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Why do you feel the need to promise that particular thing?
Because...I don't want to come off as rude? I mean I ain't Shakespeare or anything but I ain't country boy from podunk nowhere either?
So long as that's the only reason.
[He's gotta play this safer than last time.]
It's you.
It's you.
I can think of at least one.
How would I know what you want or don't want to know?
Thank you, Mr. Orange. If I'd banged my head against the wall and got amnesia, that there would be valuable input.
You don't get a gold star for it.
You make it sound like there's some other kind of reason punishable by, I don't know, death? Stern voice? Angry glare?
Taking it up the ass from Mr. White here and his flawless victories in logical deductions.
Least it ain't taking it in the belly. Why, you gonna sound the alarm on me?
Least it ain't taking it in the belly. Why, you gonna sound the alarm on me?
All of the above, though usually death to be honest.
[Also, gotta disappear for a little while, be back in an hour or two~]
All right, Mr. White, Mr. Orange and I are all ears. What is your problem today?
And you mind your fucking language, cause I don't think Mr. Orange's delicate sensibilities can take more of your - your - what's Pink called it? Nigger talk without some ice for his gut. You gotta treat a dying man with respect, Mr. White. You see me turning the radio on, for what shit there's on? No? That's because I fucking respect this man.
What's the point? There ain't no goin' back and fixin' that fuckin' mess up.
It'd be nice to know why because I like living.
[ooc: No prob!]
[ooc: No prob!]
Spoken with the blues of a dying man, Mr. Orange.
[pause]
Which you are.
But least you ain't dead, and you gotta be more grateful for the little things. You don't? You sour up.
[pause]
Which you are.
But least you ain't dead, and you gotta be more grateful for the little things. You don't? You sour up.
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