MARS IN RUIN

But the smell would illicit conflicting thoughts again, of boisterous laughter that put him on edge. Of the Miracle and his own home styled meals. Gerard Valkyrie would often eat from dishes similar to this. “You didn’t have to,” is all Bazz-B could manage to grumble, finally digging into the meal. The rest he would consume in silence. @x-vandrelyst-x

A double bluff? He frowns, she remains unchanged. A stare off, a stand down. “I was just going to say hi.” The raised eyebrow he receives in return is deafening as they stand before the First Division’s headquarters. Okay, maybe he could have thought of a better lie..

“Let’s run through the options, kid. First Division have a little more metal in them, not a group worth poking at recreationally. The Second are lead by, quite frankly, a lunatic. She’d hunt me down until one of us killed the other if I so much as farted on her land. The Third has shitty taste in music, and their corpse Lieutenant kinda freaks me out, and it’d be cruel to pick on the infirm squatting at the Fourth. You’ve got a Hollow-Hybrid freak running the Fifth, and I’m sure you’ve heard how much grief I’ve given the Sixth’s Lieutenant already. Seventh’s too loud, the Eighth’s got another freak running it— Ninth too, actually. Why do you hire so many of them? Anyway, Eleventh is a battleground that I’d take the blame for engaging in, Twelfth is home to Kurotsuchi-fucking-Mayuri, a psychopath I’d put down in a heartbeat, and the Thirteenth.. well, they’re just kinda boring. So that leaves my buddies at the Tenth, who I know aren’t dumb enough to get their ass kicked again, but aren’t weak enough not to gimme some entertainment if I step over the wrong lines. But, if you think my presence is so endearing that it’s working off some sorta perceived guilt, I’ll take the compliment. You could have just said you liked my company.”

Target practice. It wasn’t the most entertaining thing he could think of, but it was the one he’d get in the leash amount of trouble for. “Another perfect shot for three-time gold medalist, Bazzard Black!” He shouts, thick, exaggerated American accent, crossbow waving around as he looks for another drink. “This will be his fourth consecutive victory in the vagrant olympics!”

“That’s a hot take, Morgenstern. Not one I’d wager you’re qualified to make.” Rounding on the Soldat, he sneers. “This relationship of ours isn’t one of equals. We’re not chums or roomies.” A hand to her face, he squeezes her cheeks together. “I’m your boss, moron. If we were friends, you’d be fucking praising my name. I’m the best damn friend any cocksucker around here could ask for.” Pushing her away, he scowls. “You wanna see shit friends, I could show you a list.”

“But, just so we’re on the same page…” Fingers lower one, by one— a single digit pointed skyward. “These babies are just as dangerous whether they’re touching you or not.”