(no subject)
Joe was fucking hot.
It wasn't the kind of hot he was used to on the island either, because he'd learned to adjust. Kind of hard not to when one lived on a tropical fucking island and refused to wear anything but black clothes and a pair of goddamn combat boots. He'd adjusted, gotten comfortable and now it was too fucking humid for him to even wear the boots. They'd been left behind in the Compound for safety, because he didn't want the damn things to fall apart, and he was wearing sandals.
Joe Dick was actually wearing sandals.
"Fuck this," he snapped at no one in particular, kicking the flip flops off as soon as he reached the beach, although that proved to be a bad idea. The sand was as fucking hot as the rest of the island and he could feel the soles of his feet burning.
"Oh, goddamn motherfucker, cocksucking son of a bitch," he growled, fed up with the entire situation. He'd spent time in the prairies during the summer, he knew hot and he knew humid, but this was worse somehow. This was worse because the only option to get out of the heat was the Compound and it felt like every person on the island was in there lately.
With an annoyed grunt, he walked toward the water as carefully as possible, stripping his shirt off at the same time. The swim trunks he'd found were obnoxious and brightly coloured, but he didn't give a shit. All he wanted right now was to swim. Maybe he'd stay in the ocean until the heat broke, maybe he'd just fucking live out there until he could walk across the sand again without burning his feet.
Or without having to wear those ridiculous sandals.
[Grumpy, aging punk rocker on the beach. He's very, very cranky and it's possible he'll be nasty, depending on who talks to him. :D]
It wasn't the kind of hot he was used to on the island either, because he'd learned to adjust. Kind of hard not to when one lived on a tropical fucking island and refused to wear anything but black clothes and a pair of goddamn combat boots. He'd adjusted, gotten comfortable and now it was too fucking humid for him to even wear the boots. They'd been left behind in the Compound for safety, because he didn't want the damn things to fall apart, and he was wearing sandals.
Joe Dick was actually wearing sandals.
"Fuck this," he snapped at no one in particular, kicking the flip flops off as soon as he reached the beach, although that proved to be a bad idea. The sand was as fucking hot as the rest of the island and he could feel the soles of his feet burning.
"Oh, goddamn motherfucker, cocksucking son of a bitch," he growled, fed up with the entire situation. He'd spent time in the prairies during the summer, he knew hot and he knew humid, but this was worse somehow. This was worse because the only option to get out of the heat was the Compound and it felt like every person on the island was in there lately.
With an annoyed grunt, he walked toward the water as carefully as possible, stripping his shirt off at the same time. The swim trunks he'd found were obnoxious and brightly coloured, but he didn't give a shit. All he wanted right now was to swim. Maybe he'd stay in the ocean until the heat broke, maybe he'd just fucking live out there until he could walk across the sand again without burning his feet.
Or without having to wear those ridiculous sandals.
[Grumpy, aging punk rocker on the beach. He's very, very cranky and it's possible he'll be nasty, depending on who talks to him. :D]