmen and began pecking and clawing. Three times that number dropped down on them from above.

Molly raised her voice to be heard over the screams of the agents and the frenzied clucking of her feathered minions. "I am sorry about this, gentlemen. But y'all came into my home, refused my hospitality, and insisted on callin' me ma'am when I expressly asked y'all not to."

She watched silently for a time, then waited for the feathers to settle. "'sides, I can't have y'all messin' 'bout with my plans. And if you think what happened to that backstabbin' boll-weevil Strathairn was bad...wait 'til y'all see what I do next."

And with that, Molly turned, went back into the kitchen, and resumed her whisking.

Raynland Higayami
я иногда сижу читаю промты хд

Sherrigan Coyote