[4] - Scars don't leave easy. [Backdate Dec.2]
[Action: Morning, 312 Miller St. || Household + Neighbors + Passerby? ]
[It's been a few days now since Badou found himself dead and then the next day not and it's still pretty unnerving. Death is supposed to be sort of a permanent thing. He gets ready for the day, trying to avoid his droid wife and maybe just avoiding the kids a little. It's been sort of awkward for him. What with the whole dying and not knowing what happened afterwards thing. However, as he opens the door, he notices a box. Is this the regaining shit everyone talked about? He supposes it is as he lifts up the box and examines it. Something for your suffering, right?]
Well...Let's see what sort of shittery this find dump of a shithole decided to give me. Hope it's somethin' good to make up for all that crap.
[He remains standing on the porch and opens the box. Big mistake.]
MOTHERFUCKING--GODDAMNIT! SHIT!
[Badou begins cursing up a storm, leaning back against the house and clutching at his right eye. It's a feeling he recognizes all too well. The feeling of a knife sliding into his eye. The sharpness, the cool feeling of metal where it shouldn't be, all of it seems to come back in one terrible moment. And with that feeling, old memories.
It takes a minute or so before Badou calms down, breathing a bit heavily and no doubt attracting some attention. And when he does calm down, he notices that his right eye is back to the way it was before he came to mayfield. Useless. Fingers trace the scarring over it for a brief moment before he pulls his right hand back, looking for the tell-tale scar that's the brother of the one in his eye. There's none.]
Guess it wasn't a two for one deal... I could've done without the fucking pain...
[Action: Work Hours, Grocery || All ]
[He's still smoking without giving any fucks but Badou's looking a little surly today. Mostly because the uncomfortable sensation of feeling like his eye was getting stabbed all over again is still fresh. If you've come in often, you'll definitely notice the makeshift eyepatch on his face. Hey, it's the best he could sew up in 15-minutes flat, alright?]
[Phone: Afternoon || All]
Fucking fantastic. Anyone else get some shit-tastical things back while staying here in fuckall mcshitville?
[It's been a few days now since Badou found himself dead and then the next day not and it's still pretty unnerving. Death is supposed to be sort of a permanent thing. He gets ready for the day, trying to avoid his droid wife and maybe just avoiding the kids a little. It's been sort of awkward for him. What with the whole dying and not knowing what happened afterwards thing. However, as he opens the door, he notices a box. Is this the regaining shit everyone talked about? He supposes it is as he lifts up the box and examines it. Something for your suffering, right?]
Well...Let's see what sort of shittery this find dump of a shithole decided to give me. Hope it's somethin' good to make up for all that crap.
[He remains standing on the porch and opens the box. Big mistake.]
MOTHERFUCKING--GODDAMNIT! SHIT!
[Badou begins cursing up a storm, leaning back against the house and clutching at his right eye. It's a feeling he recognizes all too well. The feeling of a knife sliding into his eye. The sharpness, the cool feeling of metal where it shouldn't be, all of it seems to come back in one terrible moment. And with that feeling, old memories.
It takes a minute or so before Badou calms down, breathing a bit heavily and no doubt attracting some attention. And when he does calm down, he notices that his right eye is back to the way it was before he came to mayfield. Useless. Fingers trace the scarring over it for a brief moment before he pulls his right hand back, looking for the tell-tale scar that's the brother of the one in his eye. There's none.]
Guess it wasn't a two for one deal... I could've done without the fucking pain...
[Action: Work Hours, Grocery || All ]
[He's still smoking without giving any fucks but Badou's looking a little surly today. Mostly because the uncomfortable sensation of feeling like his eye was getting stabbed all over again is still fresh. If you've come in often, you'll definitely notice the makeshift eyepatch on his face. Hey, it's the best he could sew up in 15-minutes flat, alright?]
[Phone: Afternoon || All]
Fucking fantastic. Anyone else get some shit-tastical things back while staying here in fuckall mcshitville?