(Jake, Amy) Something Fozzie This Way Comes

Jake was driving down the highway in his truck when the battered pickup in front of him tossed a rather large burlap sack out the window. It landed in front of the truck, and he screeched to a stop, nearly running the bag over in the process. Putting on his emergency lights, he peered through the windshield at the sack--and was shocked when he saw it wiggle.

"Holy shit." Whatever was in there was big--like a whole litter of puppies, or maybe a toddler. Opening his door as little as he could to slip out, he bulled forward, ignoring the honks of passing vehicles. He scooped up the bag--and heard a whimper and a soft bark. "What the fuck? Oh man." He stared after the retreating pickup, his eyes looking a little too black.

Trudging back to the car, he slid into the driver's seat and pulled over onto the side of the road before even thinking of checking the bag's contents. Meanwhile, the wiggling intensified, until the bag started to tear slightly in spots.

"What are you?" Finding the bag's tie, he stripped back the burlap--revealing a cream-and-brown ball of fur as big as a full-grown corgi.

Jake's Anakim Verse Bio

This bio is for the game club_anakim.

"Most people think Marv is crazy. He just had the rotten luck of being born in the wrong century. He'd be right at home on some ancient battlefield swinging an axe into somebody's face. Or in a Roman arena, taking his sword to other gladiators like him. They woulda tossed him girls like Nancy back then."

--Dwight, Sin City

If you ever asked Jake straight out, he'd blame the meth. For the violence, for the rages, for the way he made his foster parents and his girlfriends terrified of him. He'd blame the meth, because every time he took it he became the kind of person his gang brothers wanted to see...and no one else did. He started at thirteen, a few months after his first girlfriend was gunned down in front of him. He kicked the habit nineteen months ago.

It was two weeks of writhing, screaming, puking, blinding headaches, even more horrible rages, deep depressions and cravings, cravings, cravings. He did it on his own, locked in a room with a couple of buckets and some Gatorade. It was Hell. He hoped that the pain he went through, and the struggle afterward, would make up for everything he did while the monkey was on his back.

He was wrong.

So he went to Afghanistan. It was a shitty war in a shitty country and his generation's best equivalent of the French Foreign Legion. He figured he'd lose his past in those dusty canyons. Instead, he found out that he likes to kill. He enjoys destroying an enemy. He likes to kill religious nuts especially. For either side. In war, as in the boxing ring at HQ, he found a sort of inner peace. The peace of the apex predator.

Now, he is back home in the States, with a stack of money and vigilante tendencies. He recently picked up a gig with danica_grey, helping with her team of ghost trackers and nastybad fighters.

Power: Old-School Berzerker
Jake is superhumanly tough, and his toughness and strength increase proportionally to the amount of adrenaline in his system. At rest, he's a big, strong guy who can take a serious beating and keep coming. But the angrier he gets, the stronger, faster, more invulnerable (and meaner) he gets. A true outrage will send him into an old-school berzerker frenzy; aside from telling friend from foe he becomes almost blind with rage, won't even notice the bullets flattening on his hide, and will keep pounding his enemy until he or she stops moving or flees. When in full frenzy, Jake can bend a railroad tie double--even if he has trouble remembering doing it afterward.

The Jailbreak--starring Amy, Jake and the NinjaKitty

Jake woke up after a dream of being seventeen again. It was so vivid that he made small sounds of protest in his sleep, and even tossed a little, unlike his usual loglike stillness. The dream/memory was very simple: he’d come back to the fosters and his girlfriend after telling them he’d kicked the meth. He’d shown them the crescents in his palms, told them the story, even told them that they were why. That he didn’t want to hurt them anymore. But they had called it too little, too late: Mr. Lancaster had even snapped out, “so what?” And he had gone into the back yard and just…sat…on a tree stump, absolutely empty inside. Wondering what it had all been for. Half wishing that the withdrawal had killed him.

He gasped awake feeling bleak and wet-eyed and immediately reached for Amy. She’s right here. I’m nineteen, I’m through all that crap and I got someone who doesn’t think things like that at me. I do. He buried his face in her hair and kissed her ear, trying to get his mind off the dream. Amy was right there, she was fine, he’d never done a think to hurt her and anyway she’d probably kick his ass if he tried. Which was good! Closing his eyes, he tried to conjure up a distraction beyond the scent of her.

Oh yeah, that’s right. We’re gonna go get Smudge a fuzzy little soot-sprite girlfriend today! The tension slowly left his body, and after a little bit of thinking about it, he chuckled softly.

RL attacks! Or, why Jake Is Slow

Sorry to those I have slowed down in threading with. RL has just gotten in the way: I have a relative in the hospital and have been down with heat exhaustion. Things are getting better, however. Thanks to those who have sent good wishes and stuff. I'll send replies as soon as I can.