Working title: JERKS of Hell "My dad says the Jerks level is like a really crummy day on earth, but that the Dickheads level is like prison. He says he can't even imagine what the lowest levels are like." --Xander, [u]Bartleby's Descent[/u] "Really, most people are okay. Those that maybe cut too many people off on the freeway, take their babies with them to 'R' rated movies, or decide on a job in telemarketing, go to the Jerks level. That's for otherwise decent folks who just need to learn a few things about empathy for others. Not much worse than where they came from, really." --Satan, [u]Bartleby's Descent[/u] "This place is old, it feels just like a beat up truck I turn the engine but the engine doesn't turn; It smells of cheap wine, cigarettes, this place is always such a mess sometimes I think I'd like to watch it burn... ...we can drive it home with one headlight..." --The Wallflowers, "One Headlight" ------ Satan's office is an example of what most of Hell has to deal with on a daily basis: Paperwork. Lucifer himself processes a few hundred thousand tons of it every hour, and the legions of Hellguardians and helpers who volunteer for desk jobs have similar workloads. Hell's staff tried going paperless more than once, but getting everything implemented just didn't work. The best solution, weirdly enough, turned out to be the Summoners; the robots freed the imps to archive the mountains of paperwork. Storerooms 5,658,745,647,914 through 6,984,544,416,685 are in order and neat, although nobody but the imps can get inside due to the space being so crammed with files. For the kind of permanence needed for Hell's Records, these just can't be created out of thin air or portaled into existence. Copies can be summoned, but someone has to [i]make[/i] all those forms for the original files. A large portion of the JERKS level and a few sections of DICKHEADS have been devoted to the production of paper and printing. As many as 60% of the residents of any part of JERKS are likely to have a job directly making the infernal forms. Materials used for the paper are pretty diverse, including bones, fur, pine and mahogany wood, bamboo, and even cannabis hemp. (Recent DICKHEADS often try to smoke those sheets of paper, but the weed is so low in active chemicals all it does is stink up their cells and smell terrible. Someone smoked a metric ton of hemp paper and all he got was a bad cough. He said he was doing it [s]FOR SCIENCE![/s] just to see what would happen, but if he got high that would have been a nice bonus.) The numerous paper mills are part of why much of the JERKS level smells terrible: Nobody has yet found a way to make the infernal paper without making a hellish stink. When prophets had a vision of "fire and brimstone," they really didn't [i]see[/i] Hell. They caught a whiff of JERKS and compared the smell to something they recognized. Damnation Alley is one of the more heavily-travelled highways of JERKS, passing several paper mill districts and numerous printers. It's also one of the worst roads in any existence, constantly in need of work, full of potholes and rough spots, twistier than a roller coaster, and driving demands constant attention if you want to avoid the inconvenience of rolling your vehicle into a ravine and having to pull your burnt carcass back together. By the way, most JERKS take far longer to recover from injuries than in NAUGHTY, so recovering from a car accident can take months to years. Join us as we follow a few damned souls through a day in the strife of the JERKS Level... ----- [b][i]MORNING[/i][/b] [b][i]Steve Wallace[/i][/b] He tries to keep a routine until something different happens - and on average, that's daily. Today, it starts off with: Wake up, take care of hygiene. Do laundry (Doesn't take long to do, even by hand; he only has three shirts and two pants, all of them ragged.) Take a moment to appreciate a gloriously hot morning. Breakfast is squash from the vine that's been following him ever since he got to JERKS, and tomatoes from a plant that grew in his hat during the night. Mental note: find a new hat. Sure are a lot of tomatoes on that plant, too... hmm, pass a few around? As he bites into a tomato, he's overcome by a memory that completely blots everything out for the next few minutes - he was a kid, throwing dirt clods at a building; all the tomatoes he'd stolen earler were splattered all over the wall and already starting to stink, a few of them must have been on the edge of rotten. One of the dirt clods was a rock in disguise, and it broke a window. When he comes to from the memory, he finds that he's already eaten most of the tomato. It's a really good tomato, too. The black rat is so out of it after the memory overrun that he needs fifteen minutes to realize that his watch hadn't gone off. Like much of Hell, things