SepticGentleman

Welcome to Whittier

Jasmine Plunkett

---

Potatoes consumed. The beast is satiated and the masses are safe from her idle wrath.

Jasmine leaned back in her chair, hand rested on her abdomen. She took out her phone and eyed it for a moment, mindlessly flipping through some unspecified pages. As she sat there, she was approached and verbally accosted in a most uncouth manner.

"Hey, uh..." A teenage girl said, tapping Jasmine's shoulder. The rasta-beast turned her head with a half-scowl-half-look of question. The teenager, accompanied by a few friends (not the same group from before, mind) continued, "None of the other tables are open, are you done with this one?"

Jasmine paused for a moment, eyeing her empty food bowl.

"Nah." She replied.

"But you're not eating?" The teenager retorted, starting to pick up some lip.

"Well maybe..." Jasmine said, "I've got the mind to go get seconds, and I'd like to keep this table to myself in that scenario."

"Are you serious?" The teenager exclaimed.

Another pause. Jasmine twitched ever so slightly as she looked around the room, then said just a little quietly, "You know what? You want this table... you can fight me for it."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me Gretchen, fight me. This banquet sucks and I wanna burn off this bowl of mash through unarmed combat."

"You can't be for real."

Jasmine slammed her hand on the table, her look of anger growing. "Fight me or relocate yourself, Jennifer."

The girl eyed Jasmine for a second before turning and, as suggested by the pygmy viking goddess, relocated herself. Jasmine grit her teeth as she slowly sat back down. Some folks were starting to stare and whisper.

Jasmine just sat there, looking irritated. She didn't even go for seconds or check her phone.

Welcome to Whittier

I'm still here. Just waiting until we get to taste the finest murders.

Welcome to Whittier

@SepticGentleman I misread your comment at first. It scared me for a second. *breathes out slowly*

@PajkaNight

Well now we're both sorry.

Eh-heh.

Welcome to Whittier

@PajkaNight Your sig brought back unpleasant memories. I hope you're happy.

Welcome to Whittier

Jasmine Plunkett

---

Mashed potatoes. Simple foodstuff, glory of casual gods, served well with anything, let's go bitch.

Jasmine had reached the table after conquering the queue of patrons, grabbing nothing but a bowl and a spoon and scooping her bounty into the bowl. She earned the distasteful glares of folks who were looking to get their share, to which she retaliated with her own gaze that could make an alpha wolf shit itself.

Once she was satisfied with the amount of sustenance she pilfered, she turned and raced towards the first empty table she could find, narrowly beating a couple of teenagers to it.

"Taken." Jasmine said, staring down the group. Wild eyes and some teeth grinding convinced them to continue their search for seating elsewhere.

Jasmine commenced the devouring of the mashed potatoes, darting her eyes for a moment in case anyone were coming to take her holy land from her.

Then it'd be dinner with some entertainment.

Welcome to Whittier

<Snipped quote by SepticGentleman>

Shit, how could I refuse Lucifer? Especially if he's going to drive me personally. Think he'd give me the wi-fi password?

@MiddleEarthRoze

Oh no you gotta beat him in unarmed combat for that.

Welcome to Whittier

@SepticGentleman

I made sure the food was ABSOLUTELY lacking just for you <3

@MissCapnCrunch

I'LL HAVE MY VIKING'S FEAST ONE WAY OR ANOTHER, CAPTAIN.

Welcome to Whittier

@MissCapnCrunch

Nah, throw it down the hallway like a bowling ball to distract the vampires.

Aaaaaaaaaaand I'm going to Hell.

@MiddleEarthRoze

Satan pulls up in a taxi, pops open the door, points at you.

"You're okay, get in!"

Welcome to Whittier

@Augmented How drunk would you say a patron has to be before they get a cap or seven popped in their ass.

Welcome to Whittier

Jasmine Plunkett

---

Fourteenth floor, elevator opens. Rasta-woman exits and nearly collides with famished patrons making their way towards the layer of the feast. She allows the ravenous mongrels to pass by her before carrying on with her journey, for she too hungers.

She follows the pack of ingrates to the meeting room, catching every other half of their eyes and losing them just as quick. It's the hat. It's always the friggin' hat. It was probably the only one of its kind in that entire building, but the people of Whittier wouldn't have to worry about seeing Jasmine's ragged crown too often during the long night. Once this preemptive feast was concluded, she would march back to her hovel and hibernate like a bear, waking only to consume food items or play video games out of horrible boredom.

She enters the meeting room. There are people, already feasting, around the chairs and tables lined with glorious hunger-reducers. She weaves past the crowd and makes a bee-line for the buffet line.

God help the soul of anyone who stood in her way, for they would most likely have their shit smacked.