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70's Horror Movies; tagging toxie (pm for entry)
Topic Started: Sep 5 2016, 02:01 PM (773 Views)
Leaf
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((Jerry coughed, letting his bugs escape.))

The walk on the road between the pub and the vehicle depot was a slow one. Walking was an exaggeration, they were creeping on the side of the road, looking around, expecting for a maniac to come in rushing with a gun. However, they met nobody. No students, no corpses, no gore or blood was on their way to the depot.

The closest thing to a cadaver was the building standing in from of them. It didn't look good, or bad for that matter. It just looked dead, like its pulse stopped and the ambulance was on their way. The building's golden days were over, obviously. He thought about it. Maybe there could be a clue around, giving an approximate year of the desertion of the island. Even though it'd be useless, it could be nice to know about it.

If the building was a corpse, then the cars were its babies. Laying around, waiting for somebody to either repair them or dismantle them. That would have ended their suffering, instead they were left there to rust. Just melting away, dissolving because of the elements. Such a waste, he used to think he'd be a mechanic when he'd grow up, like his parents. He wondered how they were reacting to all of this.

Did they accept his death yet?

Recently, he dreamt about going into art, specifically dance. Obviously, it would have never happened, but now, the odds of him living to see college were pretty close to zero. It wasn't fair. If he were to make it out alive, he'd kick some serious terrorists ass. Maybe skewer one or two with his trusty spear. His thoughts were becoming darker and soon, he was seething. He wanted to yell, but something was blocking him from doing so. He just kept grinding his teeth.

Jerry suddenly stopped. Something crossed his mind. He wondered about it, trying to find an answer to his question. It was a vital and necessary question needed to be asked. They couldn't just wander around and be okay. They had to have goals or something like that, or else what will they do? Sit around all day, going batshit and killing each other? Jerry jerked his head toward his companion and clearly asked his question.

"Where should we go? We can't just walk around forever."
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ToxieTheToxicAvenger
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((Michael Crowe, Continued from We Pissin' our pants yet?))

This was new. An alien feeling on what should be a familiar place. Just a casual stroll along the road with what felt like an old friend. He wasn't sure which part made it feel alien, this 'old friend' being a complete stranger outside of his name, or the metal time bomb on his neck. Speaking of the collar....

Michael slid his axe underneath his arm as he reached his hands up to upper chest and neck area. He unfastened the button on his blue aloha shirt, and popped his collar. Covered the explosive leash from all sides but the front. There was no point to it but to make him feel less like the terrorists' cheap whore. Probably the same reasoning as covering lingerie up with a cheap jacket. He lowered his arms, catching his axe on the way down.

Then there was Jerry next to him. For not waking up nearby anyone he really knew, he was an alright teammate. He wasn't some pussy-bitch, and he wasn't sketch as fuck either. That was a good thing, a real good thing. He was trustworthy enough to get shit done, and not stab you in the back later on. He was a pretty good guy, no complaints for him here. But, Michael noticed Jerry staring at something, so he turned his head in that direction.

Holy shit.

Cars.

Well, shitty ass jeeps, but still, vehicles! Michael knew they wouldn't work, but it wouldn't hurt to look around a bit, maybe they'd find someone, or something to help them out. Jerry asked where to go. Good question, wandering everywhere wasn't gonna get them shit.

"Well, shit, we're at a car park right now, right?"

Michael looked at the rust buckets in front of him. They'd look like shit straight out of Mad Max. Speaking of Mad Max, didn't Fury Road rele-.

"Damn..."

Michael just realized he probably wouldn't have been able to take Jon out to that movie date like he promised. Michael sighed, "You uhhh, you ever think about what we'd be doing if we weren'- Ah fuck it! You probably don't wanna hear more depressin' shit right now." Michael looked down at the ground, then back to Jerry. He forced his grin back.

"Thinkin' we should check out this place though, maybe find some good shit, or some good people." His forced smile turned slightly more genuine at the prospect of finding some more familiar faces.
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Jerry didn't like the place, at all. Staying there reminded him of home, and he didn't want to think about it. Home was a distant place, away and gone. Everyone's house were laying six feet under. They were buried under the island, waiting for their days to come back. But only one of them will be intact, everyone else's would be demolished by the impact of the crushing weight of their occupants' deaths..

