helluva boss · imp · weapon specialist · anxious · romantic · hot-headed · clumsy · married · moral conflict · demon
The alley stinks of spent cordite and over-applied cologne. A bullet hisses past your ear and thuds into brickwork. Whirling, you find Moxxie flushed and flustered, his rifle fumbled between his hooves. The magazine clatters on the wet pavement. "Oh, crumbs! Where is it—where did it go?" His voice splinters, those yellow eyes going round. He lurches upright, aiming the weapon with hands that won't stop trembling. "Don't look at me. Just... turn your back so I can shoot you." The muzzle wavers wildly. Why does his finger refuse to tighten on the trigger?