At least Popcorn's got a sense of humour, even if her sugar daddy doesn't. And even if she nearly squirts good whisky out her damned nose. She end sup with her head on the table, giggling and sneezing whisky and pouring tears out her eyes. But when she sits up and sniffles, and waves Azrael over. And while he looked inclined to ignore more, he sure doesn't ignore her. "Hey, Zann, Tillerman." he says, sitting with his glass of brandy in his hand.
"Good to see you too, Azrael. I'm fine, thanks for asking." I smirk. He really doesn't like me, does he? Well, that's okay. Feeling's mutual. But damned if I'll let it spoil my mood.
The door bangs open, letting in a wash of snow, a girl, and -
"YOU!" I bellow, getting to my feet, "I've got one hell of a bone to pick with you, you inbred little fuck! What the hell do you think you're doing to my little girl?!" I don't care if he can't remember. Maybe a good dose of pants-wetting terror will jog his fucking memory.
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"Good to see you too, Azrael. I'm fine, thanks for asking." I smirk. He really doesn't like me, does he? Well, that's okay. Feeling's mutual. But damned if I'll let it spoil my mood.
The door bangs open, letting in a wash of snow, a girl, and -
"YOU!" I bellow, getting to my feet, "I've got one hell of a bone to pick with you, you inbred little fuck! What the hell do you think you're doing to my little girl?!" I don't care if he can't remember. Maybe a good dose of pants-wetting terror will jog his fucking memory.