Food is not meant to attack you. You are meant to attack food. Literally that is it. Okay sure, in certain parts of the world that Jake has no interest in ever visiting ever ever again there are foods you eat that some get a kick out of attacking back - and if you swallow living octopuses then maybe you deserve what you get if they try and lodge themselves permanently in your throat - but otherwise, those are the rules.
You attack a meal, it does not bite you back.
So Jake is really becoming concerned when the bowl of soup he kind of sorta snagged from the pot bubbling away on the stove has a definite heat to it. Well, not at first. At first it's welcomed, mostly because it's food he hasn't had to scrounge up, and at this point he'd settle for a case of C-rats from the eighties. Not even MREs but their canned and often just fat and protein in a can that killed more damn John Waynes than most soldiers cared to count rations that hadn't been touched since Jake was a kid. So the soup is a welcome relief.
Except there is no relief. There is just heat, and burn, and sadly hunger and the kind of hyperness that has haunted Jake since grade school means that by the time he starts to realize that it isn't a comfortable, low grade pepper heat but the sort of punishment that came from eating habaneros whole because you think it will impress your latest unit - spoiler alert: it won't and doesn't - he's eaten nearly all of the bowl.
Dropping bowl and spoon into the sink with a clatter, he ducks his head into the sink, turning on the faucet. Lack of long term thinking results in not rinsing away whatever is so caustic in the soup but in water going up his nose, nearly drowning him.
Coming up spluttering and gasping, choking as he tries to draw a breath and clear the water from his lungs at the same time, Jake jerks off his shirt, using it for a towel to try and clean the water out of his eyes. Fuck, that feels a tiny bit better. Cooler, at least. That's a start.
Dropping his shirt on the counter, Jake leans back against it, nudging his shoes off, one foot and then the other. Glancing around, he grips the waistband of his pants, considering how bad of an idea this really is in the middle of the kitchen. Sniffling, the heat flares up again, his body sheened in sweat, and with a curse under his breath, Jake shoves his pants down around his ankles, stepping out of them and dropping them on the counter with his shirt before heading for the door.
He'll come back for them later. When he's cooler and not likely to have whatever polyester levels that might be in them literally bonding to his flesh.
Text - un: oneeyedjack
[Incapable of chill, the message come rapid fire in the course of a few minutes.]
srsly tho wat yr is it? this tech makes dinos lok nu n fresh
Jake Jensen - The Losers
Food is not meant to attack you. You are meant to attack food. Literally that is it. Okay sure, in certain parts of the world that Jake has no interest in ever visiting ever ever again there are foods you eat that some get a kick out of attacking back - and if you swallow living octopuses then maybe you deserve what you get if they try and lodge themselves permanently in your throat - but otherwise, those are the rules.
You attack a meal, it does not bite you back.
So Jake is really becoming concerned when the bowl of soup he kind of sorta snagged from the pot bubbling away on the stove has a definite heat to it. Well, not at first. At first it's welcomed, mostly because it's food he hasn't had to scrounge up, and at this point he'd settle for a case of C-rats from the eighties. Not even MREs but their canned and often just fat and protein in a can that killed more damn John Waynes than most soldiers cared to count rations that hadn't been touched since Jake was a kid. So the soup is a welcome relief.
Except there is no relief. There is just heat, and burn, and sadly hunger and the kind of hyperness that has haunted Jake since grade school means that by the time he starts to realize that it isn't a comfortable, low grade pepper heat but the sort of punishment that came from eating habaneros whole because you think it will impress your latest unit - spoiler alert: it won't and doesn't - he's eaten nearly all of the bowl.
Dropping bowl and spoon into the sink with a clatter, he ducks his head into the sink, turning on the faucet. Lack of long term thinking results in not rinsing away whatever is so caustic in the soup but in water going up his nose, nearly drowning him.
Coming up spluttering and gasping, choking as he tries to draw a breath and clear the water from his lungs at the same time, Jake jerks off his shirt, using it for a towel to try and clean the water out of his eyes. Fuck, that feels a tiny bit better. Cooler, at least. That's a start.
Dropping his shirt on the counter, Jake leans back against it, nudging his shoes off, one foot and then the other. Glancing around, he grips the waistband of his pants, considering how bad of an idea this really is in the middle of the kitchen. Sniffling, the heat flares up again, his body sheened in sweat, and with a curse under his breath, Jake shoves his pants down around his ankles, stepping out of them and dropping them on the counter with his shirt before heading for the door.
He'll come back for them later. When he's cooler and not likely to have whatever polyester levels that might be in them literally bonding to his flesh.
Text - un: oneeyedjack
[Incapable of chill, the message come rapid fire in the course of a few minutes.]
srsly tho wat yr is it? this tech makes dinos lok nu n fresh
a 4 yo with a leapfrog could hack this shit
my niece could bld this w legos n awatch
no voice even. could spoof any1
thats not a bad way 2 spend my afternoon
whats the point of a nu un if any1 cn see ur rn?
[It may actually go on for a while. Oops.]