Spider Jerusalem (puregonzo) wrote in welcomethreads, @ 2013-08-29 15:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | charlie bradbury, spider jerusalem |
Who: Spider Jerusalem and OPEN
What: Spider finally finds his way to the bar
Where: The Hanged Man
When: Thusday Afternoon
Rating: TBD - Assume very HIGH.
Status: Open
Notes:: There will always be one of these on Spider's threads. He is an exceptionally vulgar and offensive character. If anything he says or does is offensive, I will add respective notes in small text under the cut, so people can know what to avoid.
This place was a goddamned horror-show. Worse, there was no Royce. There was nothing familiar. Spider had no way to get his barrings in a place like this and, short of chain smoking while pondering over the, charmingly antiquated, piece of networking technology, Spider had no idea what the fuck to do with himself. He'd just wandered, constantly clicking his spindly fingers over the screen to keep track of the new arrivals, and read what had previously transpired. There wasn't even a Fred-Fucking-Christ, or any of his freak-show friends who'd propped him up to king of the shit pile. The whole place was actually nice and Spider had no real way to process nice. He was far too used to the grime of the city. The noise of his own head, when properly tempered by the right chemicals and focus, worked well there. The two had always formed a caustic symbiosis that, while often wretched to Spider, was something he always knew how to work with...but...Nice?!What fucking universe had he ever had to deal in that was actually nice? The answer was none. For-fucks-sake, people had actually given him money and technology, for free. Who did that? Nobody. Nobody did that. These people, they weren't even people. They were come cartoonish idea scribbled out by a five year old who hadn't had their most recent fix. That, or Royce had found a way to poison him -- which was a distinct possibility still -- and Spider was dead. He was dead and this was...what? Purgatory? Heaven? Hell? Detroit? It was at that time his finely tuned nose picked up the scent that only came from one place in the whole of ever: A bar. Spider wheeled about, lifting his glassed face from the pages of PDA and looked toward the door before strolling inside. He jerked his head about, and a crooked little grin spread out over his lips. It even curled at the sides in wily, almost maniacal fashion, as his teeth gave two chomps on the end of his smoldering cigarette. "Huh." He spat, almost bewildered, as he took in the interior. "Well, shit. Maybe this place isn't so bad." It was spoken mostly to himself as he looked for a place to set up camp and start writing -- because there was sure a story here. "Please, for the love of truth and hard facts, tell me this place is open." Spider took a few more steps inside before he actually raised his voice to whomever might have been present. "Hello? Who do I have to see about getting a bottle of your finest rum?" And Spider couldn't help but wonder -- and hope -- that would be free too. |