#ch; jack

[cracknoir]

@dxspereaux​ 

     “Shut it, ya specky cunt.” 

[aspernamentum]

@dxspereaux // cont.

“Mmm -- see, this is whit I mean!” Jacks apartment was tiny, and messy, piles of washed and folded clothes took up most of the actual seats in his postage-sized abode, the sofa was also a fold-out bed, the TV looked like something from the nineties, he was perched on the coffee table. “I’m no’ bullyin’ ye’, c’mon, a gentle fuckin’ ribbin’ is healthy.” Jack stood up, tipping his bottle at Láz. He had seemingly stood up simply to re-adjust his balls whilst facing the window, joint hanging out the corner of his mouth as he spoke. “See, bein’ a shagger, a top shagger, it’s no’ aboot how many women ye’ pump, it’s no’ about how many fuckin’ ‘kids’ you’ve got,” his hands quickly shot up, acting out inverted commas around ‘kids’, his voice incredulous, this did not indicate he didn’t believe Láz, no, instead he seemed insulted by the very concept of children. “Never heard that song?” Queue horrible singing, “you can tell by the way I walk I’m a woman’s man! See, I fuckin’ hate to tell ye’ this Jaspo, but you’ve got pure virgin energy.” He offered over the joint, “fuckin’ take that, might level ye’ oot a bit.” 

[cracknoir]

@slwdancing​ // liked.

     “Listen, I don’t ask everyone this --” Jack was deadly serious, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed, he was dreading the question he knew he had to ask, not due to the question itself, but rather because he knew what was to come after; “do you want to come ‘nd watch me try an’ surf a motorbike? Honestly -- I’m thinkin’ o’ becomin’ like a mad Evil Kinevil type.” 

[cracknoir]

@soypeor​ // liked.

     “Lis’sen, I procured this television unit legally mate, fell off the back o’ a lorry. Finders keepers. It’s the law.” 

[cracknoir]

@bvriedinthesand​ liked.

     “Ever seen a bus do a back-flip?” He asked, nonchalantly. “‘Cos I have.” 

[cracknoir]

@vihilum​ asked: “ no one will notice if we hold hands under the table ~ ” eleanor @ jack.

     Jacks hands weren’t dirty, at least not in the traditional sense. He was fresh out the shower, they were clean, but the fact was some dirt doesn’t wash out. “You want to hold my hand?” He murmured. She was, by all accounts, pristine. Jack had seemed somewhat dejected, not his usual self. He had a lot on his mind, and the last thing he needed was to be surrounded by strangers. His brother had dragged him to some function under the guise that there would be Columbian marching powder flowing freely (this unfortunately turned out to be a lie on his brothers part). He was sat with an untouched drink and an empty wallet, wondering where it all went so wrong when she asked her question. 

     Why would a girl like her want to hold his hand? He wondered if it was some sort of scam. “I eh --...” The main reason for his suspicion was it was too good to be true, but another part of him didn’t dare question a good thing. He reached out under the table, fumbling to find her hand. Their fingers intertwined and, for a moment, everything was right in the world.

[cracknoir]

@theasteriae​ // liked. 

     Jack was not a fan of cleaning himself up. He felt like an idiot in his suit and tie, but as his mother often said a change was as good as a rest. He had been working with his brother Frankie on shifting a car-full of drugs from London up to Glasgow, but tonight Frankie had decided it would be best for them to cut loose and go dancing, not clubbing, not out for a couple beers, he wanted to go to ‘the dancing’. The venue Frankie had so desperately wanted to go was a place he had visited a couple of times when he was younger, the Asteriae lounge, a staple of the London nightlife. 

     Jack preferred smaller bars, less people, he became somewhat more reserved around large crowds until a suitable amount of alcohol was in his system. As such, after his brother ditched him in some vein attempt at fucking someone half his age, Jack went off exploring on his own. 

     Trouble often followed Jack. Three weeks previous he’d received a text asking for some gear, he didn’t have any to sell so essentially sold some muscle-bound freak some dental anesthetic for £100. As quickly as Jacks ass touched the seat, it left it, as he was grabbed by his freshly-bought suit jacket. His feet left the ground, “here! Whit the fuck’re you --”       “You can cut ya’ fackin’ hair all you want you Jock cunt,” the London accent cut straight through Jack, he was really fucked now. “But you can’t escape me. I want my fackin’ money back or else I’m going to rip you a new arsehole!” The muscle-bound freak growled. Jack was wriggling incessantly, he managed to wriggle out of his suit jacket, but of course it wouldn’t be enough for Jack to simply turn and bolt -- that would be too clever. He grabbed the guy by the lapel and rammed his head into the bridge of his nose, “don’t fuckin’ lay yer’ greasy paws on me again ya’ prick!” Jack yelled, he didn’t need to look over his shoulders to know the bouncers would be on him in seconds. Now he took his chance to bolt. 

     He ended up in the back of the club, he rammed the door shut behind him, if the bouncers even followed him they would never find him... But he wasn’t alone. “... Aye, yer probably wonderin’ what I’m doin’ back here, but, I have a perfectly reasonable explanation,” he began. “Them bitches out there are after me ‘nd I’m hidin’.” Jack was, as always, far too honest for his own good.

[cracknoir]

@soypeor​ // starter call.

     The kitchen was where most good parties happen, but Jacks apartment was basically all kitchen. His living room was tiny, his bathroom was tiny, the only place with any room was the kitchen. The party had engulfed most of his house, he barely knew most of the people there. “Look,” Jack says, joint in hand as he pontificated about total crap, sat at the kitchen table ranting at anyone who would listen. “My pals, they’re all big time. They have fuckin’ -- goals ‘nd aspirations, ‘nd they say to me “Jack, ye can’t just lounge aboot the hoose all the time,” but,” he pointed with the joint at no one in particular. 

     “Little do they fuckin’ know I do have aspirations. See, while all those daft cunts are out there, spendin’ money ‘nd makin’ money, I have fuckin’ dreams man.” His Scottish accent wasn’t as indecipherable as his brothers, but it was still pretty thick. “I want to go to space. I’m savin’ every coin I get to go to space. Elon? Can you hear me? Get this prick to Mars.”