01 | HOLO | INTRO POST | I'M YOUR PROBLEM NOW
Liberty spikes and a neon purple suit.
The owner of said hairstyle and impeccable fashion statement can only stare, mouth agape and looking like a fish out of water. He is a fish out of water. Or at least, a mammal out of the desert, or..
"Heeeeeh," An elongated, slow to form laugh, and Agent Cherri Cola looks down at his hand. He's got his sparkle-painted laser gun on his thigh he can see out of the corner of his eye, but more importantly, he's staring at the tin can that serves as a cup and the swill that works as both alcohol and diesel fuel inside it. It was still full. Which means he isn't drunk, and--oh, look. A bracelet. Free bling.
"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeh," He repeats, and then looks up with a pleasant, zen-like smile on his face. "I'm hallucinating again," he announces. He seems almost pleased with himself. "You can hallucinate without the use of Zoneweed." Trust Cherri to figure this out.
He looks around again, taking in his surroundings. Crisp, stark. Sterile. Had he not been so complacent right now it would have probably triggered memories of the wonderful underground testing facility of Better Living Industries.
There's a long pause as he stands absolutely still, like a hunting dog spotting his pray, before he sits in the middle of the room, tailor-style, and takes a long, long swig of the tin can cup in his hand.
Yup. This needs a drink. "All y'all motherfuckers can build crazy shit in dreams, wahoooo." A low whistle. "Impressed, zonerats!" ..Or the whole cup. In a brilliant array of how much of a neat and tidy person Cherri is, he tosses the can he was drinking out of over his shoulder without a second thought.
The owner of said hairstyle and impeccable fashion statement can only stare, mouth agape and looking like a fish out of water. He is a fish out of water. Or at least, a mammal out of the desert, or..
"Heeeeeh," An elongated, slow to form laugh, and Agent Cherri Cola looks down at his hand. He's got his sparkle-painted laser gun on his thigh he can see out of the corner of his eye, but more importantly, he's staring at the tin can that serves as a cup and the swill that works as both alcohol and diesel fuel inside it. It was still full. Which means he isn't drunk, and--oh, look. A bracelet. Free bling.
"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeh," He repeats, and then looks up with a pleasant, zen-like smile on his face. "I'm hallucinating again," he announces. He seems almost pleased with himself. "You can hallucinate without the use of Zoneweed." Trust Cherri to figure this out.
He looks around again, taking in his surroundings. Crisp, stark. Sterile. Had he not been so complacent right now it would have probably triggered memories of the wonderful underground testing facility of Better Living Industries.
There's a long pause as he stands absolutely still, like a hunting dog spotting his pray, before he sits in the middle of the room, tailor-style, and takes a long, long swig of the tin can cup in his hand.
Yup. This needs a drink. "All y'all motherfuckers can build crazy shit in dreams, wahoooo." A low whistle. "Impressed, zonerats!" ..Or the whole cup. In a brilliant array of how much of a neat and tidy person Cherri is, he tosses the can he was drinking out of over his shoulder without a second thought.