So, that's why he didn't like the vehicle depot.

Even though there was a certain comfort to be had in knowing reality wasn't that far, it was the trip to reach it that scared him. Killing and all of that was dreadful, and knew m, even he'd make it out alive, the world wouldn't forgive him. He could be seen as a victim but, chances are, they'd see him as a killer. A vicious murderer, a cold-hearted monster who killed his classmate to live.

If he thought about home, he wanted to kill so he distracted himself by poking a car's window. The window was already cracked and the shoving was making it bigger and bigger until it finally shattered on the driver seat. That was fun, maybe he should do that some more.

He continued poking the car on the right side. It was hard to determine the original color due to the corrosion but Jerry assumed it was red, or orange, or something like that.. He poked mindlessly and he answered slowly to Michael's point.

"I guess, we could. Wanna' go in first?"
Edited by Leaf, Sep 9 2016, 03:19 PM.
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ToxieTheToxicAvenger
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"Alrighty, maybe we'll find someone in here, if not, we could just loot the place, or set it up as a base of operations or some crazy shit." Michael walked between the various rusted vehicles, giving them a good look.

He stopped at one, his leaned his head towards the window. He wiped away the dust with his elbow and stared at his reflection. Putting his axe underneath his arm again, he moved his hands through his hair. For waking up on a death island, he didn't look too bad. Needed to comb a bit, but not bad. Michael lowered his sunglasses towards his reflection, clicking his lips in his trademark Hollywood style. "Shoulda' been an actor Michael, that face, and that hair... Was gonna get you paid and laid baby!"

Michael leaned back up, chuckling. His hand brushed the bangs of his hair to the side. He noticed Jerry was staring at him like he'd done something stupid. Did he not look at himself in the mirror enough or something?

"What?"

Michael shrugged and continued his trek towards the garages. Technically he was still famous right now. Hell, this was probably the easiest way to become famous. He certainly wouldn't be if this hadn't happened to him. It was... kinda shitty, but hey, people knew his name now. They'd REALLY know his name when he splits Danya down the middle, groin to gullet, in that order.

To be honest though, this island had a nice aesthetic to it. You could do some kickass I am Legend movie here. It wasn't a desert, so you couldn't do Mad Max, but shit, something like The Road or The Stand wouldn't be too out of place. Maybe Escape from Shitfuck SOTF Terrorist Island or something like that, give Mike an eyepatch, he'll fit right in.

Michael walked inside the garage, and announced his big entrance.

"Eeeeey! Where dah' welcomin' pahty at!"

Michael stood still, arms outstretched for a good ten seconds. When he realized he wouldn't find Jonathan, or well anyone here, he muttered under his breath.

"Sssshiiiii-eet."
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Jerry didn't want to go inside, but it was already too late to voice his opinion to Michael, he already opened the door. He wished he could have stopped him from doing so, but it was too late.

Well, like it or not, but Jerry had to enter and explore the place with his partner in crime, and he couldn't just stand in front of it like a statue, so he quickly and quietly followed his friend.

He thought about their promise from earlier, would it be here their killing start? It didn't have to start anywhere, only if they were attacked, but who knows. If someone attacked them, they had to fight back, that's the only thing that mattered.

The inside was like the outside. Just with a to-be-never repaired car, elevated like a ghost and reigning over the place. It could fall anytime, just crush anyone beneath. He forced himself to remember that, area hazard was a valid way to fight back.

The metallic grave's air was stale and Jerry's nostril flared up at the smell of it. It smelled like in abandonment place, untouched for ye-




...




He wanted to facepalm.

"You know what'd be funny? If we start up a car and drive away."
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"Wha-"

Start up a car and drive away. Hold up. HOLD UP! How did Michael not think of this?! Take one of these cars and drive off. Get one of these rust buckets, and drive all of five miles before landing into the ocean! Of course! These things were from the 70's. The Jetsons were from the 70's! They could drive underwater like a submarine. And that's with the implication that they could slap all the rust off to make the machinery work. And that's with the implication there were keys, or one of them knew how to hotwire the-

"Jerry, that's a good idea. A great idea, but there is a few things you got wrong with that plan."

Michael put his hand on Jerry's shoulder, and took off his shades.

