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Jackals In Session [89.1 Homies Only]

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How We Got The Booze

A brief introduction:

Jack Lexton had been through more pain than any man Seymour had ever encountered. It'd taken Seymour nearly fifty years to prove his mettle, but Jack had lost everything again and again. That being said, Jack had been double-crossed so many times that he was either going to get revenge, or die. The sun shone down on three skulls hanging off of his backpack, evidence of a successful attempt at revenge. The way the boys all saw it, those skulls hanging off of Jack's pack were little more than trophies. They'd look at them and think of Jack's daughter. At least, that's what Seymour was thinking as they both stood around the cellar door. Seymour pulled up his balaclava, letting his thick and greasy beard fall free. He spit onto the ground, then restuffed his beard back into his face mask. 

Jack and Seymour exchanged a few words. They spoke in simple commands -- "Got a light?" "Yeah, I got a light." "Hang on a sec'." "Gimme a fuckin' battery." "C'mon," and so forth.

They eventually got the cellar door open, but not without Jack's mechanical hand falling off. It hit the first step, and then slid down the remaining steps with barely a sound. Seymour's flashlight was attached to his pistol -- A gift from a kind friend. He aimed down the steps, and began slowly walking down. He'd watched The Road in 2009, and while it was in Chernarussain, he still gathered enough from the film to be weary of cellars. He breathed slowly, eyes trained down the sights of the pistol.

Something large and dark moved just outside the focus of the light. His hands adjusted to the movement, and he noticed the dark mass was moving quickly and carrying a large object. This wouldn't be the first fat rat that Seymour had shot. In fact, it was the third he'd gotten over the course of his lifetime. However, this was the only time he'd ever shot a rat with a pistol. Only, he didn't exactly shoot the rat. Instead the bullet connected with Jack's hand, which the rat was carrying. The impact of the .45 caused the hand to spin wildly. Instead of being pushed from the force, the bullet landed in such a way that the hand rotated sharply, smacking the rat in the face and knocking it unconscious. It wasn't the hand that did it exactly, but instead it was the force the rat's skull met when it was slammed against a small portion of the floor that was raised several inches. 

The phenomenon was quickly investigated by both Jack and Seymour. They concluded two things:

1. The rat was not dead. 

2. The portion of the raised floor was something that was buried under the ground.

Jack set off to fixing the first problem while Seymour used his shovel to begin digging up the object. A knife made short work of the rat and was tossed back up the stairs to be cleaned later. Digging up the object took a while since Seymour refused to accept any help. "Keep a gun pointed at the stairs -- I got this," he instructed. Eventually the two were able to haul a large chest out of the cellar, and into the sunlight. Jack set to cleaning the rat, while Seymour looked around for anyone who might be watching. He moved around anxiously for several minutes, but eventually returned to the chest. He fired a bullet into the lock, and opened the chest with his foot.

Inside was the largest collection of stored spirits he'd seen since his days tracking product for a bar he'd worked for in Alaska. Numerous bottles of vodka, gin, wine, and various high-scale liquors. Seymour grabbed Jack by the shirt and pulled him away from the disgusting rat to show him their bounty.

The first words out of Seymour's mouth were, "Don't tell the others."

Unfortunately for Seymour, everyone found the cache of liquor early that same evening. It was the same evening that the brothers were united since the dissolution of their enemy. The celebrating began about the same time as the drinking started. By midnight, most of the Jackals had busted lips, swollen eyes, broken noses, and sore ribs. The shooting didn't happen until nearly the morning, but the brothers were not exempt from knife fighting, bare-knuckle boxing, and wrestling. The brothers were getting rather skilled at injuring one another without any serious repercussions. Those who inflicted serious injuries were consequently seriously injured in a prolonged and agonizing capacity, so as to prevent any further harm of the same type. 

So like I said, the shooting didn't start until morning. Seymour popped a fresh battery into his radio, and held it out for one of the brothers to begin speaking. His hand was shaking wildly, drunk as shit.


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Nik sits with his boys by a steady warm fire that had been going for hours constantly being poked and prodded to be kept alive. He watches them yell and celebrate with each other competing in games testing each others strength.

The brothers threw hands with each other and practiced with there blades, a lot of the boys pinning and hurling each other around in there drunken quarrels with each other, always trying to prove something. 

The games to Nik seemed rough and harsh but none the less needed, to handle his brothers and sisters. He continued thinking "these boys cant handle a simple game, ya know? They always need pain as a reminder I guess.."

