[ CLOSED ]
who ; Jack Noir and Foxface
what ; +1 stabdaughter??
where ; Jack's corner of Garden Zone 13
when ; backdated slightly to Sunday
warning(s) ; things that are on fire and maybe stabbing/shooting, but don't worry no one is dying!
Jack Noir stood at the edge of the beach, watching his home go up in flames.
Okay, yeah, it was a pretty shitty-ass tent. It was tiny as fuck and could barely fit all his ammo and shit, but it was his home and he liked it. He liked his shitty tent, and his shitty ammo pile, and his shitty drawings and licorice and everything else he kept in there. But with this rock bullshit going on, it was too risky to leave everything as-is. That snide little bitch already threw some of the rocks around his tent, he couldn't be sure what else might have been contaminated.
So, he saved what he could. His guns, a few knives, whatever he could bleach to hell and back without ruining. The bear traps were too many to track down and decontaminate, so he just set the beach on fire and hoped for the best. The ammo stocks were replaceable, he just dumped the shit in a reinforced incinerator and left a note to himself to scrounge up some more. His food was a lost cause-- he shed a single tear for the licorice, god he was going to miss those cute little Scottie candies-- and... so was his suit. He spent the longest time just staring at that hat, bloodied and beaten and well worn. It was his hat, damnit, a man was nothing without a fine hat to match. That's what Droog would always go on about, anyway. He loved that fucking hat like a child. He never took it off, and when he did it was quickly replaced by a backup hat. Jack could never stand to go out in public without his hat.
It was pretty much fucked, though, so he had no choice. Jack gathered up his clothing, with his ruined hat placed gently on top, and tossed it into the incinerator. And that was that. Took a chemical shower, got some shitty tanktop and a pair of pants that were less infested with horrific diseases, took what he had left and went back to his beach.
All that was left was the tent, and everything inside he hadn't been able to save. The flamethrower came in handy. In a matter of minutes, the beach was bright with flames and marked with a tall column of smoke.
He swore he could still smell the melted licorice.
goddamnit no he wasnt crying, fuck
what ; +1 stabdaughter??
where ; Jack's corner of Garden Zone 13
when ; backdated slightly to Sunday
warning(s) ; things that are on fire and maybe stabbing/shooting, but don't worry no one is dying!
Jack Noir stood at the edge of the beach, watching his home go up in flames.
Okay, yeah, it was a pretty shitty-ass tent. It was tiny as fuck and could barely fit all his ammo and shit, but it was his home and he liked it. He liked his shitty tent, and his shitty ammo pile, and his shitty drawings and licorice and everything else he kept in there. But with this rock bullshit going on, it was too risky to leave everything as-is. That snide little bitch already threw some of the rocks around his tent, he couldn't be sure what else might have been contaminated.
So, he saved what he could. His guns, a few knives, whatever he could bleach to hell and back without ruining. The bear traps were too many to track down and decontaminate, so he just set the beach on fire and hoped for the best. The ammo stocks were replaceable, he just dumped the shit in a reinforced incinerator and left a note to himself to scrounge up some more. His food was a lost cause-- he shed a single tear for the licorice, god he was going to miss those cute little Scottie candies-- and... so was his suit. He spent the longest time just staring at that hat, bloodied and beaten and well worn. It was his hat, damnit, a man was nothing without a fine hat to match. That's what Droog would always go on about, anyway. He loved that fucking hat like a child. He never took it off, and when he did it was quickly replaced by a backup hat. Jack could never stand to go out in public without his hat.
It was pretty much fucked, though, so he had no choice. Jack gathered up his clothing, with his ruined hat placed gently on top, and tossed it into the incinerator. And that was that. Took a chemical shower, got some shitty tanktop and a pair of pants that were less infested with horrific diseases, took what he had left and went back to his beach.
All that was left was the tent, and everything inside he hadn't been able to save. The flamethrower came in handy. In a matter of minutes, the beach was bright with flames and marked with a tall column of smoke.
He swore he could still smell the melted licorice.
goddamnit no he wasnt crying, fuck