"That thing you got wrong, was, well, it was mostly fucking everything. These fuckers are more rust than car, and even if they worked, where'd we drive?! The goddamn motherfuckin' piss ocean?!" Michael raised voice, but he caught himself before he went into a full tirade. Jerry was probably still in shock over their circumstance, couldn't get angry at him, not yet. He raised his finger, his angered grumbling turning to a quiet chuckle.

Michael pinched his brow, shaking his head, he laughed again before putting his sunglasses back on. "If that was a joke, I apologize, sometimes I don't catch sarcasm too well." This place was just as barren as the bar, nothing of use, except well, there was that pile of tires over there, along with the ones on the jeeps. "We won't find much use out of these cars, but there is something they got that do got use!"

Michael wrapped his arm around Jerry's shoulder, pointing his axe at the pile of tires. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" Jerry might not have been on the same page Michael was, but that was alright, he'd bring him up to speed. All that thinking about post apocalyptic works, had Michael thinking about outfits. Football pads, pauldrons, tires. Motherfuckers wore tire armor! Him and Jerry would look badass as fuck!

"You know what tires are good at right? We shred some of these fuckers up, attach it to our clothes, and we're gonna be a hell of a lot better off than the kids in t-shirts and jeans, right. Only people dumb enough to be comin' at us in that type of gear would be bumblefucks!"

Michael omitted the part where they'd be practically useless to large blades or more importantly gunfire; But hey, at least getting bludgeoned to death was less of a risk!
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"It was a joke."

Was all he could have let escape before Michael went on a frenzy. Well, frenzies with a capital "F". Jerry didn't remember how dramatic Michael was before all of this, maybe because they never hung around a lot or just because the stress was getting the better of him. Anyways, he said a lot of things that surely made sense if someone was able to put this specific section on repeat a couple of times but for Jerry, it just went through him. He understood the overall meaning of it, however.

He didn't know a man could say so many words in, what, thirty seconds? Gee, when Jerry thought his ally was over, he continued over his own crazy idea. Making armor out of tires. Shit, they must be really desperate to do that. First of all, it'd take a lot of time, something they didn't necessarily have because of the situation. Anybody could just walk up to them while they are doing that, and it'd be over for them. Second, they needed something sharp, which they had, but only one knife. Cutting with an axe sounds fun and all, but Jerry didn't think it was really accurate. And finally, how will they strap it onto them? With what? Most of the things they had were taken away, including anything that remotely looked useful to kids trapped in a murder game.

With Michael's arm still around him, he tried to think about something to say, but most of those things were either disrespecting his plan or potentially rude so Jerry dug deeper and deeper. He thought about that one time his mom baked a cake for his birthday.. Jerry didn't know what his mom put in it, but it tasted like shit. It tasted really, really bad like a rotten egg forgotten in the sun. It did smell good, so when Jerry took the first bite, he was surprised at this foul-tasting bakery. However, he continued eating it because of his mother's smile. He kinda wanted to do the same thing for Michael, even his idea wasn't the most planned out. In the end, Jerry's mom got better at baking and maybe Michael will get better at... planning stuff out? He wasn't really sure about that last part, but he knew it could make his friend happy.

"Yeah. Let's try, but we need to get everything we need. Something to tie it all up."
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"Oh..."

"Well shit, now you made me feel bad, thanks..." He would've started dwelling on the fact that he sucked at sarcasm, but Jerry reminded him of his own fatal flaw in a plan thought to be flawless. Main difference was, when Jerry was joking, Michael was serious...

"Oh, yeah... Belts." Jerry was right, they were going to need straps and belts to hold all of this shit to their clothes. He knew that. Totally. He just hadn't quite thought about how he was going to get to it. "Yo, follow me for a moment." Michael walked to the tires, grabbing the one on the top of the pile, he rolled it to the side.

"Now this shit is probably gonna take the whole day, which is why it'd be best to get it done now, rather than later. I doubt people are gonna start going batshit this early, maybe one or two, but we all won't devolve into psychopathic inmates overnight; which means now is the perfect time for preparing plans." Michael mimed cutting areas of the tire, showing Jerry his plans on making armor. "So, this is too large to make a single shoulder pad, so once we cut out a piece for it, we split it down the middle right, now we got two pieces, and they'll fit like a charm." He made two lines across the areas he planned to show as shoulder pads. "After that, we cut slits in between the lines here, and here, slide a belt through it, kind of like how a shoelace and the little hole thingy in the shoe works, right?"

