Badfic Manor

[Sheldon, in Kuja's body, is having a good time of it even though he's not himself. At least being full of himself before made making this little switch easier to bear. He likes Kuja so he'll be taking very good care of his body. With an mp3 player in hand and bud earphones in his ears, he's happy as a clam...for now as he checks himself out.]

I like my ass better.

[He gives it a slap and smirks.]

I can dig the tail.

[The kitchen has a new resident. Sheldon's head and chest lay on the open door of the dish washer as if he was taking a nap in a drunken haze. The smell of tequila is present but that's not the presenting part. Something was obviously wrong and one of them being his arm in the sink and a pool of blood in the dishwasher and on the floor in two pool on either side, one to the left is larger than the right.

What Sheldon was doing at 3 in the morning in the kitchen was anyone's guess other than the pork roast that was pulled out and laying next to a large 5 gallon pot with spices, orange juice, 5 lemons, a lime, and a bottle of tequilla with a shot glass on the counter.

Another notable mark to the scene is that his guns were still holstered. The blood spray from the loss of his arm goes from his body to the other side of the kitchen in a semi-circular pattern where it looked as if he had turned before landing on the dishwasher door. Needless to say, it was a gruesome scene worthy of Mortal Kombat's fatality scenes.

There is another blood splatter in random patterns on the cabinets, ceiling and floor but no footprints are present. On Sheldon's back, it looks as if a large blade has been wiped off on his green and line colored cowboy shirt.]

[OOC: Since this happened at such an early hour and the riots were going on outside, Sheldon looked like he was preparing something for the rioters outside. Feel free for those that would know of this to come in and check on him.]

[There is a shuffle of paper in the background and the sound of footballs in the distance. Sheldon's voice rang clear but his tone is still even and soft, almost traveling on the lines of civility but with more purpose.]

Okay, kids, here's the deal. Whatever happens here now, most likely we may not remember it if this Author person is real. Let's face it, we're not on her biggest fans list at the moment. Somewhere along the lines we screwed the pooch somewhere between waking up and we're just floating along where the river takes us. Personally, I hate boats.

Anyway, thanks to some ingenuity and the perseverance of the human spirit, I think this is a personal setback at best.

Over and out.

[And the feed cuts off.]

[The sounds of rain bettering the street in its natural rhythm forces a sense of undeniable urgency to seek shelter. In Sheldon's case, he wasn't one of them.]

I've got a question for all you folks out there in La-La land. What's so great about Paris? Is it the museums, the art or the theaters? Or is it the wine and cheese? Maybe it's those tacky tourist attractions like the Eiffel Tower or the Bastille, which I do admit holds a lot of historical importance. And why Paris? Why couldn't it be Bosnia post war or Somalia? I thought Pripyat was interesting and I enjoyed that one.

Now here's a bit to chew on. What do you think the Author intends for us here? Romance? Raising hell? Or maybe bore us to death? I'm curious about your opinions.

Over and out.

[Sheldon had taken his wallet from his bureau drawer and opened it. He hasn't looked in the mirror and sat down at the edge of his bed. His hair was wet from a shower and the towel was around his neck. His bare chest was a stark contrast to his tanned skin and the tattoos were now seen on his arms and a name was barely noticeable under the terrycloth material.]

So many years and not a day goes by that I can't stop. It's perpetual. A pendulum and slowly time creeps down and would someday break the ropes but the blade is too close to be set free. A fleeting moment, maybe a chance for escape, but it's there.

[His fingers brushed along the image of a picture in the wallet. A soft smile came to him. His grandfather was a huge inspiration in his life and everything that he was taught by the Cherokee medicine man never left him.

He picked up a small sprig of sage and lit it, placing the smoldering sage in a clean bowl and closes his eyes. He appears to be in meditation now.]

[Sheldon's randomly picking things up and setting them aside....or it appears random. A voice of a pre-teen boy chimes in from the back of the device.]

But Mom said that you're my dad!

[Sheldon's voice was calm. Almost too calm. If someone listens carefully, the irritation IS there.]

No fucking way.

It's true!

No it's not.

[Smaller footsteps were heard on the hardwood floor and the image of a dark-haired kid with a bandanna around his head with long wavy lock that nearly covered his shoulders appeared. His skin is slightly dark in complexion but not near as dark as Sheldon's. He stood around Sheldon's shoulders in height and is just as thin in build.]

Dad?!

[The voice almost sounds whiny.]

[Sheldon stopped in his pace and slowly turned around to glare at the boy.]

Listen, I don't know what game is being played here but I'm not your father. I'll tell you why. I shot the bitch. She tried to KILL ME!

[The boy looks sad for a moment and his bottom lip trembled.]

But....

No buts.

She told me she loved you.

I said no buts.

But.

[Sheldon reached for the door and started to walk out.]

I'm not listening to this.

But Dad!

La-la la I'm not listening.

[He now has his fingers in his ears and is walking down the hall.]

DAD!!

Still not listening. La- la lalalal

[The kid stops at the door and sticks out his tongue.]

Jerk.

[The kid sits down on the couch in a huff with his arms folded over his chest as the feed times out.]

[It was time to let out some aggression but the trouble was he didn't have a gun. He did, but the firing pin was removed and his ammunition was taken away. So much for blowing holes in the walls to see if this was some sort of elaborate plot to contain him for information.]

Great.

[He was wearing his uniform from his academy days and the irony, he still could fit into it after not wearing it for nearly 16 years.]

This is pathetic. I hadn't grown since high school up or out. I guess that's a good thing. It shows that I'm consistent.

[Sheldon removes his gloves and tosses them onto his dresser along with his cover and his sunglasses. He turns his head to the side once he hears the subtle beeping. He picks up his device and throws it against the wall hard enough to cut off the feed.]