[h1][color=slategray]Jolly Gutters[/color][/h1]
[hr]
[sub][color=slategray]“But those were all out of my reach… o-ho, I know, I know…”[/color][/sub]

He was talking to himself again. Or, to be more exact, to a corpse which he was under the impression was sitting in a chair, listening to him ramble on.

[color=slategray] “I mean it’s not as if I could have just… ASKED them, right?”[/color] He called out, pacing left and right before turning to the slumped-over cadaver with a bottle of liquor in hand. [color=slategray] “No, no, stop, stop, you’re NOT… LISTENING to me, I’m TELLING you… [sub]there was no other way![/sub]”[/color] He slowly arched backwards and let out a chuckle, before promptly downing the last of the liquor. He wiped his beard after he finished and continued to speak. [color=slategray]“Oh but don’t you worry. I’ve got a plan, I’ve got a plan! I’m gonna… h-hold on a minute… [sub]I was gonna… no, no, that wasn’t it, not the sails…[/sub]”[/color] He paused for a moment before laughing once again. [color=slategray]“Slipped my mind, I guess!”[/color] He said through gritted, nasty teeth. And then he decided to have another sip of the liquor, only to be met with a drip from an empty bottle.

[sub][color=slategray]“What…”[/color][/sub] He muttered, peering into the bottle with his one bloodshot eye. He looked down at his very dead friend and said, [color=slategray]“Did you… REALLY drink the last of it?”[/color]

No response, of course.

His eye widened as he let out a yell, running forward and smashing the bottle over the dead man’s head, then proceeding to repeatedly stab the shattered remains into his decaying scalp. [color=slategray]“THAT! WAS! MINE!”[/color] He said in-between stabs, [color=slategray]“IT! WAS! ALL! SUPPOSED! TO BE! MINE! AHHHHHHHHHH!”[/color] A few more frantic jabs, and the body’s scalp was a nice, black, pulpy mess. The man reared back and panted for a moment. After one last exhale, he said, [color=slategray]“You… need to learn… some MANNERS…”[/color] He marched forward and pried an old pistol from the man’s coat holster. [color=slategray]“I’m keeping this ‘til you apologize.”[/color]

He turned and proceeded towards the door, exiting the once-captain’s cabin, and slamming it once he was outside.

[center][h1]…[/h1][/center]

Gutters strolled along the wreck of the airship, suspended in the midst of the fog along a row of jagged spires. There was no above – and certainly no below – that he could see were he to peer over the rails. He stumbled along in a suitable drunken fashion and said aloud, [color=slategray]“A drink! A drink, oh, what’s a man without a drink…”[/color]

It was then that he keeled over, and his facial features began to contort wildly, accompanied by same gnashing and gagging sounds. He quickly stood back up and began to call out to the empty void of the fog.

[h3][color=slategray]“GIVE UNTO ME MINE LIFEBLOOD! SO THAT I MAY SEEK AND FIND AND REAP! THE CHALICE! OF THE INFINITE! NOTHINGNEEEEEEESSSS!”[/color][/h3]

He proceeded to fire the pistol up into the Fog above him a few times as he continued to yell.

Lord knew if anyone was out in the Fog to hear him.