...arrr

[destinyunravels]

[Ambles aimlessly into a room...any room, a half-drunk bottle of rum dangling precariously from his hand, is a creature wearing what resembles a ratty and tattered old naval jacket and looks like...well, Scruffington, full on beardy 'n' shit. He reeks of alcohol and who knows what else. His brown hair is matted and only part of it is even still fastened together by a ribbon.

He slumps against the wall.]

What's the use? [He takes a generous swig]

There's nothing. Not even the most spectacular breasts I'd ever seen. Who bloody cares anymore? Not I, not James, that's who!

[His voice only got louder with his proclamation and he resists the urge to start letting it rain on his face. Instead he drinks so much more of the rum it dribbles down into his beard. Classy.]

Comments

durr how fight scenes work, mommy. (I better be getting good at this if I'm gonna Reese)

[destinyunravels]

[ As poor ol Jim's luck would have it, it happened to be none other than Badou bringing down his foot hard (.........) on the Brit's booze-saturated stomach that cleared the fog in his mind--and did it ever, with the force of a thousand hair dryers on a patch of lower wig--and he remembered, with more and more clarity with every punch, all of it. ALL of it. Marceline...Badou's junk... all of the things that poor man had seen't.

But Norrington didn't say anything, maybe because he was having the shit beat out of him, or maybe because he felt Badou deserved the aggression--and let the other man recooperate (ain't he a nice guy) while he, with soggy bloody breaths and lots of cursing under his breath, pushed himself to a sitting position.

He would have just told Badou he'd remembered, the wanker, but no. He had to open his mouth.

The second that last word is out of Badou's mouth, it's a bird, it's a plane - no, it's a disgrace to the Flag! - and Norrington's launched himself at the redhead with a wild yell. TOUUUUUCHDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWN SLIM JIM! He starts with grabbing a fistful of that coppery goodness of hair, scrabbling around with the startled and raging Badou , yanking them (.....................heh) by pulling him onto their/his feet]

DON'T YOU--[ there's a punch, connecting with--well, something, as James was currently too blinded by his rage to see much of anything--or just the nasty tangled disgusting greasy curtain that is his own hair, fallen in front of his face ]

TALK ABOUT--[ he knees Badou in the stomach ]

--MY PANTIES!

[ Then James sees the cigarette, still smoking and limply held between Badou's fingers still, out of the corner of his eye, snatches it and takes a good, long drag, this time only coughing twice. His eyes watering only...a lil...

Then he sighs and spits once more, blood and spit and another tooth--oh, Badou will be receiving a bill for this...let's see where that allowance of Kyouya's goes now--and speaks, his voice raw and sexy ]

I remember it now, you fucknut.

rawr

(yeah cause you've got the pissing and crying part of Reese down ;)) YOU GOT THIS

[notkinkypatch]

[Badou would have laughed at the sheer jolting dick connection that wired Norrington's memories back together if he wasn't a fucking worse wreck laying on his back on the ground after the initial fisting. If this is how Loki felt at the end of the Avengers then personally Badou understands why his teats are so cold over his daddy issues.
All throughout the passionate and sexy beating Badou flashed back to Neo's gallant struggle and Trinity's angular man-like face, how they triumphed over Hugo Weaving. If they could do that then he could triumph over some drunk ass friend thirsting weepily after titties. Without dying at the end of the fourth goddamn movie.
He wipes his bloody mouth with the back of his hand, his hot bod aching all the fuck over, and manages a gurgle of laughter he hardly feels in the feels.]

Yeah? You sure bout that, cocknose? Cause if you wanna roll around with your balls against my ass you'll wanna see the WWE league on assignin' a pair of tights. I suggest neon green ones that'll bring out your....mast. [Grunting and huffing and bitching about shitting in dicks, Badou sits up and leans on one elbow whilst reaching over to snatch Dickington's stolen cigarette. The firedick warrior takes a drag and gives the other man his patented bitch face, though it had a wearier tint to it. He's pretty accepting of his IOU on the rest of that asskicking, and now he's...not content. Hardly (.........) satisfied. But ok.]

Getcher own or deal with shotgunning, dickhole. How bout a beer too while you're at it, dear~? [Have an asshole smirk]