are often more than they appear; his watch is a Reminder, a device issued to every soul assigned to the JERKS level. The Reminders are a means of penance for the sins of the JERKS, making them experience the sins they commited in life on a schedule that should help them learn. The devices take different forms for everyone, though most often they are small enough to be easily carried or worn. Steve's reminder looks like an expensive but worn-out wristwatch. It might still keep good time if it still had hands and its face wasn't frosted with scratches. [b][i]Thomas Delacroix[/i][/b] The raccoon wakes up to a motherfucker of a nauseating headache, and finds that the fucking toilet is clogged. Plunge out toilet, pause to puke, plunge out the fucking toilet again, go to look for aspirin - fuck. Out of it again. The thought of breakfast makes him want to fucking puke again. Some leftover meatloaf grew toadstools last week, and bleach didn't get the smell of 'shroom farm out of the fridge, it just made it smell like bleached shit. They weren't even the good kind of 'shrooms, either. These fucking kill you until you fucking heal up enough to puke 'em out, then you fucking die again. Shower takes a long fucking time to warm up and doesn't stay hot for long. Fuck. At least the weather's been fairly hot lately. What the fuck is buzzing? Oh shit, is it that fucking time again? Where the fuck is that fucking pager-memory-thingy? Ugh, get the fucker out of the way and get the fuck on with the day. He really has a fucking problem with fucking cussing every third fucking word. [b][i]Sarah Bellin[/i][/b] Get up, take care of hygiene. Odd that her Reminder hasn't gone off this morning. The early 1980s-style cell phone was quiet right at the moment, despite showing solid signal. She wondered if she was supposed to re-experience any transgressions today... well, she woke up from a dream that was half memory, half nightmare, about being transferred to the Personnel Department of some company, where her job was firing people... Ugh. Being the Tax man would be better than being the Ax man. Maybe that was it? A good shower might help clear her head, regardless of hot, cold, or lukewarm. When her fur is dry and halfway fluffy again, she stops to look at herself in the cracked full-length mirror on her bathroom door. She giggles at herself; modest boobs, big butt, sometimes you feel like a slut - Ah, what the here, what does the wardrobe have? Long sleeved shirt, short pleated skirt? Sure. Her usual running shoes. She notices that her shirt must have shrunk in the wash, her belly is poking out from under the shirt, that little bit of pudge that she never could get rid of in life or after life. Oh well. Another quick glance in the mirror and the wolf barks out a laugh. "I look like a cheerleader!" she chuckles. [i]"ISIS, ISIS, RA RA RA!"[/i] She pauses to take a look at her garden and say hello to her apple tree. She nuzzles the flowers (even though the pollen often makes her sneeze) before accepting a fruit. Her next door neighbor waves hello and jokes about her making love to the tree. Sarah answered with a laugh and said with a sly foxy smile, "You should try it sometime." She didn't break eye contact with the donkey as she licks the apple and takes a big bite. Yeah, he'll be leaving a furrow everywhere he walks for the next hour or so. Tom's always fun to tease. He's more fun when he teases back, but he doesn't seem to be in the mood for it today. [b][i]Tammila Norquist-Doral[/i][/b] Wake up, scrounge for anything edible. Shit. Nothing worth eating at all, it's all spoiled or rotten. Where the fuck is all this MOLD coming from? Gag! This place fucking stinks. Gotta find a new house, this one is utter shit. Damn not being able to take anything with you when you die! She had it made. Married a rich man, got access to his money, had powerful people scared of her. Amazing what a little blackmail can do, and how much leverage a little well-placed sex can get. Here, none of that works. That kind of influence takes time and connections. She's hardly been here a month. Sex? Shit. Despite everyone fucking themselves silly, they can't seem to have a good climax, orgasm, or anything. The doe takes some cold comfort in the fact that her husband was assigned to ASSHOLES. He deserved it richly for what he did to those advertising firms he took over. ...what in Hell - here, she darkly chuckles - is making that noise? Oh shit, that thing again? The coin she'd been given did nothing more than make buzzing noises and cause her to remember things that she'd much rather forget. The painfully polite administrator, what was his title again? Demon? HellDoorMan? Kaptain Kocksucker? Whatever. He said that that was its purpose. No matter how many times she tried to lose it or get rid of it, the more-damnable