01-29-2017, 11:57 PM
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[div style=" width: 460px; text-align: justify; line-height: 110%; font-family: verdana;"][color=black]First to show was a man everyone seemed to relate to an insect. Small, dirty, irrelevant--and while he fit two of those, standing next to Jamison was an irritable reminder of their height difference. Not that it made him any less capable than the dirty blonde (or was he just that grimy), no, not at all; he was definitely more capable. His voice was loud and made a nerve pinch somewhere in Fenrir's body, making him want to wring that skinny neck, yet--his options were somewhat promising.
"What kind of...scrap?" he proclaimed cautiously, eyeing the bomb wiz for a beat longer before the next person came into view; particularly the one he had a bone to pick with.
"Mettaton, darling." he started off, usual rough baritone replaced with a sweet lilt an obvious mock if they knew of who. "You should take a hop skip and a jump out of my face before I blow some holes in that sleek frame of yours." his facade ended at his last words, small smile dropping into a grimace, amber eyes burning into the glam freaks crushable skull.
Huffing out a sigh, he rolled his eyes once more. The action coming too inherent to him these days. The next two to show up weren't all that helpful either. He was starting to like grub boy more and more. "Thanks kid--" he commented, eyes gracing Dexter with sarcasm. "I don't know about you--but I don't have any of that." he was already so tired.
Fixating his gaze next on Lola, he had a brief, short lived countenance of amusement.
"You're fucking disgusting, could you even handle seeing me doing that? I thought your job was the local cum dumpster." he let out a disapproving tsk, grinning momentarily. "You can't even do that right, Lo'."
Alright, little bitch chick and fish chow were his new favorites of the pack. Most helpful options and least annoying ways of putting it. "You got any of that?"
/mobile excuse typos
[div style=" width: 460px; text-align: justify; line-height: 110%; font-family: verdana;"][color=black]First to show was a man everyone seemed to relate to an insect. Small, dirty, irrelevant--and while he fit two of those, standing next to Jamison was an irritable reminder of their height difference. Not that it made him any less capable than the dirty blonde (or was he just that grimy), no, not at all; he was definitely more capable. His voice was loud and made a nerve pinch somewhere in Fenrir's body, making him want to wring that skinny neck, yet--his options were somewhat promising.
"What kind of...scrap?" he proclaimed cautiously, eyeing the bomb wiz for a beat longer before the next person came into view; particularly the one he had a bone to pick with.
"Mettaton, darling." he started off, usual rough baritone replaced with a sweet lilt an obvious mock if they knew of who. "You should take a hop skip and a jump out of my face before I blow some holes in that sleek frame of yours." his facade ended at his last words, small smile dropping into a grimace, amber eyes burning into the glam freaks crushable skull.
Huffing out a sigh, he rolled his eyes once more. The action coming too inherent to him these days. The next two to show up weren't all that helpful either. He was starting to like grub boy more and more. "Thanks kid--" he commented, eyes gracing Dexter with sarcasm. "I don't know about you--but I don't have any of that." he was already so tired.
Fixating his gaze next on Lola, he had a brief, short lived countenance of amusement.
"You're fucking disgusting, could you even handle seeing me doing that? I thought your job was the local cum dumpster." he let out a disapproving tsk, grinning momentarily. "You can't even do that right, Lo'."
Alright, little bitch chick and fish chow were his new favorites of the pack. Most helpful options and least annoying ways of putting it. "You got any of that?"
/mobile excuse typos
[align=center][color=black]IMORALITY'S A THRILL
[i] weapons expert - pet rott - ic opinions
[i] weapons expert - pet rott - ic opinions