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JEFFERSON DANIELS
Posted: Aug 13 2012, 04:17 PM


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It must have been a Tuesday. Jefferson never could quite get the hang of Tuesdays. Much like Wednesdays, they were a day that was just sort of there but not really fit for any sort of purpose. It was too far from the weekend to be a recovery day and too far from the next to be anything to get excited over – not that Jefferson had ever needed a particular night of the week to party but, as the old adage went, man cannot party alone and most of his acquaintances weren’t from quite the same background as him. But, really, it didn’t make a difference anymore. Everyday felt like a Tuesday for Jefferson, every day was bleak, tedious and annoying though that might just be the effect that being stuck in Houston was having on him. The dead walking, that didn’t much bother him, the fact that most of his family were probably dead left him completely unaffected, but clear, sunny skies in November? That was going to far, a line needed to be drawn. As much as he’d hated living in Chicago, being dogged by the media, at least the weather had been bearable. It was damn near winter, there should have been clouds, rain, snow even but what did they have? Obnoxious blue sky as far as the eye could see. And it irritated him.

Irritation was not a good state of being for an addict or a recovering addict – not that Jefferson would never admit to being either. It got him wound up, made him feel like he needed something to take the edge off of things. But it wasn’t like he needed it, no, he knew that he could do fine without but that didn’t stop him wanting it – just like how a person on a diet might want to stick their face in a cake and eat themselves to death. A cheap bottle of vodka was a poor substitute for what he craved and tasted more like paint thinner than actual alcohol but it was better than nothing. He sat on the roof of a McDonalds in the bright afternoon sun, alternating between smoking and drinking from the bottle. His legs dangled off the roof with carefree abandon that seemed to suggest that falling was the very least of his worries. He’d chosen to sit along the front edge of the buildings roof, giving him a perfect view of the street below and keeping the sun behind his back so he could watch his shadow grow and contort as the hours ticked by.

Slowly but surely, the contents of the bottle – despite it growing increasingly warm in the sunlight – disappeared. Jefferson felt slightly better for it though he was starting to think that perhaps he’d have been better off with a bigger bottle had he wanted to really get anywhere. The itch that he had sought to satisfy still felt mostly unscratched. About halfway through the bottle he noticed, through no effort on his part, that there was movement down in the street and, soon enough, there was someone standing slap-bang in the middle of his shadow. Had they chosen to stop anywhere else, Jefferson might have just kept his mouth shut, but since they were ruining his entertainment he felt he needed to say something. “D’you mind?” He called down to the street below. “You’re ruining the view.” At this point he didn’t even know if the figure was alive or dead but, ultimately, it didn’t really matter. Either way he didn’t care, he just wanted whoever – or whatever – it was, off his shadow.

[[ I make no promises that if you join this that your character won't end up wanting to throw Jefferson off the roof ]]

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ARIZONA SMALLS
Posted: Aug 15 2012, 08:32 AM


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'I don't like to eat snails. I prefer fast food.'

The gas. There wasn’t any gas left. That was why his motorcycle wasn’t starting. Who said Arizona didn’t have any brains? Throwing the cloth to the ground, the earth should’ve shook as the big man dumped down next to his bike. This was a shit way to start the day. Or continue the day, whatever. He didn’t have a watch no more, and the only indication was the sun. Since Arizona had never been a boy scout nor cared any about these things, he had no way of telling what time it was. Maybe it was evening, maybe it was still before noon. Regardless of that triviality, there was no way he’d start this baby. Glinting in the sun, she looked fucking beautiful. But he was no objectophile. He’d admire her with a beer in his hand and right now he was all out.

Now what? His plan had been to drive somewhere and shoot somebody. The first part of that plan was a gonner now. Could still do the latter. “Leavin’ you behind.” Grabbing his shotgun, he went on his merry way. To follow the sun, maybe. Or go to where people normally went on dreary days. McDonald’s. Of course. That made a load of sense. Those parking lots weren’t ever filled but there was always someone there. Someone wanting to get ever bigger, aided by whatever they served behind the counter. Plus Arizona was hungry. He hadn’t noticed before. He needed lots of food. Sure, it must’ve gone stale. But that was what fire was for, right? Burn away bacteria? Yeah. A teacher had told him that once.

