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Morning Comes Slowly; New day. New threats. New chances.
Topic Started: Sep 12 2010, 07:36 PM (1,659 Views)
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((Jake Crimson is now under my control. Bwahahahahahaha.))

And then, Jake Crimson was alone.

They had left. The murderous young man and his companions had all taken off, somehow not noticing him. He really needed to stop talking to himself; he'd just draw even more attention.

As he got up to look for his bag, he stumbled. The familiar dropping feeling everyone gets in their stomach when they trip hit him, and he cried out. His heel had been stopped in its pursuit of freedom by a stray rock the size of his fist, and now the world was flipping over without a care for his equilibrium.

Unfortunately for Jake, he found his bag. The cinderblock sitting next to it happened to be immediately where his head would land. There was a dull thud of pain behind his skull, then it was overtaken by black.

((Night of Day 2))

As Jake's eyes fluttered open, there was a terrible pounding in his head. It felt like every nerve ending in his skull was being flattened by a hammer over and over again. As his vision slowly changed from black to slightly less black, he realized that it was night.

He groaned, rolling over and feeling his head slip off the rough cinderblock. His face landed in the grass. It was scratchy; not like the grass back home. He missed the grass back home.

He started to slowly get up, feeling more than a little dizzy. The world was spinning under and around him all at once; he stumbled, then stood upright. He was good. All cool. Totally. Yeah.

He looked down at the cinderblock. He was feeling a sudden surge of anger at it. It wasn't a good weapon AND it had knocked him right out. He had no clue how long he'd been out for, but it didn't matter. Somehow, he'd stayed alive, safely hidden in the bushes. Nobody came and raped or skinned him.

And it was all the cinderblock's fault.

"Fucking useless thing!" he cried as he gave it a swift kick. The little block barely moved, and he barely felt it through his boots. Too little too late. The cinderblock remained unfazed and unintimidated.

He sighed, his headache remaining. Then he noticed it.

The smell.

It smelled like rotting garbage mixed with shit and barbecue. It was one of the worst smells any human being has ever been exposed to, enough to illicit vomiting in the majority of men. It was the smell of decomposition.

Jake coughed, covering his nose. He looked over at the clearing, and was reminded of what would cause the smell. Specifically, a corpse decapitated by explosives and left to rot for a few days.

He immediately felt an urge to leave and find a new place to sit and think, one where he wouldn't be vomiting. He gathered up his daypack and the accursed cinderblock and began stumbling off. He would be feeling that whack all day.

((Jake Crimson continued in Wind in the Willow))
Edited by chitoryu12, Nov 18 2010, 02:00 AM.
Characters for v4

Christopher Carlson: B052
Weapons: Brass knuckles

Jake Crimson: B084 (Adopted)
Weapons: Cinderblock

Characters for v5

Clayton Leven: B050
Weapons: Handcuffs

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