Nik rises to his feet, he rubs his neck feeling the variety of scars and marks he had acquired that continued to stretch all down his body. Each one reminded him what he's been through, and what it took to get him there.

Begining to walk away from the fire yelling to his family "You guys are to much, I need to think a bit. Im going to find quiet, Ill be back in a bit.." Most of the Brothers pre occupied didn't even hear Nik as he began to walk into the forest nearby.

Nik traveling light left his bag at hell, although he always had his blade and his book by his side. He also had his radio tucked in his pants pocket opposite the pocket with the .357 in it.

Walking until the light from the fire was dim, Nik took a seat against a broad tree trunk. He stuck his blade into the ground and laid his book close to it getting comfortable. He then laid his .357 on his right side and began to retrieve his radio from his pant pocket.

Nik thought about his boys celebrating by the fire, he thought "what did we win, huh? Enemies.. they uhh.. they come and go. So when one of our weak enemies disperses.. is that really a time to celebrate?"

He pauses. "Let the boys be happy, happiness is a hard thing to have nowadays, you know that don't you?"

Talking to himself, Nik answers his own questions. "Things have been rough lately, bullets have been flying, pain is being caused, and judgment is getting harder and harder.." he paused and looked at his blade.

"Don't worry that's why you teach.. to show your brothers how to judge, sit back make sure they go the right way. The voice sounded reassuring and comfortable "you know your princes know how to handle our rough family, sit back and watch them teach, ya know?"

"Just keep your boys strong, times are coming where you and your family's strength will be put to the test, ya know?" Still talking to himself, Nik shakes his head.

These voices influencing Nik ever since he got through his own struggle up at the castle. The voice seems like he always knows what to do, Nik always thinks. "My demons got us this far didn't they.." Nik ended on that thought pulling his radio out completely.

*Pressing the transmit button hoping his brothers are listening he begins to rant positive words*

"Be happy brothers and sisters, celebrate tonight but be ready for the struggles ahead. Weakness disperses because there is a lack of strength to hold it together, that is what has happened to our enemies. Always remember your strength.."

*Releasing the transmit button*  Nik continues to sit by the tree, wondering if the boys were listening through there rough games they were putting each other through..

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Jester puts on his Walkman and presses play and is greeted by the pleasant sounds of

The boys are always so flagrantly rowdy, Punching and kicking and screaming,  Smashed liquor bottles and broken teeth.   Jester watched as they drank and fought, laughing about the daily catches and the catches long past.  Family, brothers through blood, brothers though suffering.  

Jester reached a hand down to his Winchester flicking the safety back and forth with his finger in an absent minded fashion deep in thought. 

The radio clicks to life, Jester pulls off one headphone

"Be happy brothers and sisters, celebrate tonight but be ready for the struggles ahead. Weakness disperses because there is a lack of strength to hold it together, that is what has happened to our enemies. Always remember your strength.." 

 Jester looks up with the little bit of moonlight breaking the cloud cover glimmering off his blood stained mask and grabs his radio pressing firmly down on the send button.

" We march forward Brother, Over an ocean of bones of the weak.  The blood of the weak will stain our boot heals. "

Releases the send button, Puts his headphone back on.

Sings softly to himself 

"If I had a box just for wishes

And dreams that had never come true

The box would be empty

Except for the memory

Of how they were answered by you"

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In the background of the initial broadcast you can hear a young man yelp in pain and he pounds his fist on the ground. Xander stands up and brushes dirt from his clothes before scowling down at Felix after he just submitted the young man in a wrestling match. The other brothers who aren't passed out drunk or fighting their own brawls cheer as Felix rolls on the ground in pain holding his shoulder.

"Don't ever think I won't break your arm next time you talk shit, brother."

Xander walks towards Seymour who is drunkenly holding out a radio with an outstretched arm and brandishing his pistol in the other. Careful to not put himself in front of the business end of the firearm, Xander approaches the man with the helmet.

"All this celebrating for what? I don't think we achieve anything from all of this bullshit except for bruises and hangovers. I'll take this watch."

Xander walks another 200 meters away from his frolicking brothers and sits down at the base of a tree with his rifle in hand. He re-attaches the sight onto the rail of the rifle and takes a long look at the woods surrounding their camp. Satisfied that the area is clear of anything living, or dead, Xander pulls out his radio.

"You guys are fucking loud as an dog getting fucked by an elephant. I could hear you down in the city if I tried hard enough and felt like walking that far."

Frustrated that no one probably heard him, or gave a shit, Xander tosses his radio to the side and resumes surveying the area.

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