“CHECK OUT MY BEATS!”

A loud knocking comes from the disco party's front doors. Outside, a familiar someone stands, leaning on the stair's rails and trying not to topple over and fall back down the stairs due to how tired he was.

(Signed, @scooter-battleere!)

Right by the counter of the bar, he was pathetically drying away a washed up cup. His broken hand nearly healed, but not quite healed enough to function again.

His car? In a mint clean condition again, especially after such incident that left him in the chokehold.

Just as he was going to daydream once again—

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!

(Geez, wonder who that could be.)

Putting down the dried up cup, Radical went forward towards the exit of the disco club. Opening up the door to see..

Scooter Battler blearily stared at the DJ he usually looked up to, hair sticking up in nearly 17 directions beneath his helmet (as if it didn't already). He leaned a little harder on the railing, forcing his eyes open - though he started to blink pretty hardly.

"...I.. I'm fine. Heh."

He smiled, but it quickly fell back into a tired stare. I mean... it was almost 5 in the morning, from what he remembered.

“What the hell happened to ya!? You look more porcupine than me! Not to be offensive.. come right in,”

Using his free hand, he opens the door right up and gestures Scooter Battler to come right in. The disco lights still being dimmed down due to it being closing hours.

Scooter trudged in, immediately sitting on the nearest seat. God, whatever happened back at his base had him really tuckered out... probably from all the arguing he had to do against his boss. He sighed.

"I'm pretty glad y- you're here for me, you... you know?"

Siighh..

"Usually people wouldn't... take me in this late. They would.. uh.. shoo me off, I think."

Radical replied, fidgeting his broken hand a little with tiny squeezes and flicks. He was truly the only person who he genuinely had as a person.

“You’re welcome to stay here if you’d like anyways! There’s ain’t much company here since my Pops gave the establishment to me.. So you’re great to be around.”

Oh, he’s thinking about him again. The thought of him just makes him sick in his stomach. Always busy, never emotionally checked on his kid. THAT was the kind of ‘Pop’ he had.

A loud knocking comes from the disco party's front doors. Outside, a familiar someone stands, leaning on the stair's rails and trying not to topple over and fall back down the stairs due to how tired he was.

(Signed, @scooter-battleere!)

Right by the counter of the bar, he was pathetically drying away a washed up cup. His broken hand nearly healed, but not quite healed enough to function again.

His car? In a mint clean condition again, especially after such incident that left him in the chokehold.

Just as he was going to daydream once again—

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!

(Geez, wonder who that could be.)

Putting down the dried up cup, Radical went forward towards the exit of the disco club. Opening up the door to see..

Scooter Battler blearily stared at the DJ he usually looked up to, hair sticking up in nearly 17 directions beneath his helmet (as if it didn't already). He leaned a little harder on the railing, forcing his eyes open - though he started to blink pretty hardly.

"...I.. I'm fine. Heh."

He smiled, but it quickly fell back into a tired stare. I mean... it was almost 5 in the morning, from what he remembered.

“What the hell happened to ya!? You look more porcupine than me! Not to be offensive.. come right in,”

Using his free hand, he opens the door right up and gestures Scooter Battler to come right in. The disco lights still being dimmed down due to it being closing hours.