Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20190326124223/@comment-5583506-20190327204803

Shanks slid out of the Vertibird with a pained grunt, still not feeling well in the stomach. He grabbed his sniper rifle from the seat and stumbled forward from the landing site, eventually falling to his knees where he spewed up all the contents he had been chewing down on for the last two days. Molerat chunks, an entire cod, the partial remains of a Deathclaw's arm, somehow a broken wristwatch, a gallon of beer mixed with fermented pea-soup, and a pair of human fingers.

When he was done, he rested on his knees for a while, groaning as he raised his snout to the sky and tasted the light of warming sun. He wiped his muzzle off on his sleeve and then got up, brushing his knees off from all the dirt. He headed towards the warehouse on his steady hind legs. He was starting to feel hungry again...