It took him a couple of tries to get the road right. Strange how using feet instead of wheels felt so different. It went a lot slower. This would’ve taken less than five minutes with some well-chosen, deadly shortcuts and a general disregard of speed-limits. Boots weren’t all that good for this. He wasn’t complaining though. He wasn’t whining. Hopefully he’d met some whiners. Too bad he couldn’t run them over. That hardly worked without no vehicle.

A few crashed cars here and there. None still functional. A disheartening scene, had it not been for a shout up high. Spinning around, Arizona had to shield his eyes from the sun to see anything. And he still didn’t see more than a silhouette. And a fucking annoying voice. Hand lowered, he chewed on the side of his cheek. His shotgun wasn’t meant for distance. That’s exactly why he’d bought it in the first place. “Imma come up then,” he murmured, throwing one last glance up before breaking open the downstairs door. The odour that swept upon him was pungent. More than a little. It had him coughing but not in any way stopping. “The hell ‘s the roof?

'I don't like to eat snails. I prefer fast food.'

It was even hotter up there. Arizona was used to heat and didn’t mind it but shit. Good thing he didn’t burn easily. Swinging the weapon around like the toy it was in his hands, he sauntered over to the kid. Not a tall guy. Nobody really was, compared to him. Looming, he started an aim that was aborted mid-way. He’d just spotted something of greater interest. “There any vodka left?


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JEFFERSON DANIELS
Posted: Aug 16 2012, 03:42 AM


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Opening his mouth tended to be his downfall. For as long as he could remember people had told him how much more tolerable he would be – how he was less likely to land himself in trouble – if he would only keep his damned mouth shut. But Jefferson didn’t want to be tolerable and the trouble, well, that seemed to find him no matter what he did. So, he opened his mouth and shouted at the figure in the street. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what would come next – he rarely thought anything through or planned in advance, it simply wasn’t his way. He couldn’t even bring himself to hope one way or the other that the stranger might simply take the hint. Jefferson knew all too well that there was nothing he could say or do to change the minds of others and if this guy – whoever the fuck he was – wanted to stay there, ruining his view then there wasn’t an awful lot he could do about it that didn’t involve further effort on his part. Still, he would have preferred it if the stranger hadn’t started to make his way into the building. Letting out a sigh, he swore under his breath, annoyed at the prospect of having to deal with another human being.

Jefferson could have moved, could have pulled the gun from his jacket or even grabbed the croquet mallet that rested on the floor behind him. Could have, but didn’t. Instead he took a moment more to watch his shadow in the street until he heard the sound of the door behind somewhere behind him. Glancing over his shoulder casually, squinting to see, he finally managed get a good look at the stranger and, boy, was he big. Big and armed. Perhaps he’d been a little too liberal earlier when he’d thought he’d be dealing with a human being. The phrase built like a brick shit-house, came to mind. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he took another drink before fixing his eyes on the stranger giving him a somewhat disinterested look despite the shotgun in his hand.

In such a situation, common sense dictated two things – fear and a quick retreat, with maybe a moment or two spared for soiling himself. But Jefferson had never really been blessed with an overabundance of common sense or, if he had, he was brilliant at hiding and ignoring it. Many years ago he’d come to the conclusion that his life was really out of his hands. Life, death, they were random and nothing he did really mattered so what would be the point in try to run, of being afraid. If he was going to die, there was really nothing to be done about it. Even as the guy started to lift the gun, Jefferson remained unflinching, going as far as to look back down at the street below only looking back when the guy spoke. His eyes moved from the guy to the bottle in his hand and back again. “Depends.” He started, his tone nonchalant. “You asking or demanding?” It probably wasn’t a pragmatic or diplomatic approach to take to the situation but if he was going to die, he certainly wasn’t going to die trying to make stupid deals for his own safety.

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ARIZONA SMALLS
Posted: Aug 18 2012, 01:42 PM


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Arizona was torn as to what he wanted the most. On one side, he had been hoping to blow somebody’s head off today and he’d gotten plenty close with no problem whatsoever. All he needed was to squeeze the trigger ever-so-gently, the sole action the man made with any gentleness or care, and watch as the entertainment of the day unfolded in front of him. The sound might even attract someone else! Oh, the possibilities. As long as none of those dead bastards came shuffling around. Talk about boring kills. No resistance, nothing. No thinking. They wandered blindly into gunfire.