thing kept turning up. She tries not to even touch the coin, every time it's done this the memories come blasting through so heavy she can't even think for several hours. Last week her probation officer (that's how she thought of him, he certainly acted like one) came by, and [i]he[/i] activated her Reminder. She hates him for that. She makes a mental note to kick his ass as hard as possible and as many times as possible. Isn't having to live in this crack house like a homeless whore punishment enough? She picks up the coin with some hastily improvised chopsticks and throws it out through a broken window. How the fuck does that shit keep finding its way back? [b][i]MIDMORNING[/i][/b] [b][i]Sarah[/i][/b] Sarah's portal lands her about four miles from work this morning, so she takes off at a full tilt run. She causes a minor traffic accident when she jumps over a car and gives the driver a good look up her skirt - cheerleader outfits are great for gymnastics, if the wearer doesn't mind putting on a show. After Sarah bolts over a fence, she hears part of the exchange between the drivers; both of them claimed fault for being distracted by the sexy and how much they liked what they saw. She hears them dismiss the damage to their cars before she gets out of earshot: "I knows I hit'cha, but I cain't tell whar!" "Fuggeddabaddit, I got sucha bonah from seein' da hawt beeatch, my dick is still holdin' d'brake!" She doesn't turn around to go back and apologize - going by their tone, she just made their morning! [b][i]Steve[/i][/b] He spends part of his morning trying to find his Hellguardian. No luck. Well, Doogie has a lot of cases to take care of. A broken Reminder (Can those things even break? He'd never heard of it) is probably the least of concerns. Normally the demon can be found in this industrial park, his office is around here somewhere, but there's no sign of him/her/whatever. Steve sits down on a bench to let his brain rattle through another haze of memories, of fury at missed appointments. "Beg pardon, mister have you seen--" The speaker is covered in oil, grease, and ink, to the point where his species is almost indeterminate. Probably some sort of dog. "WHAA?" Steve nearly jumps out of his skin. "Oh shit, sorry man. Didn't mean to scare ya so bad. Yer Reminder jus' git ya?" "Not sure, sometimes I get the memories without it going off." "How long ya bin sittin' here?" "I don't know... can't have been long, I don't have bean plants climbing my legs." The messy dog steps around Steve to get a better look at him. "Well, there's a deliv'ry that oughta be here any minute now. ...I get a feelin' I oughta know you from somewhere... By the way, M'name's Bubba." Steve smirks ruefully. "I get that a lot. I had a moderately famous career in politics, mostly in California." "Politics?" Bubba murmers. Then his eyes go wide in recognition as he imagines the rodent wearing a suit instead of rags. "Representative Stephen Wallace, Green Party --" The memory that overruns the black rat comes from the time when he was speaker of the State House. [i]"THE MEETING STARTS WHEN I SAY IT STARTS, IF YOU CAN'T BE ON TIME SHUT YOUR SLOW ASSES UP!"[/i] He cringed visibly at the recollection of how angry he was, and how it seemed through everyone else's eyes. Fury and hate directed at himself. If the other legislators hated him any harder he might have burst into flames. Worst feeling ever. "You okay?" The dog touches his shoulder, giving Steve the needed distraction to wake him from the memory. Bubba knows that expression of staring horror all too well. "Yeah... I think." Bubba gives Steve a minute to compose himself before going on. "How long have you been in JERKS?" "I was in Dickheads for just over fifty years, only got out a couple months ago. How long have you been here?" "Gotta be just short of fifty, 'cuz I remember you from when I was alive. You ran for re-election, and won, as I recall..." Steve nods. "Someone knew that I would be really punctual about delivering a speech, and arranged for a bomb to be my final appointment. Nobody ever told me why or who did it." "If it's anythang to you, I saw the report on the news. They found out who arranged it: Representative Felder Reed." Bubba sighs and shakes his head, "I remember it like it was still happn'n. Was the first time in half o'forever that anyone got sentenced to burnin' at the stake. You weren't the only one killed that day." Steve looks a bit disgusted at the thought, but at the same time wonders where Reed had ended up. That carolina anole was so self-righteous and Ass-Holier-Than-Thou he would have argued with the Pope. Or a signpost. The rat shakes his head and tries to redirect the conversation, "How did you die, Bubba?" "Got smashed inside a machine. I still don't know how it happened, I'd locked out, tagged out, disconnected