[ The facts are easy to lay end to end in a mind hilariously overaccustomed to insane disasters and ready to acclimate to another before puzzling out its source. He's been dropped off in a foreign city. His hair, even as short as it is, is still longer than he's worn it in years, meaning an indeterminate amount of time has passed. He feels drugged, nauseated, but his body's apparently handling it a hell of a lot better than his compatriots dressed in equally blinding scrubs.
It takes him approximately five minutes after emerging from the alley -- choosing to take a little extra time hiding there to get his bearings -- to locate a man approximately his shape and size and lure him back towards that same alley to incapacitate him and steal his clothes. That's one problem taken care of.
But his new t-shirt advertising a band he doesn't know and slightly too-loose jeans don't help with his next problem: the full effects of that drug that have him confusedly but willingly following an invitation by a passing woman to check out the chess matches. Well. Looks like he's stuck in the line, inconspicuously dressed or not, and he's next up to play. With no money. ]
[B. Mugging - Festival]
[ His ploy to get clothing? More successful than expected. So much so, in fact, that the appeal of repeating it is a little too great to resist. Sure, it requires refinement and care in order for him to avoid getting stuck in a situation that involves even the slightest command from another person -- seriously, what the hell -- but nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides, who would think twice about a man with a few tears at the bottom of his shirt, or look closely enough at his ears to notice where the makeshift ear plugs have been inserted? ]
Hey! Hey, sorry, I need your help -- it's my daughter. Quick, she's right over here...
[ Jake Muller is not, by specific trade, an overly deceptive person. He prefers to go in guns blazing, the honest old-fashioned way. That doesn't mean that desperate times don't call for desperate measures, and right now he's at a real fuckin' low point. Which is why after leading this poor Samaritan into the nearest alley, away from prying eyes and just around the corner, he's gesturing for them to move closer to get a better look around a dumpster... before producing a lengthy shard of glass, holding it to the back of their neck. ]
Hey. Hands flat against the wall, let's make this easy for both of us.
[C. Picnic - Festival]
[ Drugs in his system or not, nausea or not, Jake isn't stupid enough to not realize his own need for food. The pity, of course, is in not having any money with which to purchase said food.
Luckily, food stands and quick fingers mix well.
He's worked up to a considerable stash, mostly desserts but a savory bun or two as well, by the time he retreats to the river to enjoy it. Hard-earned spoils aren't easily shared, however, and he keeps his eye on any passersby that linger. ]
... hey, you need something?
[D. Drugs - Safehouse]
[ The safehouse isn't the worst he's seen.
Easy to navigate, everything in a sensible place, relatively clean... but after thirty minutes of rummaging around in the medical storage area, he has some questions. ]
Yo. You got any steroids or boosters on you? [ Namely this one. ]
[E. Alcohol - Safehouse]
[ Following his foray into the med storage? He's in the kitchen, head stuffed first in the fridge before he's rooting through the cupboards. Now he has a new question. ]
You seen any booze in this place or do I need to get my eyes checked? Hell of a day, a shot or twenty would really even the hell out of it.
Jake Muller, RE6
[ The facts are easy to lay end to end in a mind hilariously overaccustomed to insane disasters and ready to acclimate to another before puzzling out its source. He's been dropped off in a foreign city. His hair, even as short as it is, is still longer than he's worn it in years, meaning an indeterminate amount of time has passed. He feels drugged, nauseated, but his body's apparently handling it a hell of a lot better than his compatriots dressed in equally blinding scrubs.
It takes him approximately five minutes after emerging from the alley -- choosing to take a little extra time hiding there to get his bearings -- to locate a man approximately his shape and size and lure him back towards that same alley to incapacitate him and steal his clothes. That's one problem taken care of.
But his new t-shirt advertising a band he doesn't know and slightly too-loose jeans don't help with his next problem: the full effects of that drug that have him confusedly but willingly following an invitation by a passing woman to check out the chess matches. Well. Looks like he's stuck in the line, inconspicuously dressed or not, and he's next up to play. With no money. ]
[B. Mugging - Festival]
[ His ploy to get clothing? More successful than expected. So much so, in fact, that the appeal of repeating it is a little too great to resist. Sure, it requires refinement and care in order for him to avoid getting stuck in a situation that involves even the slightest command from another person -- seriously, what the hell -- but nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides, who would think twice about a man with a few tears at the bottom of his shirt, or look closely enough at his ears to notice where the makeshift ear plugs have been inserted? ]
Hey! Hey, sorry, I need your help -- it's my daughter. Quick, she's right over here...
[ Jake Muller is not, by specific trade, an overly deceptive person. He prefers to go in guns blazing, the honest old-fashioned way. That doesn't mean that desperate times don't call for desperate measures, and right now he's at a real fuckin' low point. Which is why after leading this poor Samaritan into the nearest alley, away from prying eyes and just around the corner, he's gesturing for them to move closer to get a better look around a dumpster... before producing a lengthy shard of glass, holding it to the back of their neck. ]
Hey. Hands flat against the wall, let's make this easy for both of us.
[C. Picnic - Festival]
[ Drugs in his system or not, nausea or not, Jake isn't stupid enough to not realize his own need for food. The pity, of course, is in not having any money with which to purchase said food.
Luckily, food stands and quick fingers mix well.
He's worked up to a considerable stash, mostly desserts but a savory bun or two as well, by the time he retreats to the river to enjoy it. Hard-earned spoils aren't easily shared, however, and he keeps his eye on any passersby that linger. ]
... hey, you need something?
[D. Drugs - Safehouse]
[ The safehouse isn't the worst he's seen.
Easy to navigate, everything in a sensible place, relatively clean... but after thirty minutes of rummaging around in the medical storage area, he has some questions. ]
Yo. You got any steroids or boosters on you? [ Namely this one. ]
[E. Alcohol - Safehouse]
[ Following his foray into the med storage? He's in the kitchen, head stuffed first in the fridge before he's rooting through the cupboards. Now he has a new question. ]
You seen any booze in this place or do I need to get my eyes checked? Hell of a day, a shot or twenty would really even the hell out of it.
[F. WILDCARD]