11-05-2018, 01:42 PM
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He never thought he'd have to chase down a bastard through the desert -some other bastard's land- but he was adaptable, and he'd fantasized about this for too damn long as a kid to quit because of some sand. He'd come too far for that, and there was still a stretch of road to go, but he was nothing if not stubborn. Could hold a grudge, too, though this fuckhead must've thought he could get away with putting kids in pits to fight to the death for his twisted entertainment. How he figured that, Jailbird couldn't say. Maybe he didn't have the brain cells to rub together to think that hey, it probably wasn't the best idea to abuse someone with the capability of tearing him apart. Not that Jailbird was complaining about his shit foresight. This was going to be so goddamn satisfying, desert or not. He would've followed him through the Arctic if he had to- Jailbird didn't care, not with years of shit on his back.
Apparently, though, this was one of those deserts with some kind of gigantic oasis in the middle of it. What were the odds? Regardless, it was a bit of a drop, wasn't it? Such a pity for Cicero here. Guess he was stuck up here with Jailbird.
"What do you want? I'll give you anything! You want gems? Weapons? Some pretty slaves? An arena to run? I've got it all!" He really needed to stop bargaining with the sorts of things that pissed him off. Where were his business smarts?
"'Bread and circuses.' Modeled everything after that." He took several steps forward, forcing Cicero several steps back, closer to the edge of the canyon. "Wasn't Cicero who said it, dumbass." Felt good to finally say that. Idiots with power were worse than idiots without it, because they could say stupid shit and get away with it.
"Are you serious?"
"Dead serious." Jailbird smirked, and by now Cicero was wildly searching for some kind of out, but every direction was in his reach. See, it was easy to beat on a kid, easy to keep beating on him with a whole squad of goons when he got older, but one on one- well, Cicero should know the odds. He'd always bet in Jailbird's favor. "Do me a favor? Scream." He shoved him over the side, and- yes, there was the scream. Jailbird stared down the canyon, watching Cicero disappear, and after a moment or two, the shrieking cut off abruptly.
Right. Jailbird's turn, then, but he wasn't launching to his death. He searched for a tree he could probably land in without fucking himself up beyond repair, though the canopy was so thick it was difficult to find one. Well. Standing around wasn't going to solve anything, so the smilodon backed up, and took off for a running start, launching himself into the canyon. He broke through the canopy and struck a branch, then another, breaking his fall less than comfortably. But hey, he didn't die. That counted for something.
From there, it was a matter of sliding down, and eventually, he made it to the ground. Banged up, with some scratches and maybe a bruised rib or three, but he'd had worse doing less. Exhaling carefully, he glanced it what he thought was the general direction he threw Cicero. Had to make certain he'd actually kicked the bucket. "Better be fucking dead," he muttered, setting off through the jungle, shoving aside foliage.
[align=right][i]INFORMATION
He never thought he'd have to chase down a bastard through the desert -some other bastard's land- but he was adaptable, and he'd fantasized about this for too damn long as a kid to quit because of some sand. He'd come too far for that, and there was still a stretch of road to go, but he was nothing if not stubborn. Could hold a grudge, too, though this fuckhead must've thought he could get away with putting kids in pits to fight to the death for his twisted entertainment. How he figured that, Jailbird couldn't say. Maybe he didn't have the brain cells to rub together to think that hey, it probably wasn't the best idea to abuse someone with the capability of tearing him apart. Not that Jailbird was complaining about his shit foresight. This was going to be so goddamn satisfying, desert or not. He would've followed him through the Arctic if he had to- Jailbird didn't care, not with years of shit on his back.
Apparently, though, this was one of those deserts with some kind of gigantic oasis in the middle of it. What were the odds? Regardless, it was a bit of a drop, wasn't it? Such a pity for Cicero here. Guess he was stuck up here with Jailbird.
"What do you want? I'll give you anything! You want gems? Weapons? Some pretty slaves? An arena to run? I've got it all!" He really needed to stop bargaining with the sorts of things that pissed him off. Where were his business smarts?
"'Bread and circuses.' Modeled everything after that." He took several steps forward, forcing Cicero several steps back, closer to the edge of the canyon. "Wasn't Cicero who said it, dumbass." Felt good to finally say that. Idiots with power were worse than idiots without it, because they could say stupid shit and get away with it.
"Are you serious?"
"Dead serious." Jailbird smirked, and by now Cicero was wildly searching for some kind of out, but every direction was in his reach. See, it was easy to beat on a kid, easy to keep beating on him with a whole squad of goons when he got older, but one on one- well, Cicero should know the odds. He'd always bet in Jailbird's favor. "Do me a favor? Scream." He shoved him over the side, and- yes, there was the scream. Jailbird stared down the canyon, watching Cicero disappear, and after a moment or two, the shrieking cut off abruptly.
Right. Jailbird's turn, then, but he wasn't launching to his death. He searched for a tree he could probably land in without fucking himself up beyond repair, though the canopy was so thick it was difficult to find one. Well. Standing around wasn't going to solve anything, so the smilodon backed up, and took off for a running start, launching himself into the canyon. He broke through the canopy and struck a branch, then another, breaking his fall less than comfortably. But hey, he didn't die. That counted for something.
From there, it was a matter of sliding down, and eventually, he made it to the ground. Banged up, with some scratches and maybe a bruised rib or three, but he'd had worse doing less. Exhaling carefully, he glanced it what he thought was the general direction he threw Cicero. Had to make certain he'd actually kicked the bucket. "Better be fucking dead," he muttered, setting off through the jungle, shoving aside foliage.
[align=right][i]INFORMATION
[align=center][table][tr][td]
NO USE TRYING TO SAVE MY
[/td][td]SOUL
[/td][td]SOUL
[/td][td]SOUL
[/td][td]SOUL
[/td][/tr][/table]