...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

Why can't my reply be perfect. YOU SCRUFFY, SOGGY PIECE OF CRAP

[notkinkypatch]

[Badou's in the room too, whatever room this is, we'll pull something out of our assholes eventually. He's happily nursing a beer, as happy as some poor shmuck dragged tooth, nail (get it) and underwear into angsty side plots. The mournful wailing of the nightingale puts an amused edge to his happy sucking (..........). Wow what a loser, crying into his beard, ratchet ass drunk. Naturally, he has to speak up, man to...weepy. His conscious can't let this go]

C'mon bro, cheer up. There's plenty of titties in the titty sea. 'm sure once you get your welfare check you'll have enough cold hard cash to twerk it to your hearts content. [You guessed it. No recognition flashes in that single green eye. You're shit outta luck, brah.]