video; high octane poor life decisions

[murderpotato]

[One day, Gren is going to learn a very valuable lesson: do not mix alcohol and drugs. That day is not today.]

[The video, when it turns on, swings wildly. Hopefully nobody gets seasick too easily, because damn, it's motion sickness central right here. The backdrop is... probably Delight's bar, if anyone can make sense of the video long enough.]

You know what? You know fuckin' what?

[Gren is drunk. Not only is Gren drunk, but he's also had like a handful of those other things that Delight hands out that get people high as shit, so he's both drunk and high. It's a terrible combination of belligerent and feeling untouchable that can really only lead to Bad Things.]

I'm fuck-all tired of bein' a fuckin' buffet for a bunch of shit-for-dick "gods"-- [The feed swings again, like he tried to do airquotes with only one hand. The hand that is also holding the camera.] --who can't get their fuckin' shit together long enough to not make everything a fuckin' clusterfuck. And then they treat us like we're fuckin' children or some shit, like we don't got the fuckin' right to decide what fuckin' happens to us. We're the fuckin' burdens, but they're the one bringin' in fuckin' monsters and dragons and shit to drop on our fuckin' heads. Fuckin' thanks for that, assholes.

[The feed swings around and then back; he's grabbed another bottle of something alcoholic and knocks an unhealthy portion of it back. Seriously, he's a champ, if your definition of 'champ' is 'fucking alcoholic'.]

Like that fuckin' piece of fuck Sorrow. Fuck that guy, oughtta smack the fuckin' bitch outta that motherfucker.

[He pauses. Something terrible is about to happen.]

I fuckin' oughtta smack the fuckin' bitch outta that guy.

[His voice shifts from rant mode to something firmer and slightly less profanity-ridden.]

Hey, all you fucks. [Slightly less.] I'm comin' for all you fuckin' godly piece of shits. C'mon and fuckin' have a go if you think you're fuckin' hard enough.

[He turns. Delight is behind the bar.] 'Cept for you. You're fuckin' okay.

Comments

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[wormintheglass]

There are few things Bianca enjoys more than the spectacle of someone else losing control. She was once someone who started barfights for fun and mischief; her present self is still that person, but these days Bianca prefers to have other people do the punching and shouting for her.

She didn't inspire Gren today. He worked up this head of rage entirely by himself. But she matches him drink for drink, smiling, and does what she can to fan the flames.

"You tell them, dearheart. We live here like laboratory animals, and it's high time someone got bitten for it."

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[murderpotato]

It's easy for Gren to work up some rage-- his default state of being is basically low-level pissed off, kind of like the Hulk but less green and more terrible 80s fashion. Given enough time and bullshit, he will eventually get set off by something. In this case, it just so happened to be asshole gods, catalyzed by a lot of liquor and some happy pills that are really just not strong enough to cut through his pissiness.

"You're damn fuckin' straight," he says, or more accurately, sort of snarls. There's a second where his teeth don't look quite right, too long and needle-sharp, because sometimes there's shit even glamours can't cover. "Who gave them the fuckin' right? They fuckin' eat off us like fuckin' parasites and won't even fuckin' tell us shit for shit when we ask. What gives them the fuckin' right?"

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[wormintheglass]

"Nothing, dearheart. They take from us because they can."

It's not that Bianca isn't resentful and angry about that herself; she just knows it's not a problem that can be solved with a fistfight. She considers how much Gren must be feeding Rage right now, and it makes her want to laugh, though she keeps her expression carefully sincere.