a STICK

*Jack*

Jack couldn’t really help herself. There was trouble in the air, something brewing, and she could feel it. Last season there were the half-crazed predators, the ones that she’d done her best to square off against. They were fine. She’d been able to handle them… but what if there were more? What if there were way more? Right. That was a cause for concern. Jack could feel that concern knotting in her stomach, something strange. Concern… when had she ever been concerned about a damn thing? Whatever. She supposed there were more things to worry about here. More predators. Always more predators.

With the coming of summer, that would probably mean more predators born. Something of a baby boom after the Ooze– whatever that was. Jack wasn’t really sure she understood it. She never really did understand it… especially having only caught the tail end. That was fine. There was plenty that the anti-hero didn’t understand, and didn’t pretend to. She didn’t need to understand it to be able to kill it. That would be a decent approach to it all, right? Good enough. Fuck it. Fuck it, good enough.

Right. More predators. More predators meant that she needed to be armed. Being able to scrap and fight would only get her so far. If Jack could arm herself, then she’d be able to take them all on. In her mind, it would be quantity of predators over anything else. What if something like a dozen coyotes were closing in when she was on her own? No, that wouldn’t do. That simply wouldn’t do. How the fuck would she defend herself then? How the shit… how the fresh shit would she be able to handle it? Jack’s thoughts were coming quicker now, her gait doing enough to show just how cranky she happened to be in this moment.

But it was fine. Jack was fine. As she moved, there were so many different thoughts in her head. It wasn’t long before her gaze fell on a branch. It was a decently sized branch, maybe the size of a baseball bat, that must have come down in the last storm. The thing was thick too… dummy thick if you would. Excellent. She lifted it in her jaws, taking hold of the piece of wood. Digging her back legs into the ground, Jack made to swing it wide around her, a large circle. That felt good. Fucken good. A brassy laugh cursed her chest, ringing clear and loud. Excellent.

Her stick would need some work. She dragged it off to the edge of the orchard, near one of the stooped sheds. Carefully, Jack set to work stripping some of the bulk from the already-thinner side. It would fit more easily in her mouth this way. With more weight on the end of the stick, Jack would be able to use the force she generated to even more of her own advantage. She was rather pleased with herself, and her handiwork. There was something excellent about the mental image of a half dozen coyotes being taken out at the knees with her Big Stick of Fuck Offening. That would be a good name for it.

Still, the stick needed something else. Something more. Something that would make it more threatening. Jack was curious as she went rummaging in one of the stacks of crates around the bases of the nearby trees. While the wood was rotted out and soft, the nails that held the corners together still held promise. Carefully, so as not to get splinters stuck inside her own flesh, Jack pried the crates themselves apart. They separated easily in her jaws, and her tail thumped at her haunches. This was exactly what she needed. She was pleased, stacking the nails beside her as she worked. With about a dozen in her pile, the girl grinned. This was what she needed.

Using one of the more structurally sound pieces of discarded wood from the crates, she turned her attention back to the Big Stick of Fuck Offening. Using the scrap, Jack began to drive the nails through her stick. It was tedious work, but it felt good to do. It was a satisfying process, driving the nails through, in as deep as they would go. They stuck out the opposite side, and she did her best to layer them in such a way that every possible edge had at least a few spikes. They’d do some hefty damage, and Jack was growing more and more pleased with the weapon.

As she finished, she climbed to her feet. A careful stretch, and her keen gaze. Yes, excellent. Jack lifted the edge that had been worn for her teeth and clutched it. On her haunches she spun with great speed, and as great a force as she could muster. A swing. A hard swing. It was satisfying, and she was more than certain that it would suffice. How fucking excellent, Jack decided. With that, Stick of Fuck Offening was born.

word count: 836

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a STICK

fighting seasonal

Jack