the mains, set all the safeties. Crawled inside with m'toolbox, got about halfway to where I needed to be, then there was a loud rumble, everything started shaking, I heard a bang, and I'm in the Red Room. My caseworker, Gnormun, said there was an earthquake." Steve cringed at the description. At least Bubba's death was over quick. His own had been painful, lying helpless as he bled to death from numerous shrapnel wounds. "Steve, I didn't know you personally, but I knew your reputation from reading the news. You were the most time-bound furson ever, living life down to the second, and got more stressed out when the pressure was off. You were known for snapping at random strangers that tried to talk to you. Pardon my asking, what happened to you?" Steve sighed. "You're not the first one to ask... I'm not even the same furson I was when I left Dickheads. There it was a lot like being in prison, and there was schedule and structure. I could get along with that. But now... I'm homeless, unemployable, and [i]here.[/i] All I've got is time." A sound like large chunks of metal banging against large chunks of metal comes from the nearby building, loud enough to make conversation a bit more of a challenge. "Speaking of time, I gotta get back to work. By the sound of things, press nummer three's about to break down, and it's almost due for maintn'nce. Take care of yerself." [b][i]Thomas[/i][/b] The memory he was Reminded to experience really put him in a bad fucking mood for the day. He still couldn't shake off the recollection of the fucking fights he'd had with his mother. The only thing that he feels a bit of righteousness about is the fact that the old bitch is in the Dickheads level. He drives his car to work, changes vehicles to a truck, and drives to deliver paper from a mill to the various printing presses. Today he's running a bit late getting to work. He fucking counted fifty fuckers in fucking wrecks on a fucking ten mile fucking stretch of fucking road, and that's the same fucking stretch of Damnation Alley that he'll have to fucking drive in another half a fucking hour. That fucking fucked his fucking mood the fucking rest of the fucking way up for the fucking day. He drops more fucking cluster F bombs than the fucking previous fucking sentence every fucking minute for the next few fucking hours. Fuck. Interestingly the cussing helps him focus his mind on driving down the terrible road. Lombard Street isn't half as bad as Damnation Alley. Nor is it anywhere near a tiny fraction as long. [b][i]Tammila [/i][/b] Survival comes first, finding that social ladder will come later. Also keep an eye out for another house to commandeer, hopefully one that will last a bit longer. Her current place was serviceable but crummy when she moved in, but it went to total shit barely a week later. The roof started leaking, the floor suddenly turned up a bunch of rotten spots and holes, windows broke without warning or cause, the electric and plumbing (which had worked!) abruptly quit. Service must have been turned off, but she still can't find the water meter or the main breaker box. What the fuck is wrong with the contractors around here? Oh, of course. It's Hell. A search of the neighborhood turns up some gardens with easily stolen vegetables, but they're all still pretty green. She doesn't think that will be a problem, deer like her can eat all kinds of green stuff. [b][i]WORKDAY[/i][/b] [b][i]Sarah[/i][/b] Sarah arrives and gets settled in her office in Press Building 9461. Her normal post is logistics, keeping track of the trucks bringing paper in and the completed forms going out, so nothing gets backlogged. She jokes that her job is literally shuffling paper. On a normal day she practically has to double as a switchboard operator while at the same time handling other tasks, as her workstation phone rings at the most inconvenient and distracting times. It's rarely for her, occasionally for someone in a different company or even a different part of the JERKS level. She tries to help forward the callers, but it's rare that she can get them through. Most of them hang up and try again. At lunch, she comes across... [b][i]Steve[/i][/b] They talk about how he's getting used to his new place. He asks where he can get another hat, and explains as he gives Sarah some tomatoes. "All I have to do is take a dump in a hole, and some plant pounces on it before I can wipe my butt." "I know. Plants seem to like you enough to give you so many fruits and shoots you have to give them away. If you have enough, you could set up a produce stand," Sarah suggests. "Maybe gardening is what you need to do - there's more than one way to be out standing in your field." "Oh... Hoe hoe," Steve groans as Sarah laughs. "You're right, though... I might be better suited to farming than janitorial