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Of late, there was one thing that Spades Slick has come to realize. 

He was cursed. He was fucking cursed. There was no way around it, he was just cursed to be tossed from one place to another place without even having a single second to process what the FUCK was happening. And now, he was waking up on a beach. There was sand in every crack and crease of his body - and there were a whole lot of those, given the fact that he had a fucking carapace that had a crack at every joint so he could wiggle his stupid little limbs around. It was in his mouth too, and man, sure he put a whole ton of shit in his mouth but sand? Abso-fuckin-lutely not. 

He rolled onto his stomach, spitting sand glob after sand glob and where the shit was his hat? He jumped up, hands patting down his suit and heyyyyyy, there was his knife at least. Well, one of them. The rest were safely somewhere else. He took out his knife and looked it over. Yeah, that’s one sharp baby-

It was a perfect Dersite day, and then this fucker had to come along to ruin it. 

No really, there was such a thing as a perfect day for Jack Noir. It was a rare thing - it meant no having to deal with her royal stick up her ass, very little to do with his lesser cohorts, and much more to do with a night out drinking with the Dignitary and Having a conversation about what makes a very nice gentlemanly look, and the best kinds of tobacco that a human could dream up. 

And then, THEN, right as he was getting to go back to his nice castle and get a nice time to lay his head down and take a wonderful break, maybe a good night, this

KID IN FUCKING PAJAMAS

comes rocketing down, barrelling into him. Fuck, fuck fuck

FUCKING DERSITE DREAMERS ALWAYS OUT.