Michael stood up, miming putting on the pad. "Then we wrap the belt around our shoulder, just under our arm. Boom! Instant Mad Max; after that, it's just wrist and shin guards, maybe a codpiece if you wanna keep your Jimmy intact." Michael groped his own groin on delivery of the 'Jimmy" line.

He pointed out towards the direction they came from, towards the bar. "There's a living quarters just down the road, probably got some belts and shit we could use to make straps."

There was one question before they embarked on the quest to look cool however. "By the way, can I see your knife? I kinda wanna see how strong this tire is, just so we don't make a bad choice or some shit and find out way too late."

If this tire plan works, well shit, it'd be fucking awesome as a motherfucker. The Bad Motherfucker 4000, badder than your ass. If it didn't work... Well, c'est la vie or whatever the Greeks said.
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Jerry followed Michael to the tires. They looked old, very old. Older than the rest of the island. Maybe the people who lived and worked on the island bought too much stuff and ran out of budget for tires. They looked very kickable, too. Like those huge things you'd see MMA fighters flipped around and smack with a sledgehammer. It was apparently a good workout. His daydream went away when Michael started speaking about his plan. As Michael was speaking, Jerry just nodded and said a couple of ''hum.'' and ''oh...''.

Jerry felt uncomfortable by Michael's demand. He wanted his knife. Out of the situation, he would have gave it right away, but as he dug in his bag, he realized the meaning of that action. Giving one of his weapon to Michael meant he trusted him. Michael could just stab him in the back and leave, nothing stopped him. He would just walk away free and nobody'd care but for their parents and friends left back at home. Something else went through his mind, Michael had an axe all along. If he wanted to play the executionner, he would have done it in the pub when they first met. He clearly had the avantage against Jerry's knife.

Yet, he didn't and that puzzled Jerry.

He kept digging in his duffel bag until he wrapped his hand around the handle of the knife, and pulled it out. The knife seemed feeble. Was that the right word? The knife seemed not fake but weak. Something about the weight, about the plastic of the handle and the thick edge made Jerry curious. Maybe the ''shock'' part of the knife was the fact it was, well, that. If that was the case, he was happy he had another weapon. He cleared his throat and told Michael,

''There,'' as he handed the knife to Michael.

Speaking wasn't his forte, if he were to look badass, he needed to sound badass. Maybe he should work a bit more on voice projection or stop talking like had something covering his mouth.
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"Thank you," Michael nodded to Jerry as he took the knife. "Now we gonna see how good this fucker is, and how tough these tires are." Michael brought the knife down on the tire. Hard.

*Wa-Tunk*

"What the fuck?!" He didn't leave a dent in the tire, not a cut. "Mishap, I uhhh, aimed it wrong, yeah. Never, aaahh, never used a knife before to be honest." He brought it down again.

*Wa-Tunk*

"Wha- why the-" Okay, this waas kind of ridiculous. There was no way Michael was this weak, he could totally cut this bitch. Just had to put a bit more effort. Maybe if he pressed the taser button while stabbing down.

*Gzzt*

*Wa-Tunk*

... No, really, what the fuck? Wait, this knife. Michael pointed the knife towards his thumb. No way they'd pull this, no way he wouldn't have found out already. He casually pressed his thumb against the blade. Nothing happened as he slid it down. Not even a scratch or a drop of blood.

Michael did it again, holding his thumb against the taser button. One falsetto scream worthy of the Smooth Criminal himself later, and Michael had jumped back, looking at the knife. That's a way to wake yourself up, screw licking batteries...

Michael shook his head side to side, vocalizing with added adrenaline into his system. "Wububu, damn! That felt great..." He lied. That hurt like hell. Michael tossed the fake blade back to Jerry.

"Well, good news is, that shock is strong as fuck, but the bad news well..." He desperately tried playing off his stupidity, but it wasn't working as he had hoped. "The uhh, the knife part's a bit of false advertisin', shit."

Michael looked back to the tires, with no way to cut them, he wouldn't be able to make bitching armor. Welp, there goes his day.

