Sunday, 14 August 2011

-Amanda- Less Than Triumphant Return

Of all things to bring me out of fucking hibernation, it was Steele barging in with a trussed up Todd. Blood was fucking everywhere. Fuck, there's always blood isn't there? The fucking business seal of approval for us fucking idiots.

They both had multiple wounds, looks like a fight. Or two. I'm no doctor. Just saw stab wounds galore, trust me I know stab wounds, and what looked like gunshots.

I don't even want to know who the fuck thought letting Steele go after Todd was good idea but who ever that was can stick their foot so far up their ass they can taste fucking rubber.

So I can't leave these two fucktards bleeding on our floor so I went to grab some supplies.

And, well, I found some fucked up shit. Must've taken a wrong turn or something, because that room isn't fucking normal. It smelled like I don't even fucking know, sharp and wrong and kinda sickly. All piney and shit. Made me gag and that takes work.

And there were these tables, all lumpy and strange, covered in tarps. Pulled one off to see some coyote with glassy eyes looking up at me. It was all wrong, stitched together haphazardly. Looked like it's skin was too big for its head. Nearly pissed myself.

No shame in admitting I hightailed it, after grabbing the supplies from the right room. Hopefully Doc gets home soon, I'm terrible at first aid. And she has shit to explain.


  1. TRUE! — nervous — very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad?

  2. You. Get the fuck out. I'm not in the mood for your bullshit quotes