4Jack
S'cyre Lecareixz
Welcome to the dingy streets of the abandoned western district. With its trademark buildings adorned by cracks and broken windows, also dusty enough to make something white look black.
Abandoned for over fifty years, it is said that this district will never be opened to the general public.
Still these conditions along were apparently not enough to shoo people away from the said district, instead, it even attracted people.
And that was good, better even, for him, the full-time black market worker, for it would be easier for him to gamble and to get clients and negotiate with them as he would be doing so without having to stop and look around for any policemen, wanting to get his ID or to get him to jail. And that, would be a problem.
He strode down the street, the wetness from the rain making the splash noises each step he took.
He used to be a scarecrow once, one that was made out of flesh, bone and pumpkin so it wasn't really much of a surprise that maggots and multitudes of other insects fall from his sleeve from time to time. He was getting less corpse-y, but then it'd take awhile before he'd be completely undead.
Jack blamed it on lousy wannabe Necromancers.
He lead a silent, solitary life as a scarecrow, sure there were the occasional birds he didn't really scare off to chat with, but then he got tired of hanging from a wooden pole all day, and the farmer was getting annoyed with all the maggots and other multitude of insects falling from his flesh and eating the crops. But also, he wanted to move, so he did with the help of a nice little boy. And like any other country bumpkin in any other 'once upon a times', he ended up in the city.
But then everyone kept on staring at him, and Jack thought he was drawing too much attention. So he wanted a head, and he got himself a head. Which the process involved the slaughter three men just because the first two didn't quite fit the stump of his 'well-preserved' neck.
Fortunately the third one did fit quite well, with a few stitches here and there. There was the ever occasional falling off, but it only took a small nudge to the left and right.
So now he was complete, and by golly did it feel good to be somewhat alive again. Over the years of having a crudely carved pumpkin for a noggin, he had quite forgotten how it was like to actually have a real one… And he seemed to have forgotten how to use a comb over that time.
Jack scratched his head, a tiny cockroach falling off from his hair as he did; "Now where was I supposed to go again…?"
A/N: It ends like that because I really forgot why I wrote it in the first place, so now all that's left is stuff about Jack. I might think up of something soon, but then I'm at a lost with all my plots. Whee.