shit n ass fuck up

     “Her name’s Crouton.” He holds out a small piece of chocolate and she takes it, nibbling at it daintily. “I guess you can pet her if you want. Crout, you got a new friend, lil lady.”

Snafu lopes across the room, tracking dry flakes of mud for a few steps, and drops into the chaise longue, kicking up his feet and letting his head thump back against the cushion. He’s not a patient, this has never been a doctor-patient thing, so he feels it’s only fair to share and share alike. He considers it, actually, a favour to Ozzie to be here at all. At least he’s not casting his hand onto his forehead and crying about his relationship with his father or something. He tips his head to one side to consider Ozzie flatly, staring in a way that tends to unnerve people. “Why do I gotta chose? I’m a—” He searches briefly for the word. “Hedonist.”

     This seems very definitely not true, but Snafu’s been trying not to judge people as of late. He drops his hands into his lap and considers the breadth of options at his disposal. Crouton, in his hoodie pocket, shuffles and squirms and sticks out her head. “What do I want? Big question. Can you narrow it down?”

Good news: this is still weird. Merriell lifts a hand and scrubs at his cheek, feeling the glitter flake off under his fingernails. A few of the pieces float like dust motes to the floor. His mother won’t see it on the floor but Ansel might, if she asks him to do chores. He puts his foot over the flecks. “Can I just have one, man? Shit.” Mostly to pull back a sense of control over the situation, he scrapes back another of the chairs at the table and sits down. “Actin’ like a fuckin’ prohibition officer or some shit.”