work... oh, did they ever get all the beans out of that press?" "Yeah, press building 61 is back in service. If you need lumber to build your produce stand, I can get forklift pallets. We have tons of them lying around, plenty of them start to rot before they can get recycled into paper. They'll be easy to rebuild into shelves and stuff." "Thank you," His voice softens, "for everything you've done for me. I still owe you at least a good eating out for helping me move the last two times, and trying to get me set up with that job." She pats his nose and replies in a sultry voice, "You can do that at dinner tonight." Steve looks surprised. He's more surprised when she adds, "I'm on the menu." [b][i]Thomas[/i][/b] Now his fucking truck is acting up. What the fuck? He is pissed off to find that the lunch he'd made ahead of time had gone sour and was full of maggots and flies. He doesn't trust the hot dog vendor down at the park, no telling whose dick might be on that bun. He hates the rampant gayness that Hell seems to require; giving another man a blowjob was the hardest thing he ever did. In his eyes, he'd better get at least a more reliable car for abasing himself to the level of sucking cock. Somehow he failed to notice the two ferret women making out on the park bench near the hot dog vendor, or the canid couple doing a 69'er near the bushes. Fucking hungry. Where the fuck can he get a decent lunch without have to take a fuck up the ass? [b][i]Tammila [/i][/b] She heads into town today, pickings tend to be better there. As she turns on 5109th, her pocket starts making noise. Did a bee dive down her coat or - oh shit, not again! No matter how many times she tries to ditch the memory dredging coin, the fucker keeps turning up again like a bad penny. It never helps her remember what she wants, only things that got her arrested or got people mad at her. [i]"Damn you piece of shit, stop!"[/i] she howled, as she took the coin out of her pocket and threw it into a trash can. Several passersby look at her as she screams, but then shake their heads and continue on, knowing the futility of what she just tried to do. The Reminder will always come back to its owner. [b][i]AFTERNOON[/i][/b] [b][i]Sarah [/i][/b] The last part of her workday gets real interesting. A fault line erupted and poured out enough lava to become a small volcano somewhere downrange from Damnation Alley, and broke the phone lines between the printers and the paper mills. That means getting out the radios. Vintage 1939 models. Tubular. Her next shift replacement is Jim, a guinea pig. He got word about the volcano and decided to try to get to work a little early, since he seems to be the only one who can get the radios to work reliably enough. Sarah offers to have sex with him for doing that, but he accepts on one condition: "I have to see you come." A bit of wiring and a good nookie later, Sarah and Jim have the radio working. They hear conversations from the electric companies working like crazy to get a heat exchanger and geothermal generator plant set up at the new volcano. They're always on the lookout for power sources. Sarah and Jim relay a message to the employment office that the power company will need staff, and quick - they've already had about thirty workers burnt to a crisp, and will need more help before the charred employees can regenerate. Sarah has plans for a party this evening, and arrangements to cook herself for the meal. Quite a few close friends (she includes Steve in that number) are invited. She has help from her neighbors; a dutch oven in her size is a bit unwieldy, and will take a LOAD of charcoal. A space in her garden is ready, her plants will appreciate the ash. She starts with a hair-shedding bath, based on a concoction that her neighborhood hellguardian had given her... Sarah isn't completely conscious when she first comes out of the oven, but is aware of the treatment she receives as she fades in and out. She feels a tickle as her belly and chest are opened and her innards removed, then fades out again. She comes to again as the organs are replaced... oh, that's what they did. Her guts got made into sausage, her stomach and many of her organs a haggis, and they were also filling her up with stuffing. If her lungs were still attached to her trachea, she would have sighed in pleasure and giggled. She was pretty sure her uterus had been left alone. She wouldn't have minded having that filled to the max with semen before she was roasted... maybe next time. She fades back into unconsciousness as she's put back in the oven to roast a bit longer. [b][i]Steve[/i][/b] He gets cleaned up for Sarah's party, portals to the general area, then walks the rest of the way. The trip takes him all afternoon due to the sorry aim of his portal. He has a moment of aggravation when someone nearly knocks him down and yells abuse at him for being in the way. Steve almost throws the tomato he's holding at the offender, but a memory completely stops him... [i]I'm late, late, "Outta my way, bitch!" damn slow people FUCKING MOVE![/i] ...when he comes to, he's sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, tears in his eyes. He looks at the tomato in his hand, then stuffs it in his mouth as he gets unsteadily to his feet to continue on his way. [i]Why is he in such a hurry? Why was I in such a hurry then? What does it matter now?