casualties and witnesses
#3
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It was times like these that Jefferson wondered how he'd endured the consecutive weeks of torment and misery that had buffeted him a few separate times in recent months. The idiot survived on levels of peace, choosing a boring tranquility over an active chaos any day. He was an introvert at heart, of course, and required that time to himself each day to forward a "balanced" mood (though many might argue he never achieved such a thing consistently, but he made an attempt either way). Fishing wasn't one of his top priorities when it came to spending time alone, but it passed the time -- and like any grumpy old gimp, a few minutes' wait and a back tilt of the head and the idiot was nearly out cold, fingers still grasping the fishing pole effortlessly and in position to flick a fish out of the water at any given second.


Unfortunately, nothing was biting at the bait at the second he pulled the line from the water in reflex to be startled awake. He jumped in surprise and gaped up at the golden-eyed female as she approached, looking elsewhere and thus not seeing he'd been passed out. Jefferson cleared his throat and straightened up, brushing it off easily as he flicked the line back to the water and assumed the waiting position. "You're up early," Jefferson observed, green eye impatiently analyzing the water's crest. "It's a lovely day as long as you don't call me 'sir'." A slight smirk eased his scarred and worn face.

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