BLU Sniper || Mason Mundy

At the Petstore
BLU, now that he's gone into business with Miss Pauling, actually has some spending money, and for a change he's not going to spend it on alcohol or bullets or any of the finer necessities. He's at the petstore with Tipsy the crocadog and Rika the black lab puppy. Both of them are sitting in the cart as he pushes it around the store buying them some necessities: a new collar for Rika and a practical hunting harness for Tipsy. Tipsy also gets a rather girly collar, the blue with polka dots amuses the Sniper somehow. Especially when it's on a scaly crocadog.

Right now he's standing in front of all the dog food, a bit inundated by the choices. Come say hi?

The Park
Tipsy has a giant rawhide bone, bigger than she is so she can't swallow it whole, and she's contentedly munching on it in the shade. BLU is doing some training exercises with Rika, having her retrieve the Spy plush when he throws it. So far so good, she's a fast learner.

*The comm clicks to life broadcasting a black screen with a tiny sliver of greyish light. The communicator is sitting on the floor, with a large, scaly, crocadog butt plopped right on top of it. There's a few seconds of this before the feed finally shows something mildly interesting. The crocadog gives a soft whine and waddles over toward another blackish blob on the couch.

Sitting in complete darkness lit only by a window, is the BLU Sniper, hunched over on the couch, facing the wall, gripped tightly in his hands is something shiny and silver, a thin chain hanging down from his fingers. When Tipsy whines and paws at him with her stubby leg, he reaches down and pats her head with a shaky hand, keeping a death grip on the precious item clenched in his other fist. A few pats for his faithful pet and then he reaches up with that hand to rub harshly at his eyes under his glasses. He heaves a sigh and picks Tipsy up, putting her on the couch next to him.

He hasn't noticed the comm has a little red blinking light on it now, recording him.*

*Sniper appears on the feed, human again and smoking, a bottle of beer on the table in front of him. So what that it's before noon? Who cares.*

Glad that nonsense is over with. Thought I'd let th' lot 'f you know I'm gonna be gone for a few days, so you don't think that bloody spook killed me or nothin'. But I uh.. seem t' be missin' some 'f my stuff. Cassidy? You seen an ammo pouch? 'Bout this big *He holds his hands about four inches apart.* Leather an' full 'f ammo?

PHONE
All you folks that been in Mayfield fer over a year, is this kind 'f thing normal? And if it is does anyone know where t' get a generator?


ACTION : 625 Topper Street
*Sniper hates the cold. HATES it. In fact he hasn't gone outside his camper, with the exception of work, for the past few weeks. But once the power goes out, he figures that being inside insulated walls would be better than inside his camper. Especially since he's not sure if he'll be able to go get more gas for it if a blizzard comes.

Sniper has made a pillow fort.

Out of couch cushions and mattresses and blankets and reinforced with tables and chairs and is planning on not coming out until June. Your bed is untouched Tara but the rest of the house is decimated. He has a stack of firewood and newspapers near him and he's feeding the fire in the fireplace, but trying to be stingy with the wood so it'll last. He's also grouchier than usual.

Anyone who knows where he lives is welcome to come enjoy the pillow fort along with the supplies he's been stashing in his basement just for emergencies such as this.

Also there is a tiny puppy keeping him company.*

*Technically this call is to Scout, but thanks to the little spazz Sniper has no idea how to actually call him directly.*

Scout? You out there? Could use a bit 'f help here.

*So RED shot BLU in the shoulder. In the left shoulder in fact. And since BLU is left handed he's having a hell of a time trying to pry the bullet out with his off hand.*

*Have a friendly call from your neighborhood mechanic. BLU Sniper has been up on his roof all morning watching the swarm of rather ineffectual zombie/vampires just .. loom around in the cheesiest way. So he's offering to help out.*

I realize th' lot 'f you probably can't answer phones with yer arms stuck in capes loike a bunch of bad movie extras. But if any 'f you are sick of slowly shamblin' around, I've got eighteen bullets left. And I'm more than happy t' help put you out 'f yer misery.

Just shuffle on by Topper Street. First eighteen of you get a shiny prize.

*Turns out BLU Sniper has a job he's been neglecting the entire time he's been in Mayfield. After the angry phone call from his boss he headed down to the local garage and suited up in a blue jumpsuit for his first day of work as a mechanic. He's not pleased about this whole situation, but at least it keeps him from being totally bored.

He actually does know about cars, granted his area of expertise is Land Rovers with camper shells on the back, but still. It's been a fairly boring day so you can find Snipes:*

A: Sitting on a folding chair near the back of the garage with a knife in one hand and a chunk of wood about four feet long in the other, slowly chipping away the thing into a semi-circular shape. The wood looks suspiciously like it might have come from an oak coffee table.

B: Rolling damaged tires from the garage down the street and piling them near a dumpster.

C: Fighting with the coffee machine in the small office. Someone needs his coffee and is crankier than usual since he doesn't have any cigarettes.

*BLU Sniper has been in Paradise long enough to run out of smokes. He's twitchy and cranky, oh and he has a gun. Currently he's standing on the roof of his apartment shooting at street lamps. Fortunately for the rest of the residents he has the Machina so it's firing tracer bullets. Just follow the glowing blue trails in the sky back to where he's standing. The downside is if anyone was sleeping, they're not now thanks to the loud BOOMs.

And then three shots in...*

GODDAMN BLOODY PIKERS!! This place is crocked.

*Along with some choice expletives. Turns out he can miss on occasion. But it might just be the nicotine withdrawals.*