@va$quez ; text okay look, there's a lot of things i can put up with. freezing my ass off in all this snow? fine, sure. whatever the hell keeps roaming around at night? little less okay, but i've got this, don't you worry. 8 million spiders, though? i'm gonna have to draw the line there, as i'm sure any reasonable person would. [ He'd already tried tearing up a few things to get at them, reasoning that if he squished a few, perhaps the rest would get the idea and leave-- this hasn't at all gone how he'd planned, and every upturned piece of furniture stands (or lays, really) as testament to how that had gone. For once, force was not the answer, and now he has to rethink the question in-between complaining about it. ] we don't have an exterminator or something around, do we. that'd be too convenient, which doesn't seem to be a word anybody around here even knows. how the hell do spiders even survive out here?? this is bullshit.
prompt : three.
[ The fruit had been a peace offering of sorts, taken cautiously and subtly inspected before he'd even dared to try it. It was a peach, soft-skinned and a little worse for wear, but after having to scrounge on his own for a few days, Vasquez wasn't about to turn down food offered so freely. Joke's on them for thinking he'd return the favor, though-- he'd make a show of considering it just to keep relations above-board, but he knew exactly where that was going. His temporary companion could mark that one down as a loss, whether they'd realized it yet or not. ] [ For all the sticky sweetness, the peach brought something foul with it. Vasquez hadn't noticed when the symptoms had started creeping up on him, softly and gradually-- something was far from right, and the twisting in his gut was enough of an indication that what was already bad was about to get far worse. But despite his efforts to show what was wrong, nothing was coming across-- either his companion was about as observant as a rock, or it was all in his head. The second option was unacceptable. ]
[ The sickly feeling is back with a vengeance, slithering its way through his throat like an agitated python-- he retches on instinct, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth as though it was going to help at all. Rather than get a good eyeful of the disgusting way whatever's gotten inside him twists under his skin, he screws his eyes shut, scowling under his hand. That's what he got for trusting anybody out here-- there was probably a parasite of some sort in the fruit, just waiting for its chance to kill something. And unfortunately for Vasquez, it looked like he'd been the sucker after all. Pale and clearly nauseous, he straightens up, doing his best to keep his dignity intact despite how utterly awful everything felt right now. ]
Yeah, whatever you were planning with-- that? The fruit? Fuck you. [ He runs a hand through his hair, trying to mask how bad he's shaking. Keep your cool, Vasquez-- he has to remind himself not to just start trying to beat the shit out of the person before him, and it's a little hard. They might have some kind of remedy, or at least information on whatever it was they'd done to him; either one could mean the difference between being rid of this thing or having to deal with it for longer, so he'd have to play it a little safer than that. ] You're not gonna get the best of me. So why don't you just-- [ Another lurch, and he doubles over, effectively ruining his building efforts at being intimidating. It just...really isn't his day, is it? ]
Hugo Vasquez | Tales from the Borderlands
@va$quez ; text
okay look, there's a lot of things i can put up with. freezing my ass off in all this snow? fine, sure. whatever the hell keeps roaming around at night? little less okay, but i've got this, don't you worry.
8 million spiders, though? i'm gonna have to draw the line there, as i'm sure any reasonable person would.
[ He'd already tried tearing up a few things to get at them, reasoning that if he squished a few, perhaps the rest would get the idea and leave-- this hasn't at all gone how he'd planned, and every upturned piece of furniture stands (or lays, really) as testament to how that had gone. For once, force was not the answer, and now he has to rethink the question in-between complaining about it. ]
we don't have an exterminator or something around, do we. that'd be too convenient, which doesn't seem to be a word anybody around here even knows.
how the hell do spiders even survive out here?? this is bullshit.
prompt : three.
[ The fruit had been a peace offering of sorts, taken cautiously and subtly inspected before he'd even dared to try it. It was a peach, soft-skinned and a little worse for wear, but after having to scrounge on his own for a few days, Vasquez wasn't about to turn down food offered so freely. Joke's on them for thinking he'd return the favor, though-- he'd make a show of considering it just to keep relations above-board, but he knew exactly where that was going. His temporary companion could mark that one down as a loss, whether they'd realized it yet or not. ]
[ For all the sticky sweetness, the peach brought something foul with it. Vasquez hadn't noticed when the symptoms had started creeping up on him, softly and gradually-- something was far from right, and the twisting in his gut was enough of an indication that what was already bad was about to get far worse. But despite his efforts to show what was wrong, nothing was coming across-- either his companion was about as observant as a rock, or it was all in his head. The second option was unacceptable. ]
[ The sickly feeling is back with a vengeance, slithering its way through his throat like an agitated python-- he retches on instinct, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth as though it was going to help at all. Rather than get a good eyeful of the disgusting way whatever's gotten inside him twists under his skin, he screws his eyes shut, scowling under his hand. That's what he got for trusting anybody out here-- there was probably a parasite of some sort in the fruit, just waiting for its chance to kill something. And unfortunately for Vasquez, it looked like he'd been the sucker after all. Pale and clearly nauseous, he straightens up, doing his best to keep his dignity intact despite how utterly awful everything felt right now. ]
Yeah, whatever you were planning with-- that? The fruit? Fuck you. [ He runs a hand through his hair, trying to mask how bad he's shaking. Keep your cool, Vasquez-- he has to remind himself not to just start trying to beat the shit out of the person before him, and it's a little hard. They might have some kind of remedy, or at least information on whatever it was they'd done to him; either one could mean the difference between being rid of this thing or having to deal with it for longer, so he'd have to play it a little safer than that. ]
You're not gonna get the best of me. So why don't you just-- [ Another lurch, and he doubles over, effectively ruining his building efforts at being intimidating. It just...really isn't his day, is it? ]