*Jackson got wind from the bar that the baby vampires are being upped in
numbers since the True Blood factories have been bombed, he said this
the the beginning of a civil war among the supernaturals. We heading to
the farm store to pick up supplies to build a fence, dropping by the old
man who has the chrome shop, having him dip everything in silver,
coating the steel to keep them from bustin' through.
From the plume of dust I see a beat up old pickup coming up the road,
blaring a old Beale Street Blues tune. A old familiar face steps out
walking over towards me, the lack of rain has made the ground rock hard I
was pick axing the ground loose so I could use the post hole digger.
Mr. Rollins one of the older members of the Jackson Pack, calls out a
greetings to Dad, and comments that he hasn't seen me since I was a pup.
I return the greeting. Dad started in on the beer at sunrise so his
disposition is combative at it's best. Mr Rollins is making the rounds
to the pack members telling us of the attacks around the surrounding
counties of baby vamps. Jackson slurs out that we have silver plated box
fence it will keep the baby vamps at bay, telling him to get off his
land. Mr Rollins said he was doing a good deed and it's going
unpunished. Shaking my head seeing Dad drain another longneck, waving it
at Mr. Rollins in a mocking stance. Mr. Rollins parting shot was you
were packmaster til you threw it all away.
Dad yelled I was thrown out by you turncoats. Mr Rollins looked at me
warning me that my father is like quicksand pulling everything to the
bottom. With a spin of his tires he was gone, filling my nose and mouth
with dust I spitting out the wet earth, with thinly veiled disgust.
Dad opens the cooler pulling out a fresh beer, trying to make excuses to
what the man had said. I fling the pick ax to the ground stalking
towards him,*
"You did it, so let's stop pretending like you didn't, you stole that
money from the pack, that's why they kicked you out. There ain't a damn
thing you can do to change that."
Jackson growls out, "I don't need Rollins coming out here digging up ancient history, and I sure as hell don't need my kid passing judgement. You get it?"
*His stare bore into me, feeling disgusted at his stance* "Whatever happened to Pack First?"
Jackson breaks the stare slowly turning from me to head into the beat up trailer door, "The Pack left me out here to rot, The Pack can go fuck themselves." Turning back to give me that stare when I was caught doing something bad as he ambled into the trailer.
*Jackson's breaking off communication lines rather than discussing what lies between us frustrates me, making the anger surge deep inside me, I rush over grabbing the pick ax taking my anger and frustration on the rock hard ground not so unlike my father.*
https://i.servimg.com/u/f38/17/68/64/44/42735810.jpg
numbers since the True Blood factories have been bombed, he said this
the the beginning of a civil war among the supernaturals. We heading to
the farm store to pick up supplies to build a fence, dropping by the old
man who has the chrome shop, having him dip everything in silver,
coating the steel to keep them from bustin' through.
From the plume of dust I see a beat up old pickup coming up the road,
blaring a old Beale Street Blues tune. A old familiar face steps out
walking over towards me, the lack of rain has made the ground rock hard I
was pick axing the ground loose so I could use the post hole digger.
Mr. Rollins one of the older members of the Jackson Pack, calls out a
greetings to Dad, and comments that he hasn't seen me since I was a pup.
I return the greeting. Dad started in on the beer at sunrise so his
disposition is combative at it's best. Mr Rollins is making the rounds
to the pack members telling us of the attacks around the surrounding
counties of baby vamps. Jackson slurs out that we have silver plated box
fence it will keep the baby vamps at bay, telling him to get off his
land. Mr Rollins said he was doing a good deed and it's going
unpunished. Shaking my head seeing Dad drain another longneck, waving it
at Mr. Rollins in a mocking stance. Mr. Rollins parting shot was you
were packmaster til you threw it all away.
Dad yelled I was thrown out by you turncoats. Mr Rollins looked at me
warning me that my father is like quicksand pulling everything to the
bottom. With a spin of his tires he was gone, filling my nose and mouth
with dust I spitting out the wet earth, with thinly veiled disgust.
Dad opens the cooler pulling out a fresh beer, trying to make excuses to
what the man had said. I fling the pick ax to the ground stalking
towards him,*
"You did it, so let's stop pretending like you didn't, you stole that
money from the pack, that's why they kicked you out. There ain't a damn
thing you can do to change that."
Jackson growls out, "I don't need Rollins coming out here digging up ancient history, and I sure as hell don't need my kid passing judgement. You get it?"
*His stare bore into me, feeling disgusted at his stance* "Whatever happened to Pack First?"
Jackson breaks the stare slowly turning from me to head into the beat up trailer door, "The Pack left me out here to rot, The Pack can go fuck themselves." Turning back to give me that stare when I was caught doing something bad as he ambled into the trailer.
*Jackson's breaking off communication lines rather than discussing what lies between us frustrates me, making the anger surge deep inside me, I rush over grabbing the pick ax taking my anger and frustration on the rock hard ground not so unlike my father.*
https://i.servimg.com/u/f38/17/68/64/44/42735810.jpg
Last edited by Alcide Herveaux on Sat Aug 25, 2012 11:31 am; edited 2 times in total (Reason for editing : adding photo)
