(no subject)
Kirk was bored.
He spent most of his time, these days, shoring up the kangaroo pen - it was nowhere near tall enough to keep a full-grown one o' the buggers in, but for now Tugg seemed content to stick around, mostly because Kirk put up with all the scratching, biting and abuse and still fed the little fucker. It was starting to remind him of most of his past relationships with women, though to be fair, they hadn't often done all of the biting.
He reflected on this as he trudged up the path to the Compound for some tucker, trying to remember the last time he'd had a shag. Lucy Liu, wasn't it? Or had it been Drew Barrymore? One of the Charlie's Angels, anyway - or maybe it was the Golden Girls? No, couldn't be. Spice Girls, then. Shit, how in crikey fuck was he supposed to remember? Once upon a time his bed'd been like a train station, now it was as dry as a dead dingo's donger. What did he have to crack a fat about, anyway? Of course there was Sheba, but that wouldn't be decent, and to be honest he felt a little like a lost lamb around her, anyway. Probably the resemblence to Blanchett. She'd been a right fine bit of goods. But he wasn't going to chase after her, was he? And why not?
He'd turned into a bludger, that was what it was. Lazy. He was bored shitless and he was lazy, and he was doing nothing to remedy the situation. It was only bound to get him in trouble if he did, though, and he thought maybe he ought to lie low for a bit after the whole unpleasant Osiris business.
Kirk wasn't good at lying low.
He pulled a rollie out from his pocket and lit it with a match, puffing a stream of smoke ahead of him as he walked. The tobacco here was lousy, and there was probably some karmic retribution in store for him as rolled a cigarette with pages from the Bible (thinnest paper you could get, here) but he didn't care. He could've done with some piss, too, but one had to make do, even if one was a bloody useless sandgroper like he was turning into.
He would've been happy just to sign some bloody autographs at this point. At least it would remind him of when things hadn't been quite like this.
He spent most of his time, these days, shoring up the kangaroo pen - it was nowhere near tall enough to keep a full-grown one o' the buggers in, but for now Tugg seemed content to stick around, mostly because Kirk put up with all the scratching, biting and abuse and still fed the little fucker. It was starting to remind him of most of his past relationships with women, though to be fair, they hadn't often done all of the biting.
He reflected on this as he trudged up the path to the Compound for some tucker, trying to remember the last time he'd had a shag. Lucy Liu, wasn't it? Or had it been Drew Barrymore? One of the Charlie's Angels, anyway - or maybe it was the Golden Girls? No, couldn't be. Spice Girls, then. Shit, how in crikey fuck was he supposed to remember? Once upon a time his bed'd been like a train station, now it was as dry as a dead dingo's donger. What did he have to crack a fat about, anyway? Of course there was Sheba, but that wouldn't be decent, and to be honest he felt a little like a lost lamb around her, anyway. Probably the resemblence to Blanchett. She'd been a right fine bit of goods. But he wasn't going to chase after her, was he? And why not?
He'd turned into a bludger, that was what it was. Lazy. He was bored shitless and he was lazy, and he was doing nothing to remedy the situation. It was only bound to get him in trouble if he did, though, and he thought maybe he ought to lie low for a bit after the whole unpleasant Osiris business.
Kirk wasn't good at lying low.
He pulled a rollie out from his pocket and lit it with a match, puffing a stream of smoke ahead of him as he walked. The tobacco here was lousy, and there was probably some karmic retribution in store for him as rolled a cigarette with pages from the Bible (thinnest paper you could get, here) but he didn't care. He could've done with some piss, too, but one had to make do, even if one was a bloody useless sandgroper like he was turning into.
He would've been happy just to sign some bloody autographs at this point. At least it would remind him of when things hadn't been quite like this.