[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/No63pEQ.png[/img]
[code]Regal Square, Prince Ed-Field[/code]
[@Mr Allen J][/center][hr]

When Jackson had started to walk away, he had what wanted in his hand, and the temptation of the piece of chooclate cake beckoned him -so much so that he couldn’t wait any longer. He came a stop mid-step, and dug the the plastic fork into the sweet, delicate desert. Just as it was going into his mouth, Jackson felt a force hit the back of his head, causing two things to happen. The first, of course, was Jackson to stagger forward. The result of that was the second thing: the grip he had on the cake came undone, and before Jackson knew what had happened, it was already too late. The cake had fell on the ground. 

For a moment, Jackson had a feeling of denial. How could it be? I was just wanting some cake, and now it’s on the floor. All of its chocolate goodness was now ruined. The world isn’t fair.

It took Jackson a moment to get over that. When he did, the pain of the force that had struck him began to sink in. As he held the back of his head with his hand, he turned around. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but upon looking at the Pablo Escobar-wannabe, it was clear as the brown desert on the ground that this improper afroman was angry at Jackson for some reason that was unknown to the white male.

“[color=crimson]Now was that absolutely necessary?[/color]” Jackson sighed deeply, simply shaking his head. He took a moment to just inhale a deep breath. At the exact moment the breath was exhaled, Jackson whipped his body counterclockwise, and a high, swift, roundhouse kick headed towards his attacker’s way. 

His cake [b][i]will[/i][/b] avenged.