hadriel | video; high octane poor life decisions

[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.

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‘Fucking hard enough’? Is that a new one? I think that's a new one.

[She stands in the doorway when she says this, taking up basically the whole doorway. Funny how all those videos don't really get across how tall Rage is, a head taller than Gren at least, red hair flowing behind her, grin wicked and dangerous if it's anything.]

Are you going to hide inside dear Delight’s bar while making your threats or will you come outside so I don't have to worry about breaking her things?

[Sure, she's tall. Taller than his glamour, anyway, but he's taller than his glamour, too. It's not that much of an accomplishment. So, sure, she's doing a good job of taking up that doorway, but Gren's stared down some big, bad shit in his long life. He's not about to start getting intimidated by big talk from some ginger bitch.]

Who the fuck's hidin'?

[He throws the empty liquor bottle aside-- sorry, Delight-- and stalks his drunk ass over to the door.]

I'll fuckin' kick your ass wherever the fuck you want.

[Rage laughs, delighted, tossing her hair over her shoulder and stepping back out of the doorway, waving at Gren to follow.]

Better entertain me. I'm pretty bored.

[She doesn't look terribly worried, shoving her hands in her pockets and stepping back to give plenty of room between them and the bar, cocking her head to the side as she watches Gren with obvious amusement. Look, she's being so nice, she'll even wait for him to make the first move.]

You'll get fuckin' plenty. This's been a long fuckin' time comin'.

[He follows her out of the bar, since she's so concerned about messing it up. Granted, it's probably in his best interests not to fuck it up, too, because he does want to drink there again at some point, and demolishing it from fighting Rage would probably not keep him in Delight's good graces.]

[Once they're at a far enough distance to avoid collateral bar damage, Rage lets him get things started-- and Gren's glad to take her up on it. Fists have always been enough of a weapon for him, so he lets fly with a hard, fast roundhouse punch.]

[He doesn't have much finesse-- when he fights, it's all brute force, relying on his own strength and speed to see him through. And even though he's less strong when glamoured than he would be without it, he's still stronger than most humans will ever get. And he's not going to pull his punches when the person he's fighting with is supposed to be a god or something.]

[That damnable smile stays, shifting from wicked to frustratingly self-satisfied as Gren takes the chance for the first hit she’s given him.

Not that she’s going to just take the hit itself, apparently, waiting until the last moment to dodge. Step, pivot, twist, faster and more fluid than a human body should be able to do to put her just behind him. After that, as if to prove she is not going to just let the drunk wear himself out shadowboxing, a sharp elbow jab to the center of his spine.]

[Bianca has no intention of participating in this; but she wouldn't miss watching it for a planet made of diamonds. So she follows Gren, a little distance behind, and lounges in the doorway of the bar to get a good view of the action.

She knows Rage's form isn't real - or at best, is only a narrow aspect of her reality. But that aspect is glorious. Bianca's hearts beat faster to see it, and behind Gren's back she raises her glass in salute.]

[Rage twists away from his swing with a fluidity that's not human-- that's not like any monster he's fought, either-- like she's boneless, not constrained by physiology. Gren starts to turn slower, less graceful both because of this stupid human glamour and because he's sort of lopsided from only having one arm.]

[An elbow to the middle of his back sends him stumbling forward, and he barely manages to catch himself and not fall on his drunk fucking face. Also? That hurt. The alcohol probably is dulling the pain pretty well, but Gren has the vague idea that if that elbow had hit him more around kidney-height, he'd be pissing blood for a while.]

You fuckin' bitch. [He faces her again.] The fuck's this shit? I ain't here to take a couple of fuckin' love taps from you.

[Let's try this one more time, with feeling: bullrush the god-lady and try to punch her lights out.]

Oh, you can take more than that? Lucky me.

[Rage smiles in a nasty way that implies that yes she thought that would knock Gren down rather solidly, but she's also genuinely happy that it didn't. Go on buddy, keep getting angry at the god that feeds off of it and use that to fight her. It's clearly gonna go great.

Again she lets Gren come at her, waiting for the last possible moment before she moves aside again - this time catching Gren's fist with an open palm like iron and using his own weight and momentum to fling him to the ground.]

[Look, lady, there's pretty much nothing about this situation that Gren's thought all the way through, okay? He's drunk and he's winging it, and it's probably not going to turn out too great for him.]

[She steps out of the way at the last second again, and Gren's hand hits against a palm instead of with the good, solid thud of actual body mass. The world tilts rather alarmingly on his axis because he's getting tossed to the ground like a rag doll, and the impact stings but it's hardly the worst he's ever taken. Still a bunch of love taps, and the alcohol's working in his favor right now as far as tanking damage goes. He just won't feel it.]

Can take a fuckin' lot more'n that. [He gets up to his feet with only maybe a slight stagger from the booze.] You tryin' to win by fuckin' borin' me to death?

[The big, wide haymaker punches aren't working here; they've got weight behind 'em, sure, Gren can hit pretty damn hard when he wants, but it doesn't mean shit if he can't actually hit her. So he shifts tactics; less power, more speed, jab in quick to get the strikes in. He'll keep the glamour on for now, even if he's more agile in his true form than in this awkward human one, keep that ace in his back pocket 'til he's sure he needs to pull it out.]

[Rage waits for him to get back up, circling while he does, each careless step more suited to a stroll in the park until he's ready to attempt a third time. She skips back half a step when he does, bringing her fists up and laughing in an easy way without a hint of breathlessness to it. Catch, deflect, then mirror the same move back on him.]

Boring, come on, don't hide what you've got.

[She's fucking with him, and Gren knows it. Just playing with him, cat-and-mouse style like this is all fun and games. It pisses him off, because he's not here to fuck around with this pseudo-anthropomorphic bitch. She just laughs and evades or blocks his blows, turns them right back on him. They don't all hit, he might be drunk as fuck but he's old as fuck too, and has had a lot of experience in fights. More hit than he would like, though.]

[He wipes at his mouth and there's a smear of red. He doesn't really feel it-- it's just a cut lip-- but fuck if he isn't mad as hell about it.]

[And, yeah, fighting Rage when he's full up on fucking wrath himself is probably just one more bad piece of this plan, but he's come too far to back out. Instead, because he is a mighty river of poor decisions running towards an ocean of deep regret, he's going to rise to her bait and pull his trump card.]

[Gren shrugs off his jacket. He likes it and doesn't want it getting all ripped up.]

Okay, fuck it. Guess it's about time I cut the shit and got serious about this.

[He drops the glamour, his massive true form unfolding out from the human one. For a second, it looks all wrong, a weird mashup of monster and man that resolves into the murderpotato.]

video; high octane poor life decisions

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