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Don't cast aspersions on my asparagus.
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((Skipping post order to keep Dougal active and get him out of the thread))

Slinging the rather heavy shotgun over his right shoulder and readjusting his slightly wonky brown-rimmed glasses and pushing them back up his nose, Dougal continued walking towards the trees. He began to hum a couple of old songs his mum liked to listen to (songs Dougal hated, but was forced to listen to whenever he went on a car journey when his mum was driving, and he was ashamed he knew the words) and focused his mind on kicking large rocks on the ground to try and keep his mind off of the rather bleak situation he found himself in. As he reached the first tree at the perimeter of the forest, he rested against it, leaning his shotgun on the rather rotten tree next to him, and pulled out a map and decided to think of a place that was good to hide in. No luck whatsoever. They all either looked like horrible places to be in or places that were already probably filled to the brim.

Quickly giving Albert a wave and motioning him to come along, Dougal picked up his stuff and set off into the trees. He had no idea what he was doing, but he just had to keep moving.

((Augustus MacDougal continued in No Rest for the Wicked.))
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Dude, how come I feel like i'm not in Kansas anymore? · The Mountain