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.]
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