Scram? People actually said scram in real life? What was this guy, a mutant or a muppet? Mao couldn't help it, he laughed right out loud. He smirked as if he found the tall man endlessly amusing.
"Oh, Oscar, you're such a grouch." He stifled another little laugh, lifting a hand and gave it a dismissive wave, brushing away the topic of booze. Fine, if Anorexic Goth man didn't want to share, he didn't have to. That didn't mean Mao had any intention of leaving him alone, not when he was getting such lovely reactions out of the guy.
"Dhaaahmfeeeru, Dhaahmfeeeru..!" He sang the name in an exaggerated Japanese accent and he sprang up on one of the metal line dividers that led up to the haunted house. It was unclear if he was mocking himself when he used it, or some how making fun of whoever he was talking to in some weird way. He had no accent normally, aside from a little tinge of New England and a dash of Californian Valley girl. He sounded like any other uneducated street rat, mall prowler.
"Yeah! Victor! ...Good ol' Vickie. He's got a lot of video games. He thinks he can beat my ass but its never gonna happen. I don't wanna dash his dreams, though." He had gotten distracted by hearing Vic's name, repeating it as though that would help it stick in his head. Never really worked though, his brain was too full of other things. He quickly realized he had skipped over Damphy's question.
"I'm Mao." He rose his eyes brows, he didn't say the words, but his tone suggested a 'Like, DUH.'
"Shit, I wouldn't share with my mom either, fucking skank."