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Post by Cassidy on Oct 6, 2021 1:29:24 GMT -5
To a man like Cowboy, time meant next to nothing in the grand scheme of things in the current hour of his life. Father Time remains undefeated, guaranteed to take all within his grasp at some point or another, and at the moment, Cassidy was well on his way to greeting him himself.
However, it didn't mean he couldn't make the journey to him a little bit sweeter along the way. Such a philosophy is partially what continued to carry him into staying active throughout all this time well past his main MMA career through other means, specifically that of which concerned his background in mercenary work presently. It wasn't really out of a need of money or fame, and was much more so a matter of simply keeping himself in the moment. Eloquently named a natural thrill-seeker by his peers, Cerrone was just looking for something to do that was, at the very least mildly interesting for a weathered vet like he.
So, he dove himself deep into his soldier of fortune venture, wherein he eventually found a spot within one of the galaxy's most notoriously regarded galactic crime syndicates, the Dirty Snakes. Cassidy, funnily enough, thought himself much more positively in terms of moral compass, but the Dirty Snakes gave him avenues by which he could access only the most thrilling jobs the cosmos had to offer. An opportunity other more, legally based organizations either took too long or held too many restrictions for the more loose-natured gunslinger liked for his tastes.
For the past six months though, Cassidy had been working much more freelance than usual- mostly since he wasn't one to always be held down by one organization or another. He liked to branch out, survey his options, something which Derry seemed to understand upon being notified.
This did mean, however, that he lost contact with many of his other groupmates for a good while, and subsequently he lost access to many a person that would be able to assist him with an ever growing problem he now found himself occupied with- that of which being his quality of gear upon his person.
As Cassidy's strength slowly but surely grew, his equipment began to become less and less able to adapt to the vast amounts of strength they now were required to channel through itself when Cerrone began to put a bit of gas upon the pedal in high-risk conflicts. One of the most notable instances of this being his trusty Peacekeeper revolver, where Cassidy normally is able to imbue its ammunition with Ki without any trouble. Now, however, too much Ki and he was prone to misfire.
And considering his body of work, he'd prefer to keep the blunders down to a minimum.
Thus, Cassidy had finally made his way back to Earth, not only to try and make contact with a few old friends of his, but to also try his hand at pulling a mechanic or something out from somewhere that could possibly help him with his gear difficulties.
Though, at the moment, he wasn't having exactly the best go of it. Finding a trustable mechanic was hard, and considering backalley black market technicians were hardly the trustable lot, Cerrone's selection of possible persons of interests lowered considerably as he didn't just want some random joe off the street either just messing about with his precious cargo.
Not necessarily undeterred, but quite peeved, Cowboy's search often went well into the midnight hours, and on the third day of his first week back on terra firma he once again found himself wandering the backalleys of Central City, drink in hand, whistling a western tune as he tried to think of where else to go next.
Straightening his hat, and readjusting his duster, Cassidy took a swig with one hand whilst brandishing a map in the other, muttering to himself as he looked upon the map with a critical eye.
Apparently none the wiser of the figures in the shadows creeping up behind him...
(PL: 10,908)
However, it didn't mean he couldn't make the journey to him a little bit sweeter along the way. Such a philosophy is partially what continued to carry him into staying active throughout all this time well past his main MMA career through other means, specifically that of which concerned his background in mercenary work presently. It wasn't really out of a need of money or fame, and was much more so a matter of simply keeping himself in the moment. Eloquently named a natural thrill-seeker by his peers, Cerrone was just looking for something to do that was, at the very least mildly interesting for a weathered vet like he.
So, he dove himself deep into his soldier of fortune venture, wherein he eventually found a spot within one of the galaxy's most notoriously regarded galactic crime syndicates, the Dirty Snakes. Cassidy, funnily enough, thought himself much more positively in terms of moral compass, but the Dirty Snakes gave him avenues by which he could access only the most thrilling jobs the cosmos had to offer. An opportunity other more, legally based organizations either took too long or held too many restrictions for the more loose-natured gunslinger liked for his tastes.
For the past six months though, Cassidy had been working much more freelance than usual- mostly since he wasn't one to always be held down by one organization or another. He liked to branch out, survey his options, something which Derry seemed to understand upon being notified.
This did mean, however, that he lost contact with many of his other groupmates for a good while, and subsequently he lost access to many a person that would be able to assist him with an ever growing problem he now found himself occupied with- that of which being his quality of gear upon his person.
As Cassidy's strength slowly but surely grew, his equipment began to become less and less able to adapt to the vast amounts of strength they now were required to channel through itself when Cerrone began to put a bit of gas upon the pedal in high-risk conflicts. One of the most notable instances of this being his trusty Peacekeeper revolver, where Cassidy normally is able to imbue its ammunition with Ki without any trouble. Now, however, too much Ki and he was prone to misfire.
And considering his body of work, he'd prefer to keep the blunders down to a minimum.
Thus, Cassidy had finally made his way back to Earth, not only to try and make contact with a few old friends of his, but to also try his hand at pulling a mechanic or something out from somewhere that could possibly help him with his gear difficulties.
Though, at the moment, he wasn't having exactly the best go of it. Finding a trustable mechanic was hard, and considering backalley black market technicians were hardly the trustable lot, Cerrone's selection of possible persons of interests lowered considerably as he didn't just want some random joe off the street either just messing about with his precious cargo.
Not necessarily undeterred, but quite peeved, Cowboy's search often went well into the midnight hours, and on the third day of his first week back on terra firma he once again found himself wandering the backalleys of Central City, drink in hand, whistling a western tune as he tried to think of where else to go next.
Straightening his hat, and readjusting his duster, Cassidy took a swig with one hand whilst brandishing a map in the other, muttering to himself as he looked upon the map with a critical eye.
Apparently none the wiser of the figures in the shadows creeping up behind him...
(PL: 10,908)
