This thread is for George Sully to write any backstory or side stories that he may see fit. No other characters are to post here unless he specifically invites them to participate.

well..
a clear thing, and I have no idea what to write XD

Im sure something will come to me

prob expand on bio..
musing now, because bed time here.

"Leaving Home."


Driving along a midwestern highway, the landscape passing in a haze of sameness, George drives away from his life.



Its been two days almost constant driving. Destination? Somewhere else. The further away the better, as far as everyone, including himself, is concerned.

Eyes burning with fatigue, only fatigue, he looks at the time. Mid afternoon. Time to stop for some basics, and think about finding a place to layover for the night.

Pulling into a gas station, he fills the old hunk of machinery, then heads into the store.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:25, Mon 08 Feb 2021.

Selecting a few cans of chunky stew, a handful of packets of jerky strips, several cans of energy drink, he heads to the counter. After paying for gas and supplies, halfway back to the vehicle, he turns back and grabs a bottle of something cheap, nasty, and strong.

Settling in the car, chewing on jerky he consults the he found in the glove box. Old and stained, it tears as he unfolds it. Swearing under his breath, he finds what hes looking for, and shoves the whole scrunched up mess into the glove-box.

A swig of energy drink, and he heads off down the road.
This message was last updated by the player at 11:22, Mon 08 Feb 2021.

A few hours later, sun getting low, he bounces the motorhome down a rutted road in an isolated state forest.



The suspension complains, but George trusts the old thing. Him and Cousin Derrick had worked on it for years. It looked like crap...hell it WAS crap..but, it could Go places and make it back.

Cousin Derrick. Derricks motorhome. Half the time George's help probably set his older cousin back, more than helped. But he never let on the kid got in the way.

He'd packed his stuff, what there was of it, and was leaving for the bus station. Derrick had walked past, not looking at him, or making any sign he knew he was there. Except. When he passed in the hall, he pressed a handful of cash and a set of keys into Georges hand. No eye contact. As if nothing was passed.

Now the motorhome was Georges, and he had no way of paying Derrick back.

Getting to the end of the road, sun setting behind mountains, no other light can be seen, except that, and the motorhomes headlights. Parking, George gets out, and hauls the supplies with him, looking at the sky pensively.

Dumping his stuff, he pulls off his boots, jacket, and shirt, tossing them next to the food, and starts looking for deadwood. Finding enough pretty quickly, he sets up a fire, and, punching a few holes in the tin with a hunting knife, puts a can in the fire.

Sitting, he waits for it to heat, and opens the bottle. Sniffing, he takes a slug, then spits it on the fire.

"Fuck. Thats terrible!"

Frowning, he takes another drink, and manages to not spit it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucTWCR1VJf8
This message was last edited by the player at 13:09, Mon 08 Feb 2021.

The smell of burning sauce, as the contents drip a little over the side, let George know the tins ready. Fishing it out with hardening nails, he sets it aside to cool,and starts shoveling dirt on the fire to extinguish it.

Drinking another slug, and grimacing at it, he puts his stuff in the vehicle, and locks it. Once the tins cool enough to properly hold, he tears the top off, and shovels the food in. Tossing the tin on the ground, he drinks again,then removes his pants, and tosses them next to the tin.

Looking up at the rising moon, he snarls at it, and, taking the bottle in one furred hand, stalks off into the forest.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:52, Mon 08 Feb 2021.

A howl breaks the quiet noises of the night. Nothing but the flight of small animals answer.

Some time later another, longer one echos through the trees. Again, no wolfish reply.

Smashing of glass follows soon after. Then crashing, as something large moves through the trees, gaining speed, careless of its noise.

Theres no one. Never had no one around at this time before.

A clawed fist uproots a hapless sapling and tosses it aside.

Not supposed to be alone at Moontime!

Plaintive howling accompanies the crashing path of the beast.

Not Fair! Not Right!

Salt water mat fur under the beasts eyes. Savagely breaking half a tree off, another howl, pure anguish, sounds through the night.

Sun breaking through the treeline sends needles through Georges skull. Still furred, he rolls over and buries his snout in the leaves. Oh.

Apparently werewolves can get violently sick when they tie one on.

Wiping at his fur with a paw, he lies for a moment longer, then gets up in search of water.

Finding an ice melt stream, he plunges his head into the ice water. Pain shoots through his head at the shock, but then the water does its work, and clears his head a little. Washing his snout, he then jumps into the stream. A brisk roll around and scrub and he's out again. Shaking himself off, he whines a little at the hangover, then finds a patch of sun to dry in. At least he doesn't have to wash and dry clothes as well.

"That was almost the worst night. Not quite, but fuck." he declares to the uncaring forest.

An hour or so's nap later, he wakes again, feeling better, and heads off to find his stuff. Wolf senses talk him there pretty easily.

Getting back, he finds his keys and pants. changing and getting dressed, he downs a warm can of energy drink, and a cold can of stew, and gets the motorhome on the road...to who knows where?


End.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:39, Tue 09 Feb 2021.