"Guess I ain't gonna be Toecutter for the day, huh?"
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There goes their - well, Michael's - plan. Jerry caught the knife with his free hand and shoved the weapon in his bag. It was nice to learn about the property of the shock knife, though. He now knew about what was so shocking about the knife. This also gave Jerry something new to think about: how to use it. So, it was a taser shaped like a knife and, well, fairly threatening until you looked up close and realized what it was. Also, what was interesting was the function of the knife, the electric current going through it. As Michael's reaction demonstrated, it hurt like a bitch.

So, the knife had its uses, and Jerry, while he didn't want to use it, knew he could rely on it. However, it was a blade as he originally thought so it was a smart move to get the spear done because killing somebody with a fake knife sounds pretty brutal and he'd rather not think about it. At the same time, killing someone with a spear sounds as bad but at least it's only a stab, and not bludgeoning someone to death with a dull blade.

He felt his stomach turn as an image of mangled body appeared in his head, and, once again, he heard the buzzing.

He tried to keep it under control, to keep it tame, to keep behind, to keep it still, but it stayed there. The buzzing, the crawling, the noises, the scratching, the voices, the screaming, the pain was there, right behind his eyes, right behind his smile. He didn't want to let them out again, he wanted to keep them in and quiet. To silence them forever. Yet they kept licking his thoughts, gnawing on his brain, lett-

''So that means this isn't going to work out?''

It stopped, everything stopped. He went back to who he was, to who he should be. He was still Jeremiah Larkin, he hasn't killed anyone, or hurt anyone. He just had to stop thinking about the people he could kill, and everything would be fine. He just had to keep it away.
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Michael looked down at the tire he planned on mutilating, disappointed. This was well, really disappointing. Like, really fucking disappointing, like so disappointing he was disappointed that he wasn't disappointed enough. Like hey, we got your favorite present, disappointment. He looked back up at Jerry, who just went thousand yard stare mode again. Shit, he must've been disappointed too. Wouldn't blame him, Michael hyped the plan up too much without actual sustenance. Kind of made him angry that it didn't work. Not at Jerry, or well anyone. It'd have just been cool to have tire armor.

Jerry's creepy ass Ryan Gosling Drive stare ended with a question, a weird worded one, but he got the gist of it. "Ehhh, nah, not really, not in the foreseeable future anyway, unless someone's willin' to lend us a blade or somethin', right?" Michael shrugged, he wasn't really too sure himself what he was implying with his own line. Could have meant just asking, could have meant jacking it off of some poor fuck, eh, no point worrying about it right now though, they don't even know if they could get straps to even wear it. Might still be worth checking the big ass apartment looking buildings just in case.

"Ey, we might find some good shit at the housing place if you wanna check, at least it'd be worth a look." Michael tilted his head towards its direction before looking back at Jerry. He grabbed his axe and turned to walk out the door, before pausing and turning around to look at the garage. There was the raised car, and across from it was a table vice. He got bad ideas with the vice for a moment. But it was only a moment. There was self defense, then there was.... that. Nah, fuck that scene. Unless of course some motherfucker killed Jonathan, then that vice would be used, but now, nah.

As they were walking through the old car park, Michael thought about what would happen if they were attacked. Michael knew himself pretty well, but he didn't know how Jerry would do. He seemed athletic, but did he know how to fight? Knowledge and strength were two different things after all. Experience and shit. There's also the option of taking a punch. Would it be like normal for him, or was he glass jaw? Wouldn't be a way to find out until it happened though, so there wasn't a point to worrying about it. Well, actually, he could ask...

"Ey, you ever been in a fight before?"
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''No.''

He said that without thinking, but it was true. Jerry never was in a fight. He witnessed some during his school years, but could those really count? They were mainly shoves, pushes, punches, kicks, and more or less screaming involved. Most of them weren't real fights too, they were play fights. Nothing to be learned about that but that your friends can start brawl in a moment and be done the second after.

Even while he wanted to become a wrestler, Jerry was just a voyeur. He was never really aggressive, he never wanted to hit anyone. He just wanted to become a professional wrestler just for the novelty, just to be the badass at Christmas that fakes to get beaten up by kids. He wanted to be someone he wasn't, and that's what attracted him to that.

But other than that, other than watching them on TV or imagining himself in one, he never fought anyone as a joke or seriously.

