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Packing for "Vacation".
Jan. 31st, 2006 10:17 amSnake had too many things to pack and too many things to even take. He scowled looking at the stuff spread out on the living room floor. No guns, no bullets and no fucking cigarettes. He really just wanted to kick all the stuff he had neatly sorted and prepared. The order of the things reminded him of a USPF storage center and he hated the gear for even reminding him of those bastards. He snarled sitting heavily on the floor. He’d go through the junk once more and try to rid himself of the things he didn’t need.
First and foremost his pipe and cherry tobacco had to go. Followed by he small tin he stashed away immediately. Then the rest followed quickly; a leather tent lined in shearling and a blanket, daggers, throwing spikes, the gift for Xena’s mother, brass knuckles and clothes. The clothes he scowled at with malicious intent. No guns, no comfortable shirts his frown deepened. He tossed the black leather lace front pants on the heap of “going” items. His boots with the metal plates and spikes followed. He smiled briefly at the cobras he had engraved on the new metal plates. He looked at the rest of the clothes with disgust. First the shirt. He had fought for nearly two days to find a shirt that didn’t look like it belonged to the crew of the Jolly Roger. With the patch that was all he needed. It was modest and red, he loathed it. He was half tempted to go shirtless for two weeks rather then wear it. He looked up at his trench. That was going, no questions but the guns hanging with it. He sighed disgusted. They were what he really wanted to take. He looked back at the rest of the things waiting to be sorted and he scowled giving them a kick. Snake couldn’t take it anymore and there was momentary satisfaction seeing those irritating things spill out across the floor from their neat stacks.
He buried his face in his hands growling and swearing under his breath. He just wanted to get on with the trip and have this packing bullshit done and over with.
First and foremost his pipe and cherry tobacco had to go. Followed by he small tin he stashed away immediately. Then the rest followed quickly; a leather tent lined in shearling and a blanket, daggers, throwing spikes, the gift for Xena’s mother, brass knuckles and clothes. The clothes he scowled at with malicious intent. No guns, no comfortable shirts his frown deepened. He tossed the black leather lace front pants on the heap of “going” items. His boots with the metal plates and spikes followed. He smiled briefly at the cobras he had engraved on the new metal plates. He looked at the rest of the clothes with disgust. First the shirt. He had fought for nearly two days to find a shirt that didn’t look like it belonged to the crew of the Jolly Roger. With the patch that was all he needed. It was modest and red, he loathed it. He was half tempted to go shirtless for two weeks rather then wear it. He looked up at his trench. That was going, no questions but the guns hanging with it. He sighed disgusted. They were what he really wanted to take. He looked back at the rest of the things waiting to be sorted and he scowled giving them a kick. Snake couldn’t take it anymore and there was momentary satisfaction seeing those irritating things spill out across the floor from their neat stacks.
He buried his face in his hands growling and swearing under his breath. He just wanted to get on with the trip and have this packing bullshit done and over with.
