The woes of a first timer

Jimson Morris · 09-15-2012, 10:09 PM

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Word count: 530 // :3

A loud crash resounded through the hotel, followed by a long string of colorful curses, disrupting the silence that had weighed heavily throughout the building. Jimson rolled heavily off of his now-demolished bed, adding another loud thump to the previous cacophony. "Damn fool cotton pickin' sonuvabitch," he muttered, standing and dusting himself off. He hadn't even sat down that hard! At least, he hadn't thought so. Apparently the bed had other opinions. He stared forlornly at the mess. What was once the wooden frame was now sticking up and out in all directions and the mattress, which hadn't been in the best shape to begin with, was now sporting a long rip down one side where a piece of the frame had gouged it open. He continued muttering to himself as he cleared the destroyed frame from around the mattress, piling it in the unused washroom. He really didn't need a frame, anyway, he supposed, and this gave him all the more reason to move in an extra mattress from one of the unused rooms, which he was sure his back would appreciate. Really, the problem would have been solved if he'd just bothered to shift every night before he went to bed. His lupine form weighed about half as much as his optime, and it was much easier to get comfortable that way. His bed frame probably would have never even broken. But if something happened and he needed to defend himself, it would take that much more time to shift before he could grab his staff and beat someone about the head.

The snowy canine brushed the dust off his hands after tossing the last piece of wood into the bathroom and closing the door. His stomach noisily reminded him that he hadn't eaten since early that morning, and he decided that he would find an extra mattress later -- he'd really only come back to his room to retrieve his knife from his bag before heading over to Lunenburg. He'd been spending a good deal of time at the harbor lately, refurbishing one of the trawlers with the idea that he would be much more successful taking it out and fishing than he was with hunting on land. Theoretically.

Grabbing the hunting knife and belt he'd come for, Jimson fastened it around his waist and headed downstairs, where he grabbed a handful of jerky (on which he promptly began gnawing) from the pantry before stepping out the front door. In the courtyard he spied the form of a male leaning against the large tree that dominated the space, keeping an eye on two very young puppies playing nearby. His flowing white tale wagged briefly; the dog could put the boat (which he had yet to name) off for a little while for puppies. He loved the little buggers, and Cour des Miracles didn't exactly have the booming puppy population to which he was accustomed, so he felt a little deprived. He approached the earthily mottled male, grinning at the antics of the pups, and stood respectfully a little ways from him, leaning on his staff. "Dun b'lieve we've met, sir. M'name's Jimson. Mind if I join ya?"

Table credit Raze.

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