Badou, Open. Party-thing.
Who: Badou fcknnails and whoever's interested.
What: His party-thing.
When: Yesterday.
Where: Floor three.
Summary: Due to successfully having avoided death, Badou throws a...celebration...thing.
Rating: PG-13 for likely language.
The room was arranged sloppily, and the signs of lazy work easy to spot. Though he'd managed to trudge his way to the food market to pick up some essentials for his so-called 'party', there weren't many choices to begin with, thus no booze or chips and salsa. He'd just have to make do with what remained. Which was...fruit, uh, some chicken slices, and...salad?
God, he couldn't wait to get outta here.
Badou dug through a pile of blankets heaped haphazardly to the side of his mattress, pulling out what looked like a camo jacket with fluffy material lining the collar. He cast one irritated look over his shoulder at the red wings there. They were so itchy and such a goddamn distraction from everything else, he'd like nothing more than to get rid of them so he could scratch his own back without having to worry about getting a nail stuck on a feather. (He was a badass mercenary, not a fairy.) Oh, and wear his jacket again, thanks. Tossing the camo jacket back onto the floor, Badou reached next for a sleeveless white tank, two holes visibly cut into the back. He pulled it on, grumbling the whole way.
Maybe some company would be good right 'bout now.
What: His party-thing.
When: Yesterday.
Where: Floor three.
Summary: Due to successfully having avoided death, Badou throws a...celebration...thing.
Rating: PG-13 for likely language.
The room was arranged sloppily, and the signs of lazy work easy to spot. Though he'd managed to trudge his way to the food market to pick up some essentials for his so-called 'party', there weren't many choices to begin with, thus no booze or chips and salsa. He'd just have to make do with what remained. Which was...fruit, uh, some chicken slices, and...salad?
God, he couldn't wait to get outta here.
Badou dug through a pile of blankets heaped haphazardly to the side of his mattress, pulling out what looked like a camo jacket with fluffy material lining the collar. He cast one irritated look over his shoulder at the red wings there. They were so itchy and such a goddamn distraction from everything else, he'd like nothing more than to get rid of them so he could scratch his own back without having to worry about getting a nail stuck on a feather. (He was a badass mercenary, not a fairy.) Oh, and wear his jacket again, thanks. Tossing the camo jacket back onto the floor, Badou reached next for a sleeveless white tank, two holes visibly cut into the back. He pulled it on, grumbling the whole way.
Maybe some company would be good right 'bout now.