He clicked his tongue in annoyance after being stopped. Even more so when she started asking questions.
"Stole it from some shithead."
He says, hoping it would suffice as an answer without any follow up questions.
The pressure was noticed, but not acknowledged—or at least he tried not to acknowledge it. As promised, the weapon was lowered and holstered.
"There. Now move, I have shit to deliver."
He began walking past her to get on his bike.
"Hands off my bike, shithead."
The [ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ] could feel the cold metal of a gun barrel against their skull.
"Haven't you heard the phrase 'look, but don't touch'?"
So he wanted to meet face to face? Not a bad start. Being direct was always the preferable strategy anyway, so obliging this request would be easy. As if summoned from the shadows, the white armored angel would appear behind him.
"Your blood. It reeks of demonic filth."