"Hedgehogs are soft if you pet them front to back. So am I. I detest back to front petting. Then again I don't like it when people touch my hair. So when I say front to back I mean start at the clavicle. I will absolutely not tie up my hair for anyone. But you don't have that problem. You have a kind of windswept hedgehog thing going on. Well, not now, obviously because you have that thing on your head. But you're good. Front to back, my friend. Front to back. Like when you ... you know."
Rasmus gave him a thumbs up. He wanted to tell Red that his hair was radish colored, but he'd already said too much on the topic of appearances. If he said anymore then the tables would be turned on him. And he had no desire to explain why he dressed the way he did. He just did.
And age denoted age. Very little else.
He blinked.
"Excuse you, cherry chapstick. I will perform my ritualistic sacrifices anyway I bloody well please. And if that means insulting the spirits with cheap-as-fuck bargain bin candles that smell like—" Rasmus took a whiff of his basket. "—okay well we won't go there, but if that's where I want to go then that's where I'll go. And if the demons of the underworld decide my fate is to spend eternity in the bowels of the eighth circle of the inferno because I didn't take the time to drive my shitty car to the Target in Atlantic City then so be it."