[Derek is on screen looking a little more than frustrated and pissed off. He's holding the hilt of a dagger up, his arm scratched and cut with what looks like bite marks that are hit or miss. The shoulder of his t-shirt is ripped with another bloody bite mark there. And the culprit? On the hilt of the dagger? A football, now seemingly innocent.]
This thing just tried to kill me. [Just as he says the words, the laces of the football grow into fangs again. The football leaps from the knife and Derek drops the device to the floor as he's after it again, on the hunt, or being hunted.]
Damn, this is gonna be one of those days.
This thing just tried to kill me. [Just as he says the words, the laces of the football grow into fangs again. The football leaps from the knife and Derek drops the device to the floor as he's after it again, on the hunt, or being hunted.]
Damn, this is gonna be one of those days.
Current Mood:
irritated

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