mootles, in all of his brand-New God glory, was significantly different from Ate. At least, he was going to assume he was. He was 4chan, newer than most of the gods in his tiny pantheon, give or take a few years with his Internet peers. It was always hard to judge exactly, but 4chan had had nine birthday parties in his whole life, so he was going to stick with that.
And he didn't have her experiences, for certain. His experiences were days spent snug behind his keyboard, spewing nastiness and sewing disarray. He'd taken down a bank once, provoked people into mad, vindictive rages over cats, and yes, ruined entire lives. But it'd mostly been behind a keyboard or a telephone, the things he was born surrounded by, and enamored with. He certainly liked the idea of Ate, and he couldn't help but like a girl who didn't know what a Tumblr was. It brought a smile to his face, and it hardly mattered that she didn't know who he was, exactly. He'd tell her. He'd show her on his smartphone if she wanted. His personal, portable den of debauchery, porn and sadism and anger- yes, lots of anger and gnashing teeth and craziness.
She'd mentioned a bar, so he'd dressed in such a manner as to not stand out- too much, that is. He still looked like 4chan. A little messy, but not quite entirely awful. He knew how to dress himself. He ran a hand through loose spikes of hair, and wandered around a line of people. So fucking weird, they all were- these types of people that lined up to get into bars and clubs, Sexy, a few of them, but he just found the whole thing- odd. Unusual for someone who didn't normally socialize like this.
But he looked decent and he smelled nice, and that was enough.