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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[Woah, a whole solid minute without gettin' profanity spewed at him? Pencil him in for a new record!

Right on cue, Sans lifts what is unmistakably a hot dog, bun and all, into the view of the feed, and points at it.]

Gotta toast 'em up just right, or it gets all squishy when you put the ketchup on.

Why? What'd you think I was talkin' about?

...

[He just got kind of hit on by a fucking pun. Is this the real life, or is this just some kind of horrible nightmare that he can't awaken from.]

I ain't drunk enough for this shit.

But you're definitely drunk enough to pick a fight with the gods. Good to know where you draw the line.

I'm fuckin' drunk enough to beat the shit outta some fuckers who call themselves gods, yeah. I'm fuckin' tired of takin' all their bullshit.

All righty, then.

I'll see ya at the clinic, I'm sure.

[REST IN FUCKING PIECES GREN.]

You fuckin' won't.

[Even if Rage turns his dumb ass inside out, he won't go to that clinic now. So there?]

[If there was ever a man who'd refuse to seek medical attention out of pure spite, it'd be Gren. Sans can honestly believe it.]

Then I'll see ya bleedin' out on the streets. Somethin' along those lines.

[Gren has lived for like 1500 years by subsisting mostly on spite and whiskey. Sans has no idea the lengths that spite will drive him to.]

So what do I get when I fuck up these assholes and make it past all your fuckin' bets?

[This is both impressive and unsurprising.]

Peace of mind?

Nah, I fuckin' want somethin' from this shit.

[If there's gonna be betting about him, he might as well get in on it, right?]

If I beat out all your fuckin' bets, then you quit with the fuckin' puns.

Again with the anti-joke brigade. You and Sorrow should chat sometime. You gotta lot in common.

[Shameful, really, how few of the gods actually appreciate his painstakingly well-thought-out puns.]

'Fraid I can't help you there. It's a bone-ifide habit at this point.

[He groans. God, it's like each pun that drops out of his mouth is worse than the last one. It's a never-ending stream of awful flowing from this skeleton asshole's bony piehole like a mighty river of shit.]

Don't you ever shut the fuck up?

Nah. It's a gift.

[But also he's expectin' this fight to go south for the guy pretty much as soon as it starts, so.]