Jack Horner (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
originaljackass) wrote2013-10-05 04:58 pm
originaljackass) wrote2013-10-05 04:58 pm
Ch. 16 - Abandonment is part of life with Jack of Fables.
[And so, today, Jack goes to check in on Clementine because what the hell she didn't come to get breakfast or anything. But when he stepped into her room, it was empty. All except for Mr. Revise, who looked at a bed that was far too neatly made for a seven year old to have fixed up.
Well well, it seems your morality pet has finally vanished. I wonder, how ever shall you become better man now?
"You shut your goddamn mouth, old man." Jack was upset. Mildly. He decided he was already over it. He shrugged and paid no mind to the ox that trotted in after him, hopped up on the bed, and proceeded to fall asleep. Whatever! "Clem's gone? Then fine. That means I'm free. No responsibilities. Back to parties all night and fucking any woman I please! And the best part is, I don't have to listen to whatshisname go on and on about how great he is."
Yes. You'll be a regular pillar of society. I wonder what horrible fate will befall you, then? Perhaps your promiscuity will turn you into a goat. Or your tongue shall make you a snake. Ahh, or perhaps you'll spend another decade in solitude as a pitiful, greedy dragon. I recall you enjoyed that enough to do it twice.
Jack glared at the old man, who he knew good and well as imaginary. And yet he responded anyway. After all, the ox was oblivious and Clem wasn't here to give him strange looks. "I know what you're trying to do. Just drive me crazy by whining all the time. Well it won't work! I'm perfectly sane. I'm just talking to a little bug the Malnosso put in my head. That's completely normal. They're evil scientists. I bet they do that to a lot of people."
Oh, you poor stupid little man. Is that what you think this is? I'm real, Mr. Horner. All of this, isn't. This is the Memory Hole. It was not a little girl that tempted you to reform. It was because I have censored you. You have been neutered and stripped clean of less than desirable traits, but you have created this world to pretend you have some element of control. I assure you that you do not. I will continue to pick you clean, bit by bit, and you will never escape.
And then, at some point in the day, an entire bed went flying out of wall of Jack's apartment. But he ignored it, because the building would fix itself and he had decided that he was officially out of fucks to give. He would go to the bar, do his normal shift, and that night before he put himself to bed with a tall bottle of whiskey, he offered the journal a brief statement.]
[Voice]
Clementine is back to her zombie paradise. She knows how to use a gun, so she might last a few more years. Maybe even ten or twenty. That's a normal lifespan, right? Anyway, she's gone. Just in case anybody gives a damn.
[He considers answering any responses, but eh. What's the point? She's gone, thus she's irrelevant. Only an idiot would get sappy at this point.]
Well well, it seems your morality pet has finally vanished. I wonder, how ever shall you become better man now?
"You shut your goddamn mouth, old man." Jack was upset. Mildly. He decided he was already over it. He shrugged and paid no mind to the ox that trotted in after him, hopped up on the bed, and proceeded to fall asleep. Whatever! "Clem's gone? Then fine. That means I'm free. No responsibilities. Back to parties all night and fucking any woman I please! And the best part is, I don't have to listen to whatshisname go on and on about how great he is."
Yes. You'll be a regular pillar of society. I wonder what horrible fate will befall you, then? Perhaps your promiscuity will turn you into a goat. Or your tongue shall make you a snake. Ahh, or perhaps you'll spend another decade in solitude as a pitiful, greedy dragon. I recall you enjoyed that enough to do it twice.
Jack glared at the old man, who he knew good and well as imaginary. And yet he responded anyway. After all, the ox was oblivious and Clem wasn't here to give him strange looks. "I know what you're trying to do. Just drive me crazy by whining all the time. Well it won't work! I'm perfectly sane. I'm just talking to a little bug the Malnosso put in my head. That's completely normal. They're evil scientists. I bet they do that to a lot of people."
Oh, you poor stupid little man. Is that what you think this is? I'm real, Mr. Horner. All of this, isn't. This is the Memory Hole. It was not a little girl that tempted you to reform. It was because I have censored you. You have been neutered and stripped clean of less than desirable traits, but you have created this world to pretend you have some element of control. I assure you that you do not. I will continue to pick you clean, bit by bit, and you will never escape.
And then, at some point in the day, an entire bed went flying out of wall of Jack's apartment. But he ignored it, because the building would fix itself and he had decided that he was officially out of fucks to give. He would go to the bar, do his normal shift, and that night before he put himself to bed with a tall bottle of whiskey, he offered the journal a brief statement.]
[Voice]
Clementine is back to her zombie paradise. She knows how to use a gun, so she might last a few more years. Maybe even ten or twenty. That's a normal lifespan, right? Anyway, she's gone. Just in case anybody gives a damn.
[He considers answering any responses, but eh. What's the point? She's gone, thus she's irrelevant. Only an idiot would get sappy at this point.]
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"You don't know EVERYTHING about me, Jack Horner! And you're not nearly as complex as you'd like to think!"
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Though for the life of her, it was going to be hard to come up with examples.
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"I never apologize."
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"That's a shame. It would be better manners if you did apologize after hurting the woman you care about."
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"I need something to drink."
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But then, he'd lost Clementine. And as much as he protested, Effie was sure -- certain -- that he was most upset by this. Torn up inside.
"There might be some scotch..."
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No. No. Stop. To make things better, one must buck up and smile and hold the world on a string.
A figurative string.
One must be pliant and pleasant and pleasurable. Cheerful. Helpful.
"I'll be right back."
She went to the kitchen area to pour the whiskey. There was no vodka.