I have a jar of peanut-butter, a spray bottle full of rubbing alcohol and hate in my heart.
Ants.
Fucking. Ants.
All over my room. What the HELL did I do to deserve this? I don't have open food. I don't have a mess. I'm a fucking military brat. My room is spotless.
I am not going down like this. I am one of the best weapons money can buy. I am a highly train military mind. I can command troops. I can plan missions, both overt and convert. I can walk a tight rope with nothing bet ten stories of empty air underneath me. I am a Marine recognized sharpshooter. I have survived through things that would make grown men cry like babies.
I will not go down like this.
Weaknesses: One kitten. Inability to use poison because of said kitten. Furniture that is difficult to move. Point of insurgence un-fucking-known.
Assets: A Holocaust Cloak. Jar of peanut-butter ideal for death by blunt force. Rubbing alcohol effective in dealing death. Spray bottle. Many trash bags. Tongs.
This is the greatest military offensive I have ever launched.
I shall take back this land.
There will be GENOCIDE!
And an open window because I think the fumes are going to my head.
Muse: Alec McDowell/X5-494
Fandom: Dark Angel
Word count: 211
Open to RP
The ants go marching.