Who: Skwisgaar the Elder & Pickles the Drummer What: Cornered and grumpy. Where: Mini-Mordhaus, London When: Shortly after this Warnings: Language. Butchering of it.
Skwisgaar watched from the front window as Lulu climbed into the cab and was driven away, leaning against the frame and smiling fondly. The smile dropped as soon as he heard the nasal voice of the drummer. "You got it bad, big guy." "I don't gots a nothings bad!" Defended the middle-aged guitarist, eyes wide with surprise, "I haven't gots a nothings! She's justs a friends!" Pickles scoffed, "Sure you guys are. I mean, you know, chicks you fuck usually are yer best buddies ever. So c'mon, tell me about it, dude. What's she got that any of those big titted black haired chicks you've fucked don't got? Oooo, scary fireballs. Big deal! They're probably a dime a dozen here." Skwisgaar shoved his way away from the window and past the drummer with a scowl, his brow furrowed as he quickened his pace to something that the drummer couldn't keep up with. Too bad Pickles knew how to run. "Tell me this then, douchebag. What're you gunna do when she turns you down, huh? You can't have everything you want. You know you can't." "I won'ts asks her to bes with me. She's gots on a boyfriends." Stupid dildos asshole was still a fucking kid and was somehow better than him? Fuck that. He knew he should have been the one that Lulu picked, and somehow, he felt slighted. What did a stupid little kid have over him? He huffed and turned a sharp corner to the main room, dropping himself into a chair. He picked up his guitar and started his furiously fast practicing, scowling into the distance. Pickles raised both pierced brows, "Sure. Right. You tellin' me that yer givin' up that easy? You ain't a good liar, Skwisgaar, never have been. Yer jealous, and yer a pushover. I see that look in yer eyes when you look at her, or think about her. You don't just think of her as a friend. You want her, and I mean want her, not just, y'know, fer tail or whatever. Why the hell haven't you even tried? That just ain't like you, dude." Skwisgaar's fingers stopped and made the strings wail, screech and give off feedback, and he turned to Pickles, "You vury close to gettings on a bloody nose, Pickle, keeps it up." "There you go, avoidin' th'damn subject! Go the fuck after her! Jesus effin' christ, you never gave up this easily before, why you doin' it now?" Skwisgaar stood, towering over the drummer, with a deadly serious look on his face. "I gives you to countings of five afores I kills you. Brings it ups agains, Pickle. Dares you." Pickles stepped back and crossed his arms. "Alright, y'know what? Fine. Whatever. I won't bring it up again. But yer gunna be sorry, big guy. Real sorry."