Jason Dixon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
awfulcer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
wilderlogs2018-04-05 05:58 am
awfulcer) wrote in wilderlogs2018-04-05 05:58 am
Entry tags:
When the big dog comes, tell him what this puppy done.
Who: Jason Dixon and You!
What: Dixon goes looking to pick fights and blow off steam. Bonus points if we can escalate to a straight-up fist fight.
Where: Around the Melai Temple.
When: Before the Crossroads Post
Warnings/Notes: all your typical Dixon warnings
[Each night so far he's been sneaking off into the woods from where everyone sleeping. He tells whomever is on watch that he's going to stretch his legs, and then he pops on his headphones and wanders out about half a mile before finding the base of a tree, where he'll sit and start his nightly breakdown. He probably shouldn't be listening to music wandering around in the dark in the woods, but he feels as if he isn't going to make it as far as the tree if he doesn't.
Once he gets there he just starts crying, snot-filled, stressed, shaking weeping that burns him out. Cries because his Chief killed himself and he would have let Chief down anyway and he's a fuck-up who got fired and threw an innocent person out a window and because he misses his mother and because he's useless and stupid and can't get anything right, couldn't solve a case, couldn't keep his temper in check, can't keep up here with everyone so much faster and hardier and smarter than he is, and because he's just sad and doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to do.
He's out of smokes, which makes it all the worse. Once he gets it all out of his system, the nic-fitting morphs sadness into anger; these two have always been kissing cousins for him, or rather tectonic plates, bumping up and grinding next to each other, rattling shockwaves all through his impulses. So with sadness stirred up he slides easily into a thunderhead, pissed off, stomping around, spoiling for a fight. In the absence of anyone to take it all out on, he chucks rocks into the river or uses sticks to beat the hell out of trees until his hands hurt. And then he'll storm on back to the temple and try, mostly futilely, to get some more rest.
The sun's coming up by the time his crying jag is done, turning the whole sky a rosy pink. Birds are chirping. The beauty's lost on him. He almost feels in a trance, animated by an aura of rage that makes it feel like the air around him is vibrating. His fingers twitch in need of a cigarette. He gets a sort of tunnel vision.
It'll all feel better when it's someone else's fault.
When he runs into someone, his voice is thick and annoyed. If he gets close enough, he might enough shove them at the shoulder.]
The fuck are you doing out here? You been following me?
[He hopes they don't have a good answer, so he can escalate it.]
What: Dixon goes looking to pick fights and blow off steam. Bonus points if we can escalate to a straight-up fist fight.
Where: Around the Melai Temple.
When: Before the Crossroads Post
Warnings/Notes: all your typical Dixon warnings
[Each night so far he's been sneaking off into the woods from where everyone sleeping. He tells whomever is on watch that he's going to stretch his legs, and then he pops on his headphones and wanders out about half a mile before finding the base of a tree, where he'll sit and start his nightly breakdown. He probably shouldn't be listening to music wandering around in the dark in the woods, but he feels as if he isn't going to make it as far as the tree if he doesn't.
Once he gets there he just starts crying, snot-filled, stressed, shaking weeping that burns him out. Cries because his Chief killed himself and he would have let Chief down anyway and he's a fuck-up who got fired and threw an innocent person out a window and because he misses his mother and because he's useless and stupid and can't get anything right, couldn't solve a case, couldn't keep his temper in check, can't keep up here with everyone so much faster and hardier and smarter than he is, and because he's just sad and doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to do.
He's out of smokes, which makes it all the worse. Once he gets it all out of his system, the nic-fitting morphs sadness into anger; these two have always been kissing cousins for him, or rather tectonic plates, bumping up and grinding next to each other, rattling shockwaves all through his impulses. So with sadness stirred up he slides easily into a thunderhead, pissed off, stomping around, spoiling for a fight. In the absence of anyone to take it all out on, he chucks rocks into the river or uses sticks to beat the hell out of trees until his hands hurt. And then he'll storm on back to the temple and try, mostly futilely, to get some more rest.
The sun's coming up by the time his crying jag is done, turning the whole sky a rosy pink. Birds are chirping. The beauty's lost on him. He almost feels in a trance, animated by an aura of rage that makes it feel like the air around him is vibrating. His fingers twitch in need of a cigarette. He gets a sort of tunnel vision.
It'll all feel better when it's someone else's fault.
When he runs into someone, his voice is thick and annoyed. If he gets close enough, he might enough shove them at the shoulder.]
The fuck are you doing out here? You been following me?
[He hopes they don't have a good answer, so he can escalate it.]
no subject
[ He looks the man over, and adds. ]
Very distraught. And you are one of the few humans I have seen since I arrived.
Why?
no subject
Why am I human? Because I fucking am. That answer you?
no subject
Are you attempting to pick a fight with me?
no subject
But he's too caught up in being pissed off to pull back and even think of himself as distraught. His ability to self-reflect has gone entirely out the window. He shoves Garviel in the shoulder.]
no subject
No. I am no enemy of humanity.
[ There is a surprising amount of fervor to this, and his hand balls into a fist, if only for a moment. ]
no subject
[A smart, more cool-headed person would realize that Garviel is significantly bigger and stronger, and also probably not running up several days of sleep debt by this point. But Dixon's not particularly smart and far from cool-headed, so he gets up in Garviel's face again, close enough that their noses almost touch (even though that requires some tip-toe action).]
Move.
no subject
[ Loken will take a step back and cede to Dixon's aggressiveness. Why not let him burn himself out by not engaging? Maybe the storm will pass, and Garviel can actually get some questions answered. ]
no subject
So he shoves again, this time with both hands.]
I told you to move.
no subject
[ Loken staggers for a moment, then unleashes a single jab to Dixon's jaw, hopefully enough to stun him or knock him down. His expression goes from confused and trying to be peaceable to the stone-hard visage of a man who has shattered a hundred worlds in war. ]
no subject
no subject
Stop. This.
no subject
There's a rush of...relief? As the world clicks back into something easy. Feeling upset because someone hit you, because you physically hurt, is something so simple even a child can grasp. It's way easier than any other kind of sorrow. It's a straight line where everything else is a tangled scrawl.
The anger kind of sputters out and turns into a kind of emptiness instead.
He straightens up as much as he can while his body is still cramped around the impact of the punch. He spits at Garviel's feet and staggers away, clutching his upper abdomen and disappearing back into the forest like some pissy feral cat.]
no subject
Why?
[ He was only here to help. Maybe his own training and programming as a warrior took over at the wrong time. ]