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Tales from the Inventory

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The room was fairly quiet, save for the sounds of the light jazz playing overhead, drinks clinking in their glass as Moxxie sat behind the bar mixing a few libations in front of the portly host, the ever so slight creaking of the floorboard from the other guests walking around, and the cards and chips being placed on the table as the guests continued betting away their cash.

Brock took a drag from his cigarette as he watched the others carefully, trying to read their tells. Claptrap idly sat by taking a sip from his drink after having folded his hand, Ash checked his bet and looked rather smug about his cards (a bluff if Brock were to guess), and from across the bodyguard, Sam was muttering under his breath staring at his hand.

“Having a hard time making a decision there, Fido?” Ash questioned.

“Yeah, I don’t even need to use any my special equipment to read your obvious tells that you have a crappy hand.” Claptrap snarked. 

"What’s got you?” Brock stubbed out the end of his cigarette, blowing out the remaining smoke. “Short on betting funds?”

“No... it’s not that.” Sam shook his head, tapping his fingers across the table.

“Then what is it?” Ash continued asking.

“Well, it’s just that Max figured out on how to take down criminals without having to lay a hand on them and just sings.”

Brock and Ash raised a brow as Claptrap just leaned slightly to get a better look at Sam.

“That doesn’t sound too bad. Unusual, but not bad.” Ash shrugged.

“That’s not the worst part.” Sam sighed. 

The bodyguard lit another cigarette and eyed the freelance officer. “Then what is it? He can’t sing?”

“Is it dubstep?” Claptrap perked up.

“No to the dubstep question, and kinda on the singing one.”

“Then what does he do?” The black haired man pushed. 

There was a long silence before Sam folded his hand and kicked his feet up on the table. Brock checked and Ash thought for a moment before grumbling and folding as well, letting the bodyguard win the pot. 

“Max just starts singing two lines in a song and doesn’t move forward to the next verse. It gets stuck in your head to the point that it drives you mad. I STILL have the last song he sung three weeks ago in my head and it’s driving me bonkers.”

Before they could ask what the song was, Max jumped on Sam’s shoulders and eyed the table.

“Whoooooa, we’re half way there~ WHOOOA, LIVING ON A PRAYER!”

Sam covered his face as Max grin grew large and hopped off, still singing loudly.

“Whoooooa, we’re half way there~ WHOOOA, LIVING ON A PRAYER~!”

“He won’t go to the next verse.” Sam mumbled dejectedly. 

“That... doesn’t seem that bad.” Ash admitted as the new set of cards appeared in front of them. 

“Not now, anyways.” The freelance police took hold of his cards and continued playing. 


Three weeks went by and the setting remained the same. Ash and Brock remained at the table with Brock becoming the victor this round. Puffing out the smoke from his lungs, he looked at the deadite hunter and couldn’t help but smirk. Ash just growled and in frustration pushed his cards down, Brock didn’t flinch but he tapped the cigarette on the ashtray. 

“What’s got your panties in a bunch, Williams?”

“Nnngh...” He tapped his prosthetic hand on the table, muttering under his breath.


“Half way there..."

“You lost me here Will--”

Brock moved slightly back as Ash slammed his fists on the table, causing the cards, chips, and drinks to shake violently. 


From the booth, Sam just sipped from his drink while Max smiled and laughed, looking pleased as punch with himself as Ash laid his head on the table and kept mumbling the same two lines.