okay, who's the head honcho here?

[confidenceman]

"Stupid— piece of crap—"

Not a morning person on the best of days, when Sawyer woke up to some unknown weight blocking his door, he again began to consider the potential merits of packing it all up and moving into the Compound. However depressing the building was, it at least offered reliable air conditioning, and the bolts of the doors weren't the type to expand in the rain or creak from too much rust. His door jammed, and frequently, the hut initially chosen because Sawyer was too damn impatient to wait for the Building Crew to give him a new place all his own, and later on, too damn lazy to pack up his stuff to move from one spot to another. But there was something different about the resistance the door put up today. Shoving his shoulder against the wood almost made it... bounce.

Strange.

Briefly considering rounding the hut to climb out the window, Sawyer gave his door one last, lengthy shove, until he felt something skidding against dirt, slipping through the cracked opening, only to stumble, his hands grabbing onto something that felt distinctly familiar. Almost like heavy-duty shrink wrap. The sound of ruffling papers fluttered in the distance, and pages upon pages spilled out over the dirt in any number of brilliant colors, with cars, trucks, and SUVs on each cover.

But, aside from a moment's confusion as to why it looked like every issue of Car and Driver magazine had appeared on his doorstop, what drew Sawyer's attention the most was a heavy pallet of toilet paper blocking entrance to his home. Toilet paper.

Charmin's, looked like.

"The hell?"


[ Yes, that's right. All of Car and Driver magazine has turned up on Sawyer's doorstep. As well as a year's supply of Charmin's best toilet paper. This post is dated January 25th, but will be linked to the main comm in February. ST/LT welcome, no limit on tags, open to all. ]

Comments

[confidenceman]

"Yeah, but what I didn't get to," I drawl lazily, grabbing another few packages and chucking them inside, glad for once that I ain't got anything that'll make a mess if it breaks, "is that havin' all of the guns made me practically the leader of that whole group. Or at least showed them that I was capable of gettin' down to business. I ain't just some crazy dude who holes up with guns without a reason, and they sure came in handy. I ever tell you that I once shot a bear?"

I snort, feeling a grin spread over my face at the memory. Yeah. A bear. I should probably feel bad for the bear, 'cause it wasn't there of its own will.

But I still shot a bear.

"Anyway," I push on, kicking a wedge under the door and trying to chuck the rolls neatly inside. "I conned them by pittin' 'em against each other. How else? I ain't exactly Mister Congeniality."

[little_moons]

"No, you didn't tell me," I laugh, and I can't help but grin back at him, 'cause he looks so goddamn proud of himself. He doesn't talk a whole lot about that other island, and I've never pressed him about it. Still, it's good to know there's at least a few things about it that'll make him smile.

"Aw, come on, man. I think you're a fuckin' pleasure to be around."

[confidenceman]

"That's 'cause you love assholes, but even if I've turned cuddly on this island, you really think anyone would wanna trust me with their weapons? Hell, with a spot on that hippie-based Council that they didn't have the sense to elect you to?" I ask, brow raising in challenge. The answer, of course, is no. I'm an occasional drunk, and an almost constant belligerent. Way I act, you'd probably think I'm hasty. There's no one who would pick me as their first choice to run anything, be trusted with anything— aside from dirty work, perhaps. If there's one thing I can say for myself, it's that I don't often flinch.

Though I think Sayid had me beat there.

"Being a pleasure ain't the same as gettin' people to trust you," I conclude, crossing my arms loosely over my chest. "Also, that bear? Wasn't just any bear. It was a goddamn polar bear. Huge as all hell. And you think this island's weird."

...actually, this island really might be the weirder of the two. But at least it doesn't seem to have it in for all of us, s'far as I can tell. Less violent deaths.

[little_moons]

"Dude, I'm pretty fuckin' sure they had sense enough not to elect me," I point out, giving him a look. And yeah, he's right, I've got a thing for assholes, but I'm not sure I'd call him cuddly.

"So, what, did you stuff it? Put it up on your wall?" Okay, maybe I'm fucking with him, now, but he's seriously proud of that and I can't help but find it a little bit funny.

[confidenceman]

"No, it was just a damn case of common sense failin' to weigh out the starry-eyed," I conclude, exhaling deep through my lips. 'Cause, I mean, I get it. That Steve Rogers guy's got real stage presence, he's charming, and that Steve McGarrett fellow's got great tatts and comes from an island, and Hermione Granger's the most badass witch of her age, and that other chick's a doctor, and Shari's— well, I don't know, Shari wins our stomachs. I get it. But if you try and figure out which one of them all loves the island the most, that's Neil, and that means the guy deserves a goddamned spot on that panel.

"And no," I push on, not sure if there's really any way I can put that into words without him laughing his ass off at me. "Didn't trust that the bear wasn't sick, and didn't have the materials to stuff him proper. It probably became some lucky animal's dinner."