This fellow didn’t seem to have the strongest survival instinct himself. He was still standing there, after all, looking squarely into the business end of a sawed-off shotgun. Maybe offing him wouldn’t be much different from offing the dead ones. The blood would be cleaner and redder, sure, but when it came to brains, Arizona wasn’t too sure either opponent had any.

He was clearly the man to talk.

But though he was an overly bloodthirsty hillbilly, he had never once in his life turned down a drink. He wasn’t in a position to turn one down now either, given he hadn’t been offered, but this was of no concern. The bottle was right there. He’d seen it. And if he’d seen it, then that was an invitation in itself. Had this man not wanted to share, he could’ve thrown a sweater over the temptation or something. Whatever really. Arizona was glad he hadn’t though. As far as salvation goes, this was on par with Christianity. Too few people in this glorious apocalypse realized carrying with them a bottle of alcohol had the potential of acting their saving grace. Only if it was visible though. He’d shot one woman who was later revealed to be hiding whiskey under her blouse. All that had meant was he didn’t need to share.

He hadn’t been prepared for a question though. Normally he was handed the drink with as little words to accompany it as possible. His brows furrowed, he leaned on one leg and stared off into the distance. He needed to settle on the right choice. Fifty-fifty type deal. “Demandin’,” he eventually replied in a slow voice, eyes returning to the conversation. Conversation, exchanging of words, whatever it could be called. The promise in the air had his shotgun now pointing to the roof. He’d almost forgot about it. “Hand it over, kid.


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JEFFERSON DANIELS
Posted: Aug 19 2012, 10:11 AM


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Jefferson, despite popular opinion and all evidence to the contrary, was not an idiot. He knew a dangerous situation when he saw one, he understood the magnitude of the possible outcomes. What he lacked was the will to care. While he wasn’t quite at the stage where he was ready to throw himself off a building, he did think it was pointless to run around trying to avoid the inevitable. So he remained nonchalant, unflustered and generally disinterested despite the very real fact that these might be his last moments on earth. It wasn’t ideal, but if his time was up, then it was up. He would have preferred not to have died with a sweaty ass, but, since he was stuck in Houston, that option seemed off the table. For a moment the shotgun was lifted ever so slightly but Jefferson remained more or less apathetic.

Then something happened – it wasn’t entirely unexpected or unwelcome, but it was odd and left him with another decision to make – the guy asked about the vodka. Jefferson was torn, not really wanting to share but not all that certain he was ready to give up his life for the sake of half a bottle of vodka. His mouth moved and he asked the question without much thought – the brief pause that followed was an indication that the Neanderthal-looking guy hadn’t been expecting anything other than a quick yes followed with pleas for his life. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Next was Jefferson’s turn to consider what had been said. It was a demand and the guy was armed.

No, he quickly came to the conclusion that he didn’t want to die at that particular moment, at least not over half a bottle of warm vodka while sweating his ass off in the Houston sun. “I usually don’t respond to demands,” he paused for a second, lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a long drink. “But since this tastes like window cleaner, I’ll make an exception.” With some degree of hesitation, as if his body was protesting the decision reached by his mind, he held out the bottle to the guy. “There you go, kill some brain cells.” Not that guy looked like he had enough to spare. Jefferson doubted the guy was even smart enough to figure out he was being made fun of, but he’d underestimated this sort of thing before. Still, handing over the bottle was about all the good grace he could muster right then and there...

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ARIZONA SMALLS
Posted: Aug 23 2012, 05:43 PM


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Who didn’t respond to demands? This guy, in his own words, and plenty dead ones. That was what demands were for. They weren’t to be trifled with, and were made to be followed to the best of the subject’s ability. Arizona hadn’t landed on that choice because it sounded better. He had landed on it because, after careful consideration, he was demanding. Though a question had factored in there somewhere, that question had been posed at the sudden realization there was alcohol present. It would’ve just taken a few more seconds, depending how much of a fight this guy could put up, to deduce there was vodka left in the bottle without having to have a chat about it. Rather he’d surpassed that whole ordeal. Since Arizona wasn’t a master with words, he might’ve done it different had he gotten a second chance. Bash a skull in and get vodka.

