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Come On Baby, Light My Fire; Try to set the night on fire!
Topic Started: Nov 7 2010, 01:29 PM (145 Views)
Cewebwalz
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Henshin a go-go baby
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Jesse Winter's, Solo))


Jesse sat on the ground, and leaned against the bar, nursing his wounds. Fucking swamper. The shit head had done him in. He glanced at his corpse. Cock sucker was lying face up in the dirt, in a puddle of blood. The doctor fellow had long since left the scene of the crime, had someplace to be, he said. Jesse was grateful he approached the gunshots, anyway. Most people would have carried on their way, oblivious to the battle going on in the town near them. But not him, no. He decided to be stupid, and Jesse couldn’t thank him enough for it.

Winter’s grunted as he got up, the pain surging through him. That had fucking hurt. He moved inside the bar, stepping over the swamper’s corpse. The round he took in the shoulder was just peachy. Fucking hurt whenever he moved it, even just by a little bit. What happened when you got shot, though. Jesse was just lucky this was the extent of his injuries. He was surprised the swamper hadn’t dropped dead after the second shot. Most people took the kind curtsey to fucking die when Jesse shot at them. Not this guy, though. No, he decided to fucking live it up. Shoot it out with the boxer, try to stand up and go for a round two when the count already got to 9. The fucking nerve.

Jesse grabbed one of the last remaining bottles of whiskey, the rest had been littered all over the floor, drunk and spilt. He glanced at the glass from earlier, crunched under his feet. If the fool hadn’t walked into the bar, that shit might have ended badly for Jesse. It didn’t end as perfectly as it should have, but at least he wasn’t the one out in front, with their blood soaking into the sand. Mother fucker barely managed to stumble out of the bar, before passing out. If he hadn’t been dying, Jesse would have been in a lot more trouble when he fell out of the saloon.

Jesse went back to leaning against the wooden wall’s of the saloon, popping of the top of the whiskey bottle as he did so. He began to drink it down, pouring liqour into his mouth. He swallowed, and waited for that familiar burning feeling that accompanied the drink. This was some good shit. Jesse continued to drink the bottle, until finally, he reached the bottom. He removed it from his lips, and glanced inside of the clear bottle. Empty. Fuck. Jesse tossed the bottle behind the counter, before leaving the inside of the saloon. The pain was numbed, and he was starting to care less and less about his injuries.

He glanced at Ellis’s corpse, and decided on something. Oh, he had an idea, alright. He grabbed onto the corpse’s legs, and began to drag him. The body left a streak of blood behind as it was dragged into the bar, right into the middle of the room. Jesse hopped behind the bar, and grabbed another liquor bottle. One well aimed throw later, and Ellis’s body was now covered in glass and cheap booze. Jesse hopped back over the bar, holding a half empty liquor bottle as he did so. He began to pour the contents over Ellis’s corpse, covering the body in alcohol. Jesse dropped the bottle, and headed out, pushing back the saloon’s wooden doors. He went all the way across the street, before he took off his jacket, and laid it down across the ground.

His hand reached for the Molotov cocktail, and he gripped it in his hand. He pulled out a match, striking it against his leather shoe. It lit. He moved it towards the rag at the top of the bottle, lighting it. The fuel soaked rag lit immediately, and Jesse threw the bottle into the the buildings second floor window. He grabbed another cocktail, and repeated the process. This Molotov flew onto the roof, lighting it aflame. Jesse stood back, watching the flame’s consume the building. Jesse began to walk away from the flames, it was getting dark. The sun dropping behind his back, and flames roaring in the distance, Jesse departed from the old western town. Today had been just fan-fucking tastic.
Jesse Winters - Penitentiary Pugilist
8(+2).5.7.5.5.8.4, Level: 4 -HC-

Grace Van Vliet - Indie Incinerator
5.7.7.5.5.4.7, Level: 3 -HC-
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Lmgthev:� Like tbh I agree CP is not the golden boy at all
Lmgthev:� You're like John Candy from Cool Runnings
Lmgthev:� Washed up has been who teaches the newcomers the trade� :D

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