originaljackass | Ch. 8 - The Death and Return of Jack of Fables

Entry tags:

Ch. 8 - The Death and Return of Jack of Fables

[The moment Jack woke up, somewhere out in the woods, his eyes shot open and he reached for his chest, expecting to find a sword sticking out of it. But there wasn't one. More than that, he could see that his fingers... well, he had fingers. No claws. He felt his face and the familiar stubble was there, as was his long hair, and he quickly determined he had a chest and a feet and his Happy Stick is there and not... scaly.

Whew. Load off his mind. It also proves that people really DO revive in Luceti. But he also knows that people LOSE things when they die. The first thing he does is find something sharp enough to cut himself on. He's pleased to see it quickly heal up, nearly instantly, as if the wound had never been there at all. He then finds a boulder and throws it, proving he is indeed super strong still. So he had his looks and power again... but what about his loot? He'd have to go back to the cave later and see if those bastards that killed him hadn't stolen it all.

... thought he wasn't sure if he should bother. Last thing he wanted to do was risk dragon-ing it up again.

So he takes a long, lonely hike to the village and returns home. He grabs a nice button up shirt, a black sports coat and slacks to toss on. So he'd died twice now. Neither time took. And he was looking as good as ever. Now just as long as he didn't turn into a dragon again, he was A-OK.

So the first thing he does is go to the journals.]

[Voice]

Looks like I'm back to the land of the living and I ain't a dragon anymore. How is it that death is the cure for so many afflictions? First order of business - any women out there wanting a roll in the hay? It's been months since I had any. We can make it as romantic as you like, suits me just fine.

Oh. Guess I owe an apology towards certain individuals for any injuries I may have caused during that scuffle. But in my defense? You guys killed me. So don't expect me to feel too guilty about that.

Thirdly... thirdly... I need some cigarettes and a beer. And some painkillers. I also think I've got on hell of a case of phantom limb going here after losing those extra wings... and the tail.

Oh yeah, anyone seen a tiny blue cow running around? I lost track of the thing a few weeks ago.

[Yeah, screw the journal, he's going to the bar to smoke and drink. If he can't have some sex, this will just have to do.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

...Sucksville.

You can say that again. [He thinks back. You know...]

Definitely got me this time, though. And it hurt like a bitch. [And it seemed like ti was the same sword.]

I think that's the point. Death? Hurts. [ just like love. it's all the same thing, really. ]

[WELL. Not going to let that hold him down.]

At least I got to skip the afterlife this time.

[ her curiousity gets the better of her: ] Do you remember anything? From the week?

This last week? I remember getting stabbed, things going dark... then I woke up and wouldn't you know it, no damn sword sticking out of me.

[All in all, it was like no time passed at all.]

Nothing in between?

Not a thing. Should there be?

...Some people remember a kind of -- obvious nothingness rather than just nothing.

Sounds like people with way too much imagination mixed with paranoia, if you ask me.

I don't know. I don't think I can believe in shutting your eyes on one side and just opening them on the other. It's not supposed to work like that.

Well duh. Remember the part where I mentioned the afterlife? This place ain't got one. The rules are different here.

[ a shiver. ] It's just so wrong. To think...nah.

Maybe it's different if one of those Third Party bastards get you, huh? Permanent sacrifice and all that.

...And yet, I find myself not really chomping at the bit to find out.

[ which is still a new feeling for buffy summers. ]

Yeah, well I'm not exactly in a hurry either. [Who is?]

...Who did it?

[ this after a long pause. ]

[He considers telling, but in the end...]

That's between me and her.

Figures, it'd be a her.

[Oho! Huge grin.] Oh, jealous?

What? Puh-lease. Out of all the possible Jacks I could bother to get jealous over, you are at the very bottom of that list.

How did Shakespeare put it? "The lady doth protest too much."

Except next breath you'll be telling me how you supposedly met the guy. And that's exactly the kind of BS that makes my protesting out to be just enough.

Nope. I was still in the homelands back then.

Then you got to miss out on those funny puffy Medieval shorts. Good for you.

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]

[ action ]