Window cleaner ain’t so bad,” he mumbled, in earnest. He hadn’t had heaps of the shit, but he’d been in one of his ruts and needed a quick fix. A neighbour had offered some window cleaner and Arizona had happily accepted, given his own manufactured goods wouldn’t be ready for another couple of hours. People had always told him to be careful with it. That and other easily accessible substitutes. Since Arizona had a physique made to threaten, he didn’t often find himself sans beer should he want some. Not until now, when the beer was getting borderline disgusting even for him, and real bottles were getting few and far between. And other survivors were so reluctant to hand their goods over. Was he getting soft? Could others smell that?

The vodka was a welcome sight, and the moment the bottle was stretched towards him, Arizona’s borderline menacing look faded to give way for a childish glee. It was an unnerving thing to behold, even for him, but he was far too busy gulping down bright liquid to bother with appearances. He always got more sociable after drinking. Handing the bottle back in a surprising act of good-will, he put the shotgun down and rectified once more to give a booming laugh. “You!” he shouted, patting his friend the stranger on the back full-force. “You got some balls kid, standin’ up to me like that.” He snatched the vodka back to have some more. “I like it. Some gut.


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JEFFERSON DANIELS
Posted: Aug 31 2012, 02:40 PM


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The mentality of an only child dictated that sharing was bad and there was a part of him that really didn’t want to hand over the vodka, regardless of the consequences. It didn’t bother him so much that the overly large man-ape in front of him could probably snap him like a twig, it was more a matter that he didn’t like to back down, didn’t like to concede a defeat on any level. But dying for the sake of half a bottle of foul tasting vodka was pathetic even by Jefferson’s usual standards. Still, he hesitated, took another drink from the bottle feeling completely nonchalant – and feeling like the guy standing before him probably couldn’t even spell nonchalant.

An eyebrow rose as the guy seemed to admit that he thought window cleaner was a suitable beverage. Had anyone else in the world said that in front of him, Jefferson might have taken it as a joke or even sarcasm but this guy? Yeah, he looked the type – actually he looked the type for a lot of things and, to be honest, that intrigued Jefferson. He looked like the sort of guy who knew where to score some coke and that made Jefferson feel like being slightly more accommodating so, after another slight pause he handed over the bottle. He made his passive aggressive remark without really thinking about the implications but, fortunately, the man-ape didn’t seem to notice or care about it, saving Jefferson a quick trip from the roof to the sidewalk.

The bottle was handed back and Jefferson, not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, quickly took another swig while the Neanderthal, thankfully, put his gun down. The pat on the back was slightly unnerving but, somehow, he managed to force a smile even as the bottle was ripped from his grasp once more. “I guess you don’t get many people saying no to you.” Statement, not question. Of course he didn’t. He was a big guy and, from the looks of him, if he had another brain cell he’d have enough to rub together and could probably start a small fire. “I don’t suppose you know where I could find something a little stronger than that,” he nodded towards the bottle in the man-ape’s hand, “do you?” He had to ask, if only to give himself a reason to carry on being civil while he roasted his ass off watching another man drinking his booze…

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ARIZONA SMALLS
Posted: Sep 3 2012, 05:20 PM


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Only time could tell how long he’d be this companionable. Giving him something alcoholic to drink was a notorious way of getting him off his killing sprees and in the mood for some old-school bonding. And he liked this to be known by as many people as possible. The more people knew this and feared him, the more frequent he’d be offered free drinks. Everything was free nowadays, but like this guy here, sometimes it had to be paid by giving up something else – in this case, pride. Or something equally absurd in this day and age. “They don’t, nah.” Saying ‘no’ to him normally resulted in a very real punishment. Arizona didn’t fuck around when he gave threats. He wasn’t the one to say ‘or else…’ and leave the dots hanging. He’d fill those dots the fuck up, and be all to eager to exact his vengeance on those hoping to make a liar out of him.

