Quoted By:
Words rush from your mouth like cockroaches from beneath the dumpster at work! G-getting my <span class="mu-i">drink</span> on, you answer, taking a sip of the stuff after closing your response with a wobbly laugh!
The ruuppaa? It’s <span class="mu-i">good</span>... it’s <span class="mu-i">really</span> good! The sweet, tangy flavor jolts you awake like a static shock, but while your previous bouts with the beverage have been nothing but pleasant, this particular pour, well…
It’s like someone wrapped your throat and stomach in a warm blanket and handed them a piping-hot mug of cocoa… peppermint stick AND marshmallows included! You aren’t much of a snob when it comes to drinks–far from it–but this?
Straight from the Cartel’s Vineyards, no doubt… and you hate to admit it, but you can definitely taste the quality!
All good things must end, however, and in your case your drink is cut short when your drinking partner’s other claw swipes the glass out of your hand and onto the floor with a resounding ‘<span class="mu-i">CRASH!</span>’
If you didn’t have every eye on you before, you do now… and the Durher? He just continues to stare you down…
A-and, you continue, you’re a replacement! For, y’know… all the dead as of late… just needed something to calm your nerves, you add as you cast a despondent glance at where your drink landed, you’re uh… a little nervous!
“‘Nervous…’” Parrots the Durher, eyes still not leaving yours. You don’t think it’s a question, but you answer anyway.
Yea, you shrug as one of the bar staff cleans your mess as quietly as they can manage, the boss is a scary dude, y’know?
And just like that the bar falls silent once more as a sensation akin to stepping on a landmine floods your body! You’re about two seconds away from making a break for the nearest restroom when you’re answered with a dismissive grunt!
“‘Scary’...” Snarls the old man as he empties the contents of his glass down his gullet with a gutteral growl, “‘s a miserable <span class="mu-i">CUNT</span> is what he is…”
Taking a cue from the rest of the bar, you don’t dare respond to your new pal’s assessment–it doesn’t <span class="mu-i">sound</span> like a test to you, but you know better than to play Office Politics with The Mob, especially when they’ve spent the last few threads trying to kill you and your friends!
“Miserable…” Repeats the Durher with a dismissive shake of his head, “Miserable bastard… knew it the day he clawed his way out of his mother…”
A question surfaces in the hazy mire in your head, but you hold it close. Good choice–taking a sip of a freshly-poured drink in front of him, the geezer continues to mutter at you.
“Coulda’ smothered the dead-eyed shit back then… paid ‘im back for gnawing through his siblings… tearing her insides apart…”
You could hear a pin drop as you weigh the drunk’s words–this… is this…
Vhale’s <span class="mu-i">dad?!</span>
>CONTD.
