Jingo (@wartimedog) 's Twitter Profile
Jingo

@wartimedog

To the battlefield! The front lines! Then the edge of death! Show your commitment that comes from giving your life!

ID: 874672121179512833

calendar_today13-06-2017 16:57:39

111 Tweet

90 Takipçi

153 Takip Edilen

neoltitude (@ctrlcreep) 's Twitter Profile Photo

Immortals usually end up as crippled puppets—their resilience allows parasites to feed ruthlessly, released from the "keep host alive" constraint

Jingo (@wartimedog) 's Twitter Profile Photo

A deep breath. The man adjusted his cap, lips curling in a small smile. Another busy day. He knelt down, fingers reaching out to grasp the hilt of knife. He wrenched it free of his opponent's belly, the putrid scent of exposed guts hitting him like bricks.

Jingo (@wartimedog) 's Twitter Profile Photo

He whistles softly, checking the sights of his rifle. It's become a routine. Take it apart. Clean it. Oil it. Put it back together. Dry fire.

Jingo (@wartimedog) 's Twitter Profile Photo

A soft hum, the man shouldering his rifle. The knife he holds slips into a sheath at his hip, the blade freshly scrubbed clean of blood. A whistle as he disappears into the night.

Jingo (@wartimedog) 's Twitter Profile Photo

"She starts everything. Just ignore the big puppet. She's just lonely since her husband isn't around to—" Her head suddenly finds itself removed from his neck. His body sags as if sighing before moving to pick it up.

Jingo (@wartimedog) 's Twitter Profile Photo

Points to Kiju as his head is returned to his neck. "Puppet." He then points to himself. "Second in command." Wait, what?!

Jingo (@wartimedog) 's Twitter Profile Photo

"You're a woman who spends inordinate amounts of time with the lord in state of undress that isn't her wife. Thus a concubine, yes?"

Jingo (@wartimedog) 's Twitter Profile Photo

He gives a small smile. It's . . . odd, almost unnatural. "You wouldn't be the first to try, but I'll cheer you on."

Jingo (@wartimedog) 's Twitter Profile Photo

He's been so busy these days. He whistles, calmly loading a bullet into his rifle, the click of the bolt almost comforting in a way. He reminded him of days past.