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Flintlock Burnfur

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  1. The woman in the black and red clad uniform pulled the earbuds out of her ears and stuffed them into her coat pocket, just listening to the conversations for a moment. She took a few sips of her cider and sighed before muttering something in French and reaching up to pull the mask completely off. It was like a huge sigh of relief, doing that. Like taking off a pair of shoes after a long day. Here, maybe she could find a place between her nightly routines and just be Dominique Turgeon. [[OOC: Anyone musically inclined or follows symphonic metal bands might recognize Dom as a guitarist with a Montreal band named Seven Years of Blood.]]
  2. The door opened to the establishment and the black and red clad figure stepped into the low light of the pub. It had been eight long years since this particular vigilante had run through the streets of Paragon City, she was a little older, a little wiser and a lot less hot headed. Stepping up to the bar, Canadienne pulled up the mask to reveal only her mouth and nose and gave a long sigh of relief. "A pint of cider, please," she asked with a hint of a Quebecois accent. "An' some food. Fries and gravy if you have them, please."
  3. This has been giving me a lot of memories and the number of screenshots I've taken is huge. However, there's nothing like a selfie with a massive octopus in the background.
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