Badfic Manor

[The sound of shifting material, a gasp and a choking sound is heard over the network.]

Fuck...

[A thud of a body landing heavy on the wooden floor is heard next and the slap of flesh on wood dragging across the floor. Later the sounds of glass clattering together and another thud hits the floor.]

Goddammit, John-boy pull it together...

[He's panting pretty heavy now. It was hard to swallow with a dry throat and that was evident in his voice. He grunts again and the shifting sounds continue. The clumsy sounds of hands trying to turn the doorknob and a slap against the door was delivered with a frustrated growl.]

Fuck! OPEN!

[Next came the sound of glass hitting wood and another frustrated and desperate call.]

Open this goddamn door!

[The sound of his hands working the knob finally comes to a noisy solution with the door squeaking open and the sounds of feet shuffling clumsily through the hall in a drunken gait before the feeds cuts off in silence.]

[In the distance, the sounds of gunshots are heard and John can be seen engaging in a full on fist fight with a few zombies. It takes a great deal of energy for him to take on these creatures but he doesn't seem to show any signs of giving up or giving in.

He scrambles to get out of the fray and runs through the woods toward the beach, hopefully drawing the zombies with him so he can swim to Chinaman's Hat.]

Come on!

[After being nearly dismembered by a raptor, squished by a T-rex and becoming a compy chew toy, John wasn't in the mood for games. Especially if these games required guessing. Some people were switched, others weren't and he was one that was overlooked.]

A'right. April Fool's ain't here yet an' people're playin' pranks. Ha ha. It's funny, now knock it off.

[The video feed turns on to reveal a very thoughtful looking John with several stacks of money and a notebook on his desk in the background. He leans back in his seat and gives a smirk with his fingertips pressed together.]

One by one people're leavin'. The butler's gone, an' don't think I didn't notice that. Th' li'l girl with blonde curls, she's gone an' my li'l brother Natsuo. He's gone. Now, ya gotta ask yerself, what's yer purpose in this chaotic place? Is it th' same as back home or did people adapt an' move on?

What about home? What about those people ya left behind? Are they forgotten? Now rumor has it that time freezes when we leave our worlds. I dunno if tha's true 'r not but there's some of us that don't wanna test that theory out. I'm one of 'em. I leave here, and as some of you already know, I'm dead. Simple as that.

[Leaning forward on the chair, the leather creaking from the shift.]

Now, ya gotta ask yerself, what's the one thing tha' keeps th' peace? I know what that answer is an' it's been on my mind since I came here. Answer that question, an' I'll give you a reason t' like me or hate me. There's no in between.

[John pauses for a moment before he continues. Something seems a bit rehearsed through the entire speech and those that know John knows he's a man of few words.]

Ya know, I got t' thinking about my home. About th' things I miss an' th' things I hated most. What struck me out most, yeah I robbed banks. That's common knowledge. Am I braggin' about it? I guess it's a matter of perspective. One thing I can say is that I'm American an' I believe in a democracy. We don't got that here. An' since no one's got the balls t' stand up....I will.

I challenge any man or woman t' stand up an' cast their name in a ballot for an election as leader. As I heard, that didn't happen before an' that was wrong. I challange th' Author to stop me. I challenge anyone tha' says otherwise t' present their claims an' ideas t' prove me wrong.

I. Dare. You.

[And the feed goes black.]

[John is standing just in front of the large Christmas tree at a mall and shakes his head.]

Anyone got any ideas? I gotta get a gal a gift but all that comes t' mind are coats, gloves an' sweaters. That's not entirely original. An' I ain't stealin' it fer you folks out there lookin' t' bust me neither so get that outta yer heads.

[He moves from the tree and starts looking at various kiosks for ideas.]

Never mind. I'll find somethin'. Hope you guys're fairin' better than me.

Just checkin' to see if we're on the same page this way, we ain't steppin' on nobody's toes when th' time comes t' start this party.

Who's got th' list of fighters?

[He looks over his shoulder and clears his throat.]

Okay, medics, we need those. Same with those goin' in. Now, I'm backin' up those kids goin' in t' meet Fish. I wanna see that Fish fry.

Okie doke. Now that's squared away, team leaders, make sure that yer teams're ready and move on.

[Nice gave a backhand and slapped him so feel free to notice a nice red mark on his right cheek.]

[John's heavy coat is wrapped around his body, his head's down and the rain is coming down in sheets. His leather clad hands are in his pockets and he's looking to get out of the storm. He grabbed one passerby by the arm and the reaction wasn't what he expected. His brow lifts and let the person go.

He did this a few more times, asking a random question here and there only to get a wave, a smile and the go-by. John quickly discovered that these people were pretty generic.]

Can't get a word in edgewise with these folks. I get that I'm in Paris. The Eiffel Tower was a dead give-a-way. Anybody got any idea how long this'll last?

[The rain actually felt pretty good to him considering that he comes from a time where rain wasn't common. The Dust Bowl made sure of that.]

I should send this rain back home. They sure could use it.

[He cuts off the feed before he says too much more.]

[Gunshots were fired in room 61 from what sounds like a .45 caliber pistol. Six shots total, one destroyed closet door. His gun was still pointing at the door as he yanked it open by the knob that was barely hanging on by the setter.]

Stop fucking around!

[The tone of his voice depicted he wasn't up for jokes this time and he wasn't playing. His small armory was still in tact but one of the guns now seems to be floating in mid air, the click of the hammer being pulled back slowly.

John didn't budge.]

It's not loaded, moron.

[He knew this because he takes out the clips from all the guns he had in there unless he intended to use them. The pistol still clung to the air.]

Go on. Pull the trigger. You'll know I'm right.

[*click*]

[John's eyes narrowed. His pistol still pointing at nothing. He snatches the gun out of the air and smirks.]

You're not scaring me.

[*thump*]

[John was hit on the back of the head with a tossed pillow. Just as fast, he whips around and sees nothing. He didn't fire off his gun only because he saw no target. This has been going on for a day now and he was loosing his patience and fast. He holsters his gun and storms out of the room, throwing the door open as it hits his dresser with a loud thump.]

I swear I'm in a goddamn nuthouse.

[He mutters as he walks away. He's simply had enough of the stupidity and as he's going through the hall, he's ripping down decorations in his wake and kicks the inflatable cat down the hall, sending it tumbling down the stairs with the motion detector going off as it makes fake hissing and feline like growling noises. John only raises his brow at the ridiculousness.]

What a load of shit.

[He looks at his device and growls.]

What are you looking at?

[He cuts off the feed.]

(OOC: John's adjustment is a rough one. He'll eventually head off toward the grounds just to blow off some steam.)