Jaime Tomahawk
Jul 26th, 2005, 11:14:29 PM
<font color=red>This is it now
Everybody get down
This is all I can take
This is how a heart breaks
You take a hit now you feel it break down
Make you stay wide awake
This is how a heart breaks</font>
"OH for Gods sake, shut UP!"
BLAM BLAM!!!
The cat that had been sitting on his bed ran for it as the gun exploded twice, the radio that had been displaying 6 am shattered as the bullets blew it to pieces. A low groan could be heard from under the covers and then muttering. The beretta 9mm was placed on the coffee table near the bed, the arm that had been the only thing retreated for a few minutes before it seemingly reluctantly threw back the covers to reveal a dark haired man, about 30ish but hard to tell. He was quite definantly fit and well built, but the lines around his eyes were tell tales he didnt get a lot sleep. Unshaven, he got up and planted his feet on the floor, put his head in hands to knead his eyelids with his fingers. His foot shifted and with a yelp he lifted it up, cursing as he picked a toy Yoda from the ground and flung it to one side. A scuttle of feet told him that he had gotten one of the many cats that co-inhabited his home and that gave him a reason to grin. Only for a second, for his temples were pounding and it felt like his head was being kicked in by a stormtooper or a Wookiee. Or a cricket bat, which would be more likely where he was.
The room was darkish, the sunlight trying it's best to go around the heavy curtain that covered the windows. However in the dim light the room could be made out - a standard bedroom of a bachelor, clothes on the floor, a pizza box on top of the monitor of the computer in the corner, a few beer bottles near the chair and on the desk the monitor sat on, the ex alarm clock sparking once more then dying for good. The coffe table was wooden, another beer bottle on it that was half full. The gun was beside it, the man's hand reached out and grabbed the bottle and with a practiced gulp, consumed the rest of the beer. The bottle came down with some force, the gun was tagged and spun off so it hit the floor and fired again. He yelped, leaping off the bed and grabbing the gun, putting it's safety switch back on.
"Umm, excuse me?"
He looekd up to see a well dressed older man looking nervously through the door. "Is everything allright Sir?"
"Umm... yes. Yes it is" he mumbled. "Everything's fine. Completely fine"
The elder man, looked doubtful, but knew when he was dismissed. " Very good sir. Shall I have breakfast prepared?"
"Ummm... yes thank you. Make it for an hour"
"Very good, sir". The elder man bowed slightly, before silently turnign and dissappearing. He sat back on his bed, feelign a bit confused now. Probably somethign to do with his rather abrupt beginnign to his day and the fact the Wookiie kicking his head had only backed off slightly.
James T. Tomahawk, recently retired Army Colonel and heir to the Tomahawk fortune glanced around his room again. The PC hummed away, and he knew that the last site he had been on would still be there, a Star wars forum he liked to post at. All around this room were posters and shelved filled with figurines or posters, a lightsabre model took pride of place in a clear persplex box. On a stand in another corner was a full set of stormtrooper armour, a movie prop he had bought years ago. A replica blaster rifle adorned the armour, a genuine prop from Empire Strikes Back that had cost him plenty. In truth, this small room held several tens of thousands dollars of props and was a virtual shrine to somethign he had devoted far too much of his life to - three movies as a kid had captured his imagination and to the next three made recently, which he knew weren't as good but they were still Star Wars. He didnt care, he was a fan that would make even the most committed cultist do a double take and wonder if he was mad. Maybe in some ways he was, but it was his life and for the most of it, he liked it.
PUlling on a set of scraggy and worn track suit pants, he stumbled to the chair in front of the monitor, pulled it into place and slumped down. Even that mild bit of exercise sent a fresh throb of pain through his temple, causing him to groan and close his eyes. The pain eventually receeded, allowing him to move a hand shakily to the mouse, tapping it so the PC would go out of power save mode. The monitor clicked, the CRT began to warm up, the screen he had left came to life in a soft glow that still managed to make his waters water for a moment.
"Meow?"
"Shut up cat" he snapped, "squinting at his GIAM away messages log. Three messgaes left while he was asleep, one from Julie with a joke, two others from the annoying brat who bugged him far too much. Tomahawk set the brat's id to block, followed the joke link, then began to open his mail to read what had come in from the USA overnight.
"Meow?"
"How many bloody times do I have to tell you cat, not while I'm waking up! See Alfie for somethign to eat"
"Meow!"
"SHUT UP YOU LITTLE BASTARD!" he also aimed a swipe at the cat with his foot, but he had forgottent he chair was unstable. It collapsed, sending him to the ground, his shoulder hitting the table. As he cursed on the ground, a bottle over balanced and hit him neatly on the head.