Yet there he was in this life-or-death situation all about fights, about duelling each other, to be the strongest of all. He wished he went through his wrestler dream, not his dancer dream. Well, how could he have known that one day, he'd be stuck here and having these thoughts going through his mind. Still a dancer versus a wrestler, who would win? Not the guy that could be snapped in half, obviously.

What was Michael getting at? Why did he care about Jerry's experiences with fights? Why was it so important to him to ask something like that, right now? After that his plan failed? What was he-

Then, everything clicked.

''Wait, do you want to...?''
Edited by Leaf, Oct 1 2016, 08:05 PM.
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Well, there was a No from Jerry and a Just askin' from Michael, whom expected the conversation to end right then and there. Move on, go loot, worry about it when it happens. They continued to walk down the alley of cars when Jerry spoke up.

''Wait, do you want to...?''

Wait, did he ask if we... Michael turned around. "I mean, I'd say yes, but I'm already taken. I don't know where Jonathan is, but he wouldn't appreciate if we, well, y'know." Michael knew what Jerry meant, it threw him off guard, but he knew what he meant. He wanted to poke some fun at it, because there was a chance he was just posturing, that he would back down."OOOOoohhh, you meant fighting, not the other eff word, okay! Sure, why not?" Michael put his axe onto the trunk of a nearby pinto and raised his arms into his fighting pose, before hopping in place twice or thrice. He stopped; his pose relaxing. "You uhhh, you sure about this? I'm one mean motherfucker, ask anyone around man, I fade the shit outta bitches, right?"

Jerry seemed a bit stand offish at it, that he'd probably back down. Michael took his shades off and left them by his axe. "Ehhh, you know what? I'ma be a gentleman, I'll give you first go if you want. Just ehhh, just hit me anywhere, I won't block or parry or nothin' just gonna see how hard you hit, right?" He hopped in place again, physically, he was hyping himself up for the blow, but mentally, he didn't think Jerry would actually do it. "Surprise me right, don't tell me when you do it, yeah? Jus' gimme a moment to prepare for it." He figured he'd push his luck and see how far he'd go with 'preparing', he had a little habit of poking fun at whoever he was going against, he'd like to get on their nerves to give himself a laugh.

He froze in place for a moment, his arms lowered. He slowly raised his arms at the elbows, leaving his hands pointing from his waist, his fingers twitching erratically, as if some song was playing in the background. He resisted the urge to ask some nearby Donnie to play Lowrider as he slowly brought his hands to his face, fingers still twitching. As his hands reached around face level, he paused for a moment, before gyrating them at the wrists and lurching his arms down again.

"Okay, lets ride!"

This was a bad idea, but if acting like Nicholas Cage didn't make Jerry want to punch him, absolutely nothing would...
Edited by ToxieTheToxicAvenger, Oct 1 2016, 08:45 PM.
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At first, the situation went from one side Jerry didn't want to think about. The whole part of having sex and being intimate was the scariest part of a relationship. It was scary because it involved trust, it involved two people caring about each other. The attachement, the closeness, the openess was a major turn off for Jerry. Not because he didn't care about being in a relationship, but he was scared of being hurt.

So when Michael understood what he meant and not the sex part, a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

But that's where Michael started to become annoying. He talked as if he was in a fucking movie. Oh gosh, he wondered if Michael was able to hear himself talk sometime. He was talking and talking, rambling like a mad man. He wasn't just rambling like a mad man, he was a mad man.

While the whole monologue, Jerry just clenched his jaw and waited for his monologue to end. He needed to stop acting as if he was Rambo or something like that. When Michael shoved his axe in a nearby trunk, Jerry took the signal to raise his fists up. He was not seeing red, but he wasn't seeing white either.

This whole time, he listened to Michael's this and Michael's that. Jerry loved silence and people who were quiet and not screaming all the time. Basically, Michael's, despite being a very charming individual with a lot of potential, behaviors were getting on Jerry's nerve.

As he stood before his living antithesis, Jerry waited for that one moment where Michael would stop talking. Just waiting and when Michael was done, Jerry started swinging. Softly while muttering ''sorry'' and ''oh gosh'' as he waved his fists around.
Edited by Leaf, Oct 2 2016, 03:20 PM.
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