Title: Mr. Entropy
Character Claimed: Errol
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: None
Set: Before Jak II
Word Count: 538 (yeah… I know. 38 words over. Sue me.)
Note: This is my entry for Vasillis Childe's "Weekend" Drabble Challenge and also some much warranted revenge for poor Ashelin who really got the short end of the stick in Snarechan's "Weekend" drabble "So Much For That". This is my first time writing for Errol. I'm so excited. laughs
So he shot the boy. And how exactly was this a big deal?
He had thought about it afterwards. Really. Especially, after the great Baron Praxis had chewed him out for the thousandth time. But still he didn't quite see the problem. That idiot boy had been asking for it. The reason that the glorious Krimzon Guard has run so efficiently all these years was because its associates adhered to the strictest of protocol. One step over the invisible line and chaos was bound to ensue. That damned boy had no idea what he was about to set in motion with that thoughtless remark.
So Errol had shot him. There was barely a thought put into it.
It wasn't his fault the boy couldn't take a bullet at that range. It wasn't his fault he turned out to be a bleeder either. And it most definitely wasn't his fault the medic had been so completely inept.
Errol would only take credit for exposing all these painful flaws of the glorious system to the light of day.
The Baron, on the other hand, didn't seem to share Errol's sentiment.
The KG commander had quickly grown tired of that whole troop morale bile the man had taken to regurgitating whenever he was given the chance. All this from a man who cut pay down the entire chain of command just so he could build that ridiculous statue.
Troop morale his ass, more like new KG were getting too expensive to replace. But this was a moot point at best. So it was with an irritated sigh that Errol conceded to the good Baron's request and took the weekend off to blow off some steam.
Thus he eventually found himself at one of he seediest dives this side of the slums. Wondering around aimlessly through the streets of this god-forsaken city had grown old quite quickly. And it had been through much experience that Errol had learned that there were only three sure-fire ways cure such mind numbing stagnation.
1. Get laid.
2. Get wasted.
3. Get into a bar fight.
You've got to love the three for one deal. But after about an hour sitting at the bar sipping cocktails. The first two options didn't quite seem to be panning out. The pickings were certainly slim. Not to mention that with the rate that these drinks were watered down, he'd most certainly drown before he'd get a nice buzz. So that left but one route to pursue.
Ah, yes a little violence went a damned long way in this town.
And so he surveyed the crowd with narrowed golden orbs, a sneer suddenly working its way on his face when he laid eyes on his chosen victims. A series of confident strides later…
"Why hello boys," Errol drawled carelessly as he picked up a half empty glass off the table. "You do know that there is a law against public drunkenness in Haven City don't you?"
With that he poured the remaining liquid on the ground.
"And I think you boys have had just about enough."
The group of men were on their feet and cursing before the last drop hit the ground. Errol grinned in triumph.
"Dance puppets. Dance."
