[ while there was a whole metric fuck-ton of things that were horrible about being held by COMPASS, at least none of them were waking up naked while covered in blue slime, as someone retracts something cylinderic and long from your throat. yeah, this is a whole new level of fucking weird. jackson hits the opposite wall of the med bay with a thud, and a drawn out groan, but quickly begins to check his surroundings. still dizzy, vision still swimming, his head snaps around, looking for immediate threats. like marco-polo pool monsters, or space zombies, or floating brains, or legitimate human-sacrificing cultists. none, as of yet, so he's checking his person instead - some of the acid wounds are still gradually clearing, but there's one serious issue he's more concerned with than any of the where-the-hell-am-i issues.
he is super naked. ]
I spent... [ jackson rasps out, coughing and hacking for a moment as his voice coming through his throat feels more like dragging sandpaper over a wound. ugh. ] ...a freaking year getting those four coordinating, complete, undamaged, unbloodstained outfits together. [ he's pushing himself up, still wobbling, but making his way towards standing, as he grunts out a string of, well, complaints, with growing volume. ] I fought dinosaurs and underwater zombies and David Bowie for that wardrobe.
[ as he finally gets to upright, and looks like he's running off of pure indignation and rage at this point, jackson's voice builds up to a furious roar, looking up like he's screaming at the ceiling itself. or, wall that is now acting as the ceiling. ]
Give my damn clothes back, COMPASS, you douchebags!
[B] BASE CAMP;
[ he's not coated in blue goo anymore, but the last couple weeks in Zelien that Jackson had just come off of didn't offer much ease for basics like shaving. not that anything in Zelien was every with ease, but after the first few months, some things had been worked out for basic needs. before everything went to shit and buildings started, you know, eating people. suffice to say, barring the attempt at combat-knife shaving, jackson's looking a little on the rougher side. his hair isn't even styled into magical perfection. it's a tragedy.
but showering - that he'd like to do. or at least bathing. something cleaner than the jump into a stream he did to get the blue junk off. for that, though, he needs something more cleansing than stream water. ]
Please tell me someone has something at least resembling soap here. [ jackson's questioning the first group of people who look like they've been here a while. ] And we're not all trying a tragic group bonding exercise through community B.O.?
[C] EXPLORATION;
[ he actually misses zelien. how screwed up is that? he misses wesley bitching at him, and chief making him run laps, and hell, he misses scott, that dopey loser. jackson hadn't realized how attached he'd grown to them (to having people - to not being alone), and it's starting to not only weird him out, but concern him. there's no one here who knows him. not really - not the him that spent a year surviving hell. square one, and all that crap.
so - food. food gathering. sustenance. basic bodily needs. the kind of crap chief would ramble at him about. that's where he's starting.
too bad he freaking sucks at this hunter/gatherer shit, and it's mostly just dissolved into Jackson wandering through the forest, dragging his feet nosily, and sighing loudly like the petulant teenager he is. anything he might have been able to catch is probably long gone. he might, in fact, be so busy sulking that he trips over a root and falls flat on his face. feel free to laugh. ]
Jackson Whittemore | Teen Wolf (CR AU from Exit Void)
[ while there was a whole metric fuck-ton of things that were horrible about being held by COMPASS, at least none of them were waking up naked while covered in blue slime, as someone retracts something cylinderic and long from your throat. yeah, this is a whole new level of fucking weird. jackson hits the opposite wall of the med bay with a thud, and a drawn out groan, but quickly begins to check his surroundings. still dizzy, vision still swimming, his head snaps around, looking for immediate threats. like marco-polo pool monsters, or space zombies, or floating brains, or legitimate human-sacrificing cultists. none, as of yet, so he's checking his person instead - some of the acid wounds are still gradually clearing, but there's one serious issue he's more concerned with than any of the where-the-hell-am-i issues.
he is super naked. ]
I spent... [ jackson rasps out, coughing and hacking for a moment as his voice coming through his throat feels more like dragging sandpaper over a wound. ugh. ] ...a freaking year getting those four coordinating, complete, undamaged, unbloodstained outfits together. [ he's pushing himself up, still wobbling, but making his way towards standing, as he grunts out a string of, well, complaints, with growing volume. ] I fought dinosaurs and underwater zombies and David Bowie for that wardrobe.
[ as he finally gets to upright, and looks like he's running off of pure indignation and rage at this point, jackson's voice builds up to a furious roar, looking up like he's screaming at the ceiling itself. or, wall that is now acting as the ceiling. ]
Give my damn clothes back, COMPASS, you douchebags!
[B] BASE CAMP;
[ he's not coated in blue goo anymore, but the last couple weeks in Zelien that Jackson had just come off of didn't offer much ease for basics like shaving. not that anything in Zelien was every with ease, but after the first few months, some things had been worked out for basic needs. before everything went to shit and buildings started, you know, eating people. suffice to say, barring the attempt at combat-knife shaving, jackson's looking a little on the rougher side. his hair isn't even styled into magical perfection. it's a tragedy.
but showering - that he'd like to do. or at least bathing. something cleaner than the jump into a stream he did to get the blue junk off. for that, though, he needs something more cleansing than stream water. ]
Please tell me someone has something at least resembling soap here. [ jackson's questioning the first group of people who look like they've been here a while. ] And we're not all trying a tragic group bonding exercise through community B.O.?
[C] EXPLORATION;
[ he actually misses zelien. how screwed up is that? he misses wesley bitching at him, and chief making him run laps, and hell, he misses scott, that dopey loser. jackson hadn't realized how attached he'd grown to them (to having people - to not being alone), and it's starting to not only weird him out, but concern him. there's no one here who knows him. not really - not the him that spent a year surviving hell. square one, and all that crap.
so - food. food gathering. sustenance. basic bodily needs. the kind of crap chief would ramble at him about. that's where he's starting.
too bad he freaking sucks at this hunter/gatherer shit, and it's mostly just dissolved into Jackson wandering through the forest, dragging his feet nosily, and sighing loudly like the petulant teenager he is. anything he might have been able to catch is probably long gone. he might, in fact, be so busy sulking that he trips over a root and falls flat on his face. feel free to laugh. ]
[D] CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE;
[ wiiillddcaarrdddd idk hit me. ]