Me Eyes Want a Change

[General Goose]

((Chuck Soileaux continued from The Whole Enchilada.))

Whereas Michael resembled an Egyptian mummy, Chuck resembled a tiny ghost clad in ropes.

Chuck had taken all the rope, and had wrapped it around his limbs and torso, going for some kind of rustic rope-based aesthetic. Using rope to bind clothes down was almost definitely a thing that had been done before. Somewhere over the collective existence of billions of people, whether out of some esoteric aesthetic idiosyncrasy or scarcity, rope must have been incorporated into couture. But it still felt pretty novel. And it was a novelty borne of necessity. Chuck had a full bag and a lot of toilet paper to lumber around with him,; he needed innovative ways of transporting the excess rope. The rope had been his request. He couldn’t leave it behind.

Wearing stuff as extra storage was a classical Soileaux family technique. How his father got around baggage weight limits on flights. And it was a technique the elder Soileaux had supposedly learnt from Chuck’s gra-mere, who used it as a way to move house without a suitcase. Would have been sweltering and unbearable in the summer heat, now that Chuck thought about. Her seemingly random saying about only moving house in the winter now made sense.

Chuck had volunteered to head to this location, venturing towards the northwest of the tunnels. Seemed appropriate. He gave his left eye some air as he walked. The eyepatch gimmick was wearing a bit thin now, and as the crusty scabbing was peeled away, Chuck somewhat regretted his decision to keep it on for so long. The proper healing process had been somewhat stilted. Looking at the impromptu covering, he saw a rather nauseating concoction smeared across it. Lots of pus. “Ew. Pussy.” He then blinked. No. The adjective form of pus could not be pussy.

Fuck.

He wanted a dictionary. Far more useful than this damn crossbow.

To paraphrase Karl Pilkington, being stuck on a deserted island with a dictionary would be okay. Because at least then your internal debates and monologues could have more vocabulary to them.

So his first pit stop was, in between trying to work out the word for something covered in pus, sorting out the wound. He used a camera as an impromptu mirror, and it wasn’t healing too badly. But again, could be better. So he washed it a bit. And he ended up accidentally spilling some saline solution into his eye, which stung more than it should have. Chuck decided to keep the eye patch on for a bit longer. Would help sell his masquerade a bit better.

((Chuck Soileaux continued in The Toilet Paper King.))