[/i] He happens across his Hellguardian on the way to Sarah's house. "Hey, Doogie!" Rumor has it that nobody - not even Satan - had ever been able to pronounce the Demon's proper name correctly more than once, and that was by sheer luck; he doesn't really care anyway. As long as you don't call him late for dinner, as the saying goes. Reading expressions on his Cthulhu-esque face takes a little practice, but you can count on him being polite at the very least, friendly most of the time, and always compassionate. "Hello, Steve... what's wrong?" The demon switches to a softer voice. "Your eyes are red, did... oh, rough one?" "Yeah, had a memory of a bad moment in a really bad time. That's not what I want to talk to you about... I didn't use the thing," he pulls back his sleeve to show his watch, "to bring it on. It hasn't buzzed in a month." Doogie looks at Steve's Reminder, whips out his own portable computer, and sends a test message. Steve's Reminder beeps exactly as it is supposed to do. "Okay, this is a test. Tell me what it makes you recall." Steve activates it... "Embarrassment, smell of shit. I'm little. Disgust. Someone slaps my butt real hard and... squish." Doogie tilts his head, a little puzzled, "Well, it works..." but Steve seems to have zoned out - a look the demon is quite familiar with. Memory override. Doogie's Demonic Sight shows what Steve is going through. Definitely more than a test message, something must have been dredged up. The demon gently takes him to a nearby bench so they can both sit down. When Steve comes to, his eyes are pained and full of tears, and he seems a bit disoriented until Doogie gently brings him back to the present moment. "Your Reminder definitely works. Hang on to it for now, I'll check into it." [i]You're calling the memories up without even thinking about it. I have a feeling you don't really need a Reminder. [/i] [b][i]Thomas[/i][/b] He lets off a few more Cluster F-Bombs when he finds out that he'll be working late tonight, through no fault of his own. Two of the other delivery trucks broke down, a third got in a massive wreck, and he has to pick up their loads. The other drivers initially offer to help, but they can't drive Thomas' truck - it's a stick shift with a real personality problem, and it takes a lot of coaxing to get it in the right gear. He grumbles that he'd better get some good sex for taking on the extra workload. Not a blowjob, no assfucking, no guy sex. He wants [i]Pussy.[/i] While his truck is being loaded up, he goes to a diner where he can get some reputable looking food for dinner. Giving the waitress a hand job in exchange for a meal isn't such a bad deal, except the mare is so loose she hardly notices that he's fisting her - until his elbow hits her clit a few times. Horse, whores, what fucking difference? Takes a lot of humping to make her cum. [b][i]Tammila[/i][/b] Her plan for the afternoon: Head back home with the haul. Eat anything edible, it looks like a feast right now... mostly canned stuff, with some fresh if rather unripe vegetables. The loose floorboards of her house provide a perfect entry point for nonevs, like the chipmunk that just came in with a flat object in his cheek pouch. Tammila nearly drops her load of food when she sees the chipmunk, and charges after the rodent with intent to kill. The chipmunk dashes away, and right before he escapes through a portal, he spits out a coin. The coin starts to buzz right when her hoof lands on it. "WHY CAN'T YOU STAY GONE??!" she shrieks at her Reminder, right as the memories overtake her. [b][i]EVENING[/i][/b] [b][i]Steve [/i][/b] He says to Sarah as she comes back out of the oven, "When I said I was gonna eat you out, I didn't mean this way." He thoughly licks the roasted wolf's cunt before he reaches for a knife and fork. [b][i]Sarah [/i][/b] Everyone says how much they love her as they dig in. She smiles as her flesh is devoured, and fades into a warm loving darkness again... [b][i]Thomas [/i][/b] Each fucking load has a fucking problem that makes it take a lot fucking longer than it should. What the fuck is so fucking complicated about fucking [i]paper?