Sleep escaped him like the dragon from a heroin addict. Jojo stared through the thin tent sheeting to the thick black custard in the sky which engulfed everything and everyone. The tent wasn't much farther than ten or so feet from the nicely-sized campfire (ridiculously close, he thought in hindsight), so everyone's discussion could be heard quite easily. Sob stories and identities were shared, exactly what Jojo would rather not do. [i]'Hi! I'm Joe Stark! First name of a New York guido, surname of fictional heroes, nickname of a circus monkey. An infamous prankster with no real friends and only one drunken kiss under my belt, I thrive on the chaos and panic of others with little respect amongst the general population of Midcreek. But who cares? I'm in these beautiful woods with some of my greatest unknown friends, and my only thought is who here would be willing to bang me. Let me make a rough calculation; 0 times 0 would be, roughly, 0. That's not a bad number, if I would say so.'[/i] 

That thought almost made him cry. But Jojo felt like he was done with crying. The soot irritated his eyes and the racking sobs aggravated his burned throat. No more crying. There was no need. So he sat up and turned to the right, listening to Maxxy whimper in her sleep. He slowly squeezed out of her motherly embrace and stroked behind her ears. Another whimper escaped her. Jojo unzipped the tent and slipped out. The campfire sat only a short distance away, but anything outside the ring of warm bodies were hidden by a curtain of absence, everything outwith it was void. He stood waiting and watching for a moment, how each of them sat and gazed at each other and the fire. A bristling fur rubbed against Jojo's leg. Mother Maxxy was awake. Jojo lightly walked into the ring and seated himself in the largest gap, his dog beside him with her head on his lap. He wasn't going to say anything, not yet, This was a heartfelt moment, and the only thing suitable enough to shout out in a heartfelt moment was 'penis!', but that thought didn't appeal to him. 

He stroked Maxxy's head, long and heavily. Hannibal looked bored. Not bored, in fact. Jojo wasn't a master of people-watching, but it appeared as if he was judging everyone. Red Fox was [i]definitely[/i] judging people. Everyone else thought she was still listening, but a short break from it all allowed Jojo the power of meta-thinking. Rattata wanted a friend in similar circumstances as her. No dice, with only Leon being present. He was quiet and weak and malleable, which was maybe why Red Fox was looking at him like he was a human-sized burrito. Captain Nixon was spewing his heart out. He should be wanting to shut the fuck up soon. Do your praying in your own spare time, heathen. Only one god ruled, and that was Loki, god of trickery. Lillah was basically in the same boat as Jojo, far as he could tell. Maybe he would have a friend in here. Hit Girl talked to much, and said too little. That would become annoying. Spark didn't seem bad. He didn't talk much and gave only what everyone needed to know at present. 

Red Fox spoke up. "I'll have to agree about the movie thing. On The Waterfront is by my favourite. 'You don't understand. I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am.' Call me crazy, but that rings a few bells for me. But I think the best of the Brat Pack films was Ferris Bueller's Day Off. 'Cause, let's face it, St. Elmo's Fire sucked more dick than a New Orleans prostitute," Jojo replied. He was a big movie fan, but sometimes got a little too carried away with his thoughts. He often forgot to recognise that other people had feelings.