militarymind (militarymind) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2010-01-05 21:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | #group scene, 2009-06-28 |
GET OFF MY LAWN!!
Who: T100 and the idiots (Torque & Ammo)
When: 6:30pm
Where: Joshua's house
What: the 'joyous' reunion of unit 13 and some house repair
Joshua Jaegar – or T100 as he was known to some – was having at it with a sledge hammer. Wham! Bang! “Damn stupid…” Mutters. More banging. Joshua had shut off the water but the damage done to his bedroom had been the work of several months worth of continuous leaking. As if that were not entirely enough, the walls had the help of a corrosive mold; it was eating through the ceiling and sidewalls and creeping menacingly toward his floorboards. He decided these walls were more trouble than they were worth standing and decided to rip out and redo the damn things himself. If there was one thing life before the military had taught him it was the demolition and reconstruction of basic dry-wall and wiring. His father had never seen sense in paying someone to do what one could do themselves.
The pipes he took care of first because he’d be damned if he didn’t have water and spent the rest of the day knocking rotten chunks of wall from their moldy moorings. Occasionally he took an hour off in irritation and a flume of furious profanities to relocate to the porch where he sat on the front stoop and calmed himself with the dense, completely non-inflammatory drone of Moby Dick, He read until his rage dimmed to a more manageable sense of inevitability and annoyance. His whole damn bedroom needed to be destroyed and rebuilt. Fine. He could deal with that. There were strange sounds originating from the attic and occasionally the lights flickered playfully; yes, in a manner that was distinctly playful. He couldn’t explain any of that so he just kept surreptitiously banging the wall out and reading his book. He ignored the sense that he wasn’t alone in the house because he wasn’t in the mood.
Joshua was just settling down with his book again, a cold beer on the deck beside him when the back of his neck itched suddenly. With a tremendous twitch the man’s head snapped up and with a sniper’s sweeping severity he began to survey the long drive from his deck to the main road. Neck itches were the down your back chills that weren’t very important. Full on shiver indicated the full on something-wicked-this-way-comes bit, but the neck itch was like yeah-something’s-coming-but-I-wouldn’t-w