[/i] Speaking of paper, the bathroom's almost - fuck that, IS out of toilet paper. Always happens when he's gotta take a shit. He goes on a minor quest to get some more TP. [b][i]Tammila [/i][/b] The Reminder activates as soon as she touches it, and the flood of memories it lets loose is a mother. Much of her afternoon is spent in agony. She'd experienced the DTs when she was 13, hospitalized after a case of alcohol poisoning; compared to this, the hangover from that party was nothing. Even remembering psychological abuse [i]hurts.[/i] Still freakin' hungry. No matter how many gardens, stores, and houses she raids, she's still hungry. She eats until she looks pregnant, and still feels hungry. The only thing that seemed to even vaguely satisfy was meat. But the canned and preserved stuff she got just doesn't quite do it... maybe it needs to be fresh? She gets a rusty knife from the kitchen and heads out on the prowl. [b][i]NIGHT[/i][/b] [b][i]Steve [/i][/b] He does what he can to help continue the evening's entertainment, and gets an orgy organized. The only way he can think of to satisfy everyone is to make a circle of oral sex. Something about JERKS seems to limit the ability to come to orgasm without assistance. His idea works, but it takes a BIG loop of holes. [b][i]Tammila [/i][/b] Hmm, looks like someone was just buried in their garden. Wonder if there's any meat left on those bones... what's this? She's suddenly THERE? Overcome by hunger and rage, the only thought in her mind is to charge. EAT! [b][i]Sarah [/i][/b] She respawns in the garden where her bones were buried. She effortlessly dodges the clumsy lunge and trips the deer. Tammila crashes into a rock wall separating Sarah's yard from the next property. Sarah is about to go toward her when the attacker staggers up, takes a clumsy swipe at her with a knife, and staggers away, grunting but somehow not able to scream curses. Sarah is about to follow when something grabs her shoulder - she looks around to find that her apple tree had actually reached a branch out to touch her, as if it wanted to say something. Sarah didn't notice that she was new in less than fifteen minutes. [b][i]Thomas [/i][/b] He's tired, more crabby than usual. Traffic on the way home is a slalom of stalled cars, and he's already fixed two flat tires. [b][i]LATE NIGHT[/i][/b] [b][i]Steve / Sarah [/i][/b] When she returns to her house to join the love-in, the circle lick breaks up and turns into something of a gang bang. All her guests ask that she accept the sexing they're going to give her, and please, the best thing you can do tonight is [i]receive[/i]. Don't you dare try to give back, they playfully demand. "Damn you, stop pleasuring me! I'm trying to pleasure you!" became the evening's catch phrase. [b][i]Tammila [/i][/b] Leg hurts, running makes it worse. Arm hurts like a bitch. Chest hurts. Gotta get away. Hungry. Get away. HUNGRY. Get a-- [b][i]Thomas [/i][/b] He realizes a minute too late that he missed a turn, and is on the wrong street. Thomas lets out a loud expletive, swerves a hard U-turn, floors the gas, and is cussing up a storm as he tries to retrace his route. He gets up to about 65MPH (the car has NEVER gone this fast before!) when someone in dark clothes run/staggers out in front of his car, giving him no chance to swerve or react. THUD. Back on Earth, his car would have been totaled. Here in the JERKS level of Hell, it merely gets a headlight smashed out and a dent. Like another fucking dent would be fucking noticed on that fucking wreck? Fuck, a Witness. Oh fuck, is that a fucking [i]cop?[/i] [b]Shit.[/b] [b][i]VERY EARLY MORNING[/i][/b] [b][i]Thomas [/i][/b] Stomach hurts. Head hurts. Foot hurts. Fuck, ass hurts from driving that fucking truck for so fucking long. If time has any meaning here, feels like it's gotta be after three in the fucking morning. He's already decided: if he gets another call from his Reminder, he's not going to work. He's already done triple duty with no pussy waiting for him when he got done, so somebody owes him at least a day off to sleep and get over the fuckin' puking. His attempt to sleep is interrupted by a buzzing noise. "Oh, fuck, why now..." [b][i]Sukaheoxhat Arezletaurutlenoa (She often goes by "Connie," It's just easier to say.)[/i][/b] She saw Thomas crash into Tammila, and had to make him sign the police report. Yes, a police report. She also had a statement from a neighbor that the doe had tried to attack someone right before the raccoon crashed into her. Tammila Norquist-Doral is headed back to the review board as soon as she recovers from her injuries. Might be next week. Connie was on her way to Sarah with some good news that evening - something that required a personal touch that a Summoner wouldn't quite be able to do properly. That morning she found Sarah, Steve, and about a dozen other furs all piled up on the living room floor. Most are asleep, a few fell asleep still, um, plugged in. Oh, this looks like fun...