In this case, he would’ve been all too happy to splatter brain on their surroundings. Walls were disappointedly enough below them and the roof the same, so he wouldn’t achieve that wondrous red colour he so craved to behold. A bit of red, with a bit of brain matter in it… It was the texture of kings. Not that the shotgun was the only option here. A small shove was everything needed in order to make a nice little meal for the undead down on the pavement. A bit unsatisfactory though, to just push. Like in kindergarten, though the result had strayed from sand in hair to brain in disarray. He could always strangle. Now that was more of a hands-on type deal. Literally. He’d have to stop with the thinking. It never did him any good, and he wasn’t about to go back on his peacefulness just yet. Not yet.

The sun was uncomfortably high in the sky, but he was a Southern born and bred. He’d been out in this fucking heat all his life. He was more than happy to spend these post-apocalyptic months in the hell-hole that spat him out. “Stronger than this?” Arizona repeated, stopping mid-swing and looking at the guy. This was what other might call a ‘what-the-hell’ kind of expression, though with him it looked a touch less friendly. He wasn’t angry though. For that he’d need to know what they were talking about. “You mean… not alcohol but drugs?Subtlety, thy name is Arizona.


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JEFFERSON DANIELS
Posted: Sep 13 2012, 02:34 PM


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No, Jefferson didn’t think that this guy had many people refusing him anything he wanted – or at least he didn’t think he had many that were able to walk away afterwards. And Jefferson was particularly fond of his ability to walk away from things. Still, there was a part of him – albeit deeply damaged part – that wanted to be contrary, that wanted to see just what would happen if he said no. But even he wasn’t that big an idiot. Clearly the Neanderthal, despite not looking overly furnished in the brains department, was aware of the effect his appearance had on people – whether or not he was the sort to actually resort to violence should things not go his way remained to be seen. The scheming part of Jefferson thought that knowing such a person might, one day, come in handy but that didn’t make sharing any more pleasant. “Can’t imagine why...” Jefferson muttered with a shrug.

From the looks of him – despite the very obvious first impression about the man build and the unhinged glint in his eyes – this was a man who’d probably either seen or been involved with certain things, certain illegal things. Perhaps it wasn’t quite fair to judge the man-ape solely on appearance, but he didn’t exactly have the look of a man who’d spent his life working in an office, store or in any profession that required a degree of intellect. So, the go to assumption was a life of crime. And that was fine, really Jefferson wasn’t someone to judge – he’d hardly worked an honest day in his life either, though for entirely different reasons. All that matter was that this guy, this man-creature, might know some useful information, something that would make up for the loss of his vodka.

There was some hesitancy before he asked the question and it’s vagueness seemed to give the other man some pause. The look on his face almost had Jefferson rolling his eyes, wanting so desperately to say something cutting about the idiocy of the other man. “That’s exactly what I mean.” Jefferson answered moments later, tone verging on exasperated but somehow he managed to reign it in. “Do you know where I can score some blow?” Clearly there was no point in being vague or dancing around the issue, mostly because he didn’t have the time or patience for the man-ape to figure out what he was trying to say. “There’s a bottle of Jack in it for you.” After all, you didn’t get something for nothing.

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ARIZONA SMALLS
Posted: Sep 14 2012, 06:06 PM


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Arizona wasn’t always the first one to get the joke. Actually he never was. He was the last. Maybe once, twice, he’d get the joke somewhere in the middle of the first guy and the last, but more often than not, he was the last. When it came to sophisticated jokes. Everybody understood and laughed at simplistic humour. If somebody was to walk up to him and ask, ‘What do you call 100 niggers on the bottom of the sea?’ he was already laughing, because the answer to that was going to be hilarious no matter what. And of course it was. ‘A good start!’ – beers all around! That’s why he loved travelling around in a pack. He did not mind being on his own now, but nothing beat the camaraderie of ten guys appreciating some seriously good jokes – none of that sarcasm bullshit.

Though this wasn’t a joke, it was a hint and not an easily deductible one. For all he knew, the guy wanted straight-up Everclear. But it turned out to be drugs. Arizona was not sure if he should be disappointed at a stranger he’d never met before and had barely exchanged pleasantries with, but he definitely felt disappointed at the realization this fellow was a druggie. “You know what it does to you?” he asked vehemently, actually holding the bottle at a distance for once and making serious eye-contact. One of his younger siblings had been a completely meth-head, and ended up looking the part. “My sister was a beautiful blond gal and that shit turned her insides out.” Not literally, but something close to. She had been a beauty pageant contender from an earlier age and ruined everything when she met some dude in high school.

