No good deed goes unpunished
'Lucky' wasn’t a word Asher would ever use to describe himself, and even though he existed in a permanent state of melancholy, cynicism practically oozing from his pores -- his glass was always just empty enough to leave him wanting more and looking-on-the-bright-side of anything was entirely out of the question because it just might cause irreversible retinal damage -- Asher wasn’t likely to ever use the word ‘cursed’ to describe himself, either.
Not until that morning, of course.
It had been easy enough to shrug and swear off banging his knee against the bedside table, the ice-cold water in the shower, the jeans (how did people wear them willingly? There were parts of his anatomy being squished so much so that he would, from that moment on, consider jeans to be a form of cruel and unusual punishment) and stupid t-shirt he was forced to wear by the clothing box and the washing machine acting up, spewing suds all over the place. But the shrug-n-swear mentality went right out the fucking window when he slipped in the bubbly mess, ass-to-floor impact knocking the wind clear out of him, Onyx padding through the suds and dropping something into his lap before licking his face.
“Fuck off,” he had managed to wheeze once his lungs started working again, “You’re not helping! I hope the soap it toxic….” Brushing slobber and foam off his cheek he reached for whateverthefuck his dog had decided to give him, promptly throwing it across the room with a none too dignified scream once he realized what it was. Onyx, though, took it as the start of a game of fetch, bounding after the wooden idol.
“No!” Asher yelled at the dog, scrambling to his feet, slipping again for his efforts before he was up and running.
No, no, no, nonono, no. NO!
He had burned that fucking thing just the night before, after Odd had asked him to get rid of it. And now--
Oh, God...
Locking both Onyx and the tiki in the first room he passed didn’t help, because the damn thing had been waiting for him on the pool table when he reached the rec room, the jukebox joining in on the game, filling the room with the Devil’s music...
"She's so lucky, she's a star
But she cry, cry, cries in her lonely heart, thinking
If there's nothing missing in my life
Then why do these tears come at night
Lost in an image, in a dream
But there's no one there to wake her up
And the world is spinning, and she keeps on winning
But tell me what happens when it stops?"
Make. It. Stop!
Needless to say, he hadn’t stuck around for any longer then he had to. He felt something in his bones, something that told him the jukebox already had Madonna’s Lucky Star queued up, just waiting for Britney’s earsplitting vocals to end.
The trip to the stable was no better, and it actually had consisted of quite a bit of tripping over his own feet, not to mention the feeling that it was happy hour and all the drinks were on him, considering how many mosquitoes seemed to be helping themselves. At least vampires had the decency to kill their victims, mosquitoes were clearly the true evil. He was itchy.
Feeding his fucking dancing horse had resulted in getting his foot stepped on, his shirt nibbled on and, if he hadn't caught himself in time, he would have wound up stepping on something that would have taken his day to new levels of shitty. But, being chased out of the enclosure by a goat hardly made it feel as though he'd walked away from anything victoriously and he just lied there on the ground after jumping the fence.
He was out of breath, his pants were now ripped at the knee and the fucking goat was still bleating at him from the other side of the enclosure. Asher waited, arms out at either side, just welcoming a fucking crucifixion, or, more likely, a meteor to fall out of the sky and hit him. Possibly a house. What he wasn't expecting was a God damned snake to bite his hand, but that's what happened.
"FUCK ME!!" No, it wasn't an invitation, but the universe kept pounding him, anyway.
As the snake slithered off, Asher thanked his affinity for Steve Irwin and that insane show of his, because despite the pain and blood, he hadn't just been shot up with some kind of neurotoxin. Rough-scaled Sand Boa? Nonvenomous. It still hurt like a bitch, though...
Turning his head to face the other direction, his eyes crossed in an attempt to focus on the object in the grass beside him. The idol. That stupid fucking grin still mocking him.
At that point, he wouldn't have said no to a shot of neurotoxin. Possibly a double.
[[Set to Saturday as that's when Asher's tiki-of-DOOM plot is to begin, but I'm not sure how busy I'm gonna get. So? Early. Find him anywhere mentioned in the post: Laundry room, rec room, stable or just outside the animal enclosure on the floor. For anyone he's been an ass to during his time on the Island, now's your opportunity to stick it to him. As long as he's not killed, keeps his limbs and isn't horribly disfigured, have at it.]]
