It was true that she usually hoarded some form of alcohol in her room, but from time to time the shit just seemed to disappear and she hadn't found the asswipe that dared to steal from her yet. She would be inclined to believe that she drank it herself, since the disappearances seemed to be related to her binges, but the bottles were gone, too. Her last bottle of tequila had vanished along with a little love letter she had left for the culprit, detailing just what exactly she wanted to do to that person. Apparently it didn't have the desired effect because that was gone, too.
"You think this is a bullshit act? Hate to disappoint you, moron, but I'm always this lovely. As long as there are shitheads like you around I will not stop being pissed off, so much for that theory." She remembered the days when she would work for a tattoo artist from time to time, although putting her in that shop, in charge of greeting customers and answering the phone probably hadn't been such a great idea, but she had managed to be not as unfriendly. And the guy had been a very good lay, maybe that was the reason she had been fairly relaxed back then. But, shit happened, then the apocalypse happened and Cobra didn't see any reason to be cheerful all the time.