Arizona ended up driving over his head. It didn’t bring his sister back but it was a fucking satisfying substitute.


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JEFFERSON DANIELS
Posted: Sep 17 2012, 10:14 AM


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He could feel a headache coming on; that familiar throbbing sensation behind his right eye that came along with annoyance and exasperation. Unfortunately for Jefferson, annoyed and exasperated were two very common states of being and not just now at the end of the world. Whether or not it was always strictly true, Jefferson had always hated being around people who weren’t as smart as him, oblivious people, people who needed everything laid out before them in black and white. It only furthered the idea in his head that the world was full of idiots and that living amongst them was an utter chore. And right now that was exactly how he felt. Of course, he understood the idea of Darwinism, that only the fittest should be permitted to survive, but did the ‘fittest’ always have to mean the dumbest? Well, if this man-ape was anything to go by then yes, yes it did.

Quickly responding in far more definite terms, Jefferson explained exactly what he meant – another thing that he hated having to do. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek and he let out a sigh at the response before giving a shrug. Yes, he knew exactly what it did to him; it stopped him from feeling, well, any of the irritating bullshit that plagued his life. Of course that wasn’t the end, like everyone else that wanted to take a judgemental stance against such things, this guy had a story. Thankfully it was short and not-so-sweet. Everyone knew someone who’d been effected by drugs in some way shape or form and, in the last twelve or so years, Jefferson had heard pretty much everything though none of it was ever enough to deter him, even the look on the guys face wasn’t enough to put him off the notion. “I’ve always been inside out, so it doesn’t much matter.” It might have been cryptic and tainted with a hint of sarcasm but, in some ways, it was a pretty apt way of describing himself.

So, shall I take that as a no then?” Well, fuck, wasn’t that just a kick in the balls; not only had this conversation made him need something to take the edge off things but he’d also lost the half a bottle of vodka which might have done the trick

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ARIZONA SMALLS
Posted: Sep 18 2012, 06:45 PM


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After his sudden caring about this random stranger, this man whose intellect was definitely challenged, given he didn’t respond well to threats and used drugs, Arizona’s next concern was that this guy, this young, wasted potential, had thought he, him, Arizona Smalls, knew where to get drugs. So what if he liked his alcohol? Most of the people in the world liked their alcohol. Most before they could legally enjoy it, but legality didn’t always count in that world. It didn’t in the world of drugs either, but drugs were extreme, at least for most people. A temptation at some point in life, yes, yet not one you had to give in to. Not one you had to chase. So if that was a ‘no’ or not? “Yeah, that’s a fucking ‘no’ if you ever heard one. Fucking drugs… Me? Drugs? No.” He was shaking his head and almost rolling his eyes as he lifted the bottle for another swing.

Then he handed it back to its rightful owner. Not for permanent keeping, of course. He still expected it back. “Why don’t you look at it this way?” Brace yourself. It wasn’t often Arizona gave advice, especially not sound advice, but he was about to impart his very own brand of wisdom and his new friend The Stranger was at the receiving end. “Now’s the perfect time to stop!” He arched his eyebrows, a move decidedly intellectual and completely lost on his features. His arms were even spread out in front of him, as if he personally was handing over an olive branch and demanding some latching on.


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JEFFERSON DANIELS
Posted: Oct 3 2012, 11:34 AM


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People were stupid, they were dull, tedious and annoying – though Jefferson liked to consider himself an exception, with only varying degrees of success – and that’s what really got to him. All his problems, as far as he was concerned, could be laid at the feet of others – he was messed up because it was how the world and the people in it had made him. There was no one specific moment that could be marked as the start of his downward spiral, in fact, if he was perfectly honest, Jefferson had never really thought of it as a spiral instead preferring to view it as fall from a sheer cliff-face. There had been no point of no return, no warning signs; one day he had been content, the next nothing had been worthwhile. In that moment, feeling like he was being judge by a guy who looked as though he came from a large and inbred family, only compounded the notion that everyone was stupid and that their stupidity was slowly driving Jefferson insane.