Not until that morning, of course.
It had been easy enough to shrug and swear off banging his knee against the bedside table, the ice-cold water in the shower, the jeans (how did people wear them willingly? There were parts of his anatomy being squished so much so that he would, from that moment on, consider jeans to be a form of cruel and unusual punishment) and stupid t-shirt he was forced to wear by the clothing box and the washing machine acting up, spewing suds all over the place. But the shrug-n-swear mentality went right out the fucking window when he slipped in the bubbly mess, ass-to-floor impact knocking the wind clear out of him, Onyx padding through the suds and dropping something into his lap before licking his face.
“Fuck off,” he had managed to wheeze once his lungs started working again, “You’re not helping! I hope the soap it toxic….” Brushing slobber and foam off his cheek he reached for whateverthefuck his dog had decided to give him, promptly throwing it across the room with a none too dignified scream once he realized what it was. Onyx, though, took it as the start of a game of fetch, bounding after the wooden idol.
“No!” Asher yelled at the dog, scrambling to his feet, slipping again for his efforts before he was up and running.
No, no, no, nonono, no. NO!
He had burned that fucking thing just the night before, after Odd had asked him to get rid of it. And now--
Oh, God...
Locking both Onyx and the tiki in the first room he passed didn’t help, because the damn thing had been waiting for him on the pool table when he reached the rec room, the jukebox joining in on the game, filling the room with the Devil’s music...
"She's so lucky, she's a star
But she cry, cry, cries in her lonely heart, thinking
If there's nothing missing in my life
Then why do these tears come at night
Lost in an image, in a dream
But there's no one there to wake her up
And the world is spinning, and she keeps on winning
But tell me what happens when it stops?"
Make. It. Stop!
Needless to say, he hadn’t stuck around for any longer then he had to. He felt something in his bones, something that told him the jukebox already had Madonna’s Lucky Star queued up, just waiting for Britney’s earsplitting vocals to end.
The trip to the stable was no better, and it actually had consisted of quite a bit of tripping over his own feet, not to mention the feeling that it was happy hour and all the drinks were on him, considering how many mosquitoes seemed to be helping themselves. At least vampires had the decency to kill their victims, mosquitoes were clearly the true evil. He was itchy.
Feeding his fucking dancing horse had resulted in getting his foot stepped on, his shirt nibbled on and, if he hadn't caught himself in time, he would have wound up stepping on something that would have taken his day to new levels of shitty. But, being chased out of the enclosure by a goat hardly made it feel as though he'd walked away from anything victoriously and he just lied there on the ground after jumping the fence.
He was out of breath, his pants were now ripped at the knee and the fucking goat was still bleating at him from the other side of the enclosure. Asher waited, arms out at either side, just welcoming a fucking crucifixion, or, more likely, a meteor to fall out of the sky and hit him. Possibly a house. What he wasn't expecting was a God damned snake to bite his hand, but that's what happened.
"FUCK ME!!" No, it wasn't an invitation, but the universe kept pounding him, anyway.
As the snake slithered off, Asher thanked his affinity for Steve Irwin and that insane show of his, because despite the pain and blood, he hadn't just been shot up with some kind of neurotoxin. Rough-scaled Sand Boa? Nonvenomous. It still hurt like a bitch, though...
Turning his head to face the other direction, his eyes crossed in an attempt to focus on the object in the grass beside him. The idol. That stupid fucking grin still mocking him.
At that point, he wouldn't have said no to a shot of neurotoxin. Possibly a double.
[[Set to Saturday as that's when Asher's tiki-of-DOOM plot is to begin, but I'm not sure how busy I'm gonna get. So? Early. Find him anywhere mentioned in the post: Laundry room, rec room, stable or just outside the animal enclosure on the floor. For anyone he's been an ass to during his time on the Island, now's your opportunity to stick it to him. As long as he's not killed, keeps his limbs and isn't horribly disfigured, have at it.]]