What he said for the next few seconds was unprintible and quite impressive even for a soldier who knew how to curse in 15 languages.
Everybody get down
This is all I can take
This is how a heart breaks
You take a hit now you feel it break down
Make you stay wide awake
This is how a heart breaks</font>
"OH for Gods sake, shut UP!"
BLAM BLAM!!!
The cat that had been sitting on his bed ran for it as the gun exploded twice, the radio that had been displaying 6 am shattered as the bullets blew it to pieces. A low groan could be heard from under the covers and then muttering. The beretta 9mm was placed on the coffee table near the bed, the arm that had been the only thing retreated for a few minutes before it seemingly reluctantly threw back the covers to reveal a dark haired man, about 30ish but hard to tell. He was quite definantly fit and well built, but the lines around his eyes were tell tales he didnt get a lot sleep. Unshaven, he got up and planted his feet on the floor, put his head in hands to knead his eyelids with his fingers. His foot shifted and with a yelp he lifted it up, cursing as he picked a toy Yoda from the ground and flung it to one side. A scuttle of feet told him that he had gotten one of the many cats that co-inhabited his home and that gave him a reason to grin. Only for a second, for his temples were pounding and it felt like his head was being kicked in by a stormtooper or a Wookiee. Or a cricket bat, which would be more likely where he was.
The room was darkish, the sunlight trying it's best to go around the heavy curtain that covered the windows. However in the dim light the room could be made out - a standard bedroom of a bachelor, clothes on the floor, a pizza box on top of the monitor of the computer in the corner, a few beer bottles near the chair and on the desk the monitor sat on, the ex alarm clock sparking once more then dying for good. The coffe table was wooden, another beer bottle on it that was half full. The gun was beside it, the man's hand reached out and grabbed the bottle and with a practiced gulp, consumed the rest of the beer. The bottle came down with some force, the gun was tagged and spun off so it hit the floor and fired again. He yelped, leaping off the bed and grabbing the gun, putting it's safety switch back on.
"Umm, excuse me?"
He looekd up to see a well dressed older man looking nervously through the door. "Is everything allright Sir?"
"Umm... yes. Yes it is" he mumbled. "Everything's fine. Completely fine"
The elder man, looked doubtful, but knew when he was dismissed. " Very good sir. Shall I have breakfast prepared?"
"Ummm... yes thank you. Make it for an hour"
"Very good, sir". The elder man bowed slightly, before silently turnign and dissappearing. He sat back on his bed, feelign a bit confused now. Probably somethign to do with his rather abrupt beginnign to his day and the fact the Wookiie kicking his head had only backed off slightly.
James T. Tomahawk, recently retired Army Colonel and heir to the Tomahawk fortune glanced around his room again. The PC hummed away, and he knew that the last site he had been on would still be there, a Star wars forum he liked to post at. All around this room were posters and shelved filled with figurines or posters, a lightsabre model took pride of place in a clear persplex box. On a stand in another corner was a full set of stormtrooper armour, a movie prop he had bought years ago. A replica blaster rifle adorned the armour, a genuine prop from Empire Strikes Back that had cost him plenty. In truth, this small room held several tens of thousands dollars of props and was a virtual shrine to somethign he had devoted far too much of his life to - three movies as a kid had captured his imagination and to the next three made recently, which he knew weren't as good but they were still Star Wars. He didnt care, he was a fan that would make even the most committed cultist do a double take and wonder if he was mad. Maybe in some ways he was, but it was his life and for the most of it, he liked it.
PUlling on a set of scraggy and worn track suit pants, he stumbled to the chair in front of the monitor, pulled it into place and slumped down. Even that mild bit of exercise sent a fresh throb of pain through his temple, causing him to groan and close his eyes. The pain eventually receeded, allowing him to move a hand shakily to the mouse, tapping it so the PC would go out of power save mode. The monitor clicked, the CRT began to warm up, the screen he had left came to life in a soft glow that still managed to make his waters water for a moment.
"Meow?"
"Shut up cat" he snapped, "squinting at his GIAM away messages log. Three messgaes left while he was asleep, one from Julie with a joke, two others from the annoying brat who bugged him far too much. Tomahawk set the brat's id to block, followed the joke link, then began to open his mail to read what had come in from the USA overnight.
"Meow?"
"How many bloody times do I have to tell you cat, not while I'm waking up! See Alfie for somethign to eat"
"Meow!"
"SHUT UP YOU LITTLE BASTARD!" he also aimed a swipe at the cat with his foot, but he had forgottent he chair was unstable. It collapsed, sending him to the ground, his shoulder hitting the table. As he cursed on the ground, a bottle over balanced and hit him neatly on the head.
What he said for the next few seconds was unprintible and quite impressive even for a soldier who knew how to curse in 15 languages.