The bottle came back to him and Jefferson took a long drink, still finding the vodka unsatisfactory at best, yet another annoyance at worst. He tipped the bottle back as the Neanderthal started to speak again and, from about three words in, Jefferson could tell what was coming. Unsolicited advice; the ultimate bane of his existence. A slight smile spread across his lips as he lowered the bottle, as if he was privy to some private joke that the man-ape wouldn’t get – and in a way, he was. “Right, ‘cause there really seems a point in clean living these days.” He responded in a sarcastic mutter. “Not that I don’t appreciate your opinion,” he really didn’t but decided saying it probably wasn’t the best move he could make, “but if I’ve got to live though this shit, I’d rather have something to take the edge off.” With a shrug, he offered the bottle back. “End of the world; might as well have some fun with it.” Fun or death, whichever came first really; he’d never been particularly picky.

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ARIZONA SMALLS
Posted: Oct 4 2012, 04:37 AM


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Giving advice was something Arizona shouldn’t ever do. He hadn’t been born to bestow his intellect – or lack thereof – on the general populous. He had been born to… Well, he surmised God had a plan for him, somewhere down the line. Perhaps it was to simply have fun as he went along the winding road that was life. At least that was how he chose to see it, and the reason why he was doing exactly that. Some drinking and relaxing was thrown in here and there to vary his every-day routine, but for the most part he was all for fun. Which, evidently, this young man was too. “We have something in common!” he declared pompously, as if this truly was a sign from above their meeting hadn’t been by chance and that they were now destined for great adventures.

Had this been years past and he’d been one to use such lingo, he might’ve called upon a ‘bard’ to conjure up a befitting song. Since it wasn’t, and they only had limited items at their disposal, he placed one hand on the fellow’s shoulder and pointed the other at the horizon. Today was a day for inspiration, apparently. “Why do you need anything else than that?” He stared wistfully into the unknown. “Just use your own bare ar –” Pausing, he looked down at the man and concluded there wasn’t much physical going on there. “ – use some kind of weapon and everything is possible!” By ‘everything’, naturally he meant ‘everything violent’. “You don’t need drugs to get kicks in life, kid. I’ve been wondering if I should toss you off the roof, for example. That’d be fun for me.” Nothing like no reason!


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JEFFERSON DANIELS
Posted: Oct 7 2012, 03:07 PM


28 | CABOOSE
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Having fun or, rather how to have fun, was something everyone had a slightly different opinion on. Some people read books, some put tiny ships into glass bottles, this guy seemed to be suggesting he enjoyed a good ol’ spot of homicide and Jefferson, well, Jefferson enjoyed getting high. People didn’t seem to understand it; drugs were an addiction and escape for the weak minded, that’s what they thought. They were wrong though, he didn’t do it because he was addicted – at least he wasn’t going to admit to it – and it definitely wasn’t an escape. In fact the only time he truly felt like a person, actual and whole, was when he was high. Though he doubted the man-ape standing in front of him would understand his somewhat complex and philosophical views on such things – at this point Jefferson was still slightly astonished that the guy was capable of stringing words together to form coherent sentences.

His eyes had followed the guys finger to the horizon and stayed there as he spoke, no hint of shock even registering on his face as the mention of being thrown from the roof. From what he could gather, the Neanderthal was trying to tell him to seize the day and do whatever the fuck he wanted which, actually despite its source, was a nice idea. Unfortunately that didn’t help the point the guy was trying to make; what Jefferson wanted was to get high. “So, basically,” he started after a moments pause, tone hinting at no shock or fear at being killed, “what you’re saying is I should just go out and fuck shit up but not fuck myself up?” Seemed kind of counterintuitive to him but he didn’t say it. A hand moved to his neck, finger idly tracing roughly where the faint scar ran across his skin. “If it makes you feel any better you can try throwing me over, can’t promise that I’m particularly easy to kill but if it breaks up the boredom for you...” He gave a shrug and reached for the bottle again starting to think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to die then and there even if it was at the hands of an idiot on a ball-bakingly hot day...

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