( @felicityvanbrunt )
"It's bullshit, Flick. Absolute bullshit." It's nearly closing time, and Infamy's quieted down considerably. Just a few old gays chatting quietly at one end of the bar, a couple making out on the dance floor and swaying to music that really isn't sway-able. Cyrus is used to it all by now, far more focused on his annoyance. "Like... I already do so much around here. I'm taking on extra shifts all the time. So why can't I be a fuckin' keyholder? Because of one time I left the oven on and made the whole kitchen smell like burnt tater tots for a week? Like, it smelled good. They should've thanked me." He tosses the rag against the counter with a sigh, running fingers through a messy blond curly mullet. "Where're we going after this, anyways?"
