The Burning Man

Tea and Coffee (a.k.a. cute starters):

Earl Grey Tea - You muse sits down with mine to have a nice cup of tea.

Japanese Green Tea - My muse needs calming down and it seems like green tea’ll do the trick.

Expresso - It’s early in the morning and my muse needs to wake up.

Black Coffee - My muse is day-dreaming and needs to snap out of it.

Milk Tea - Muses want to cuddle and be comfortable.

Bubble Milk Tea - Muses want to cuddle…maybe make out.

Honey and Lemon - My muse is in bed, sneezing, and wanting to be nursed back to health.

Alcohol (a.k.a. fun starters):

Whiskey - My muse wants to get drunk with yours and do stupid things.

Gin and TOnic - Muses only want to get a little tipsy, they want a good time and not do anything they’ll regret.

Wine - Muses want a civil convosation and good company.

Vodka - Muses want to get piss-ass drunk and make out.

Iced drinks (a.k.a. NSFW starters):

Chocolate - Your muse finds mine naked in their bedroom.

Mocha - Both muses are feeling particularly kinky and want to try out some new gear they bought.

Macha Shake - Muses are having a bath together and a sharp burst from the hot tap sends yours clinging to mine out of shock.

Caramel - My muse wants to try out some food play with yours.

Smoothies (a.k.a. angst starters):

Banana - Your muse comes in on my muse, who’s crying, and asks them what’s wrong.

Strawberry - Your muse finds mine self-harming and wants to know everything.

Apple - My muse has locked themselves away and your muse has found them, needing answers and information.

Orange - My muse has been taking drugs behind yours’ back and your muse finds out. Your muse is worried for mine.

The corners of his mouth quirk up into a knowing smile. He is far too stuck in his delusional ambitions to notice the stillness in the House or the current status of the Harmons. His scope of thought is only aimed at the thousand dollars that, in his aberrant logic, somehow belongs to him.

           But Larry’s words send him over the top. After all –– it didn’t hurt to scare the man, did it? So why not see how the man reacts to the boy who had permanently fucked up his appearance’s ghost figure touching him. The contact had to send the man chills. This idea pleasures Tate more than it should have. But don’t blame the pitiful boy– he’s stuck in a dusty hellhole for the rest of eternity, or whatever forever even was. 

           ”Yes, what a saint you are,” he sneers, jeering the man on with his mockery as he takes easy steps forward. “What an idiot you are, too, for fucking up my life. For being so ignorant to moving in with my mother, who didn’t even love you. For killing my brother!I” He’s yelling now, and the devil raises his hands to grasp Larry’s shoulders. 

            Staring into the man’s eyes, Tate slips into a sort of inhumane behavior. He’s too close to his thoughts with Violet, too drenched in hatred towards everyone to sort everything out. “What a saint." he spits, his voice dripping in venom. "If it weren’t for you and your highly superior ways, I wouldn’t be dead. I wouldn’t have even shot my classmates. I wouldn’t have to live forever in this hell, and I most definitely wouldn’t have lost Violet!”

             By now he had been screaming, his face reddened in anger. He stops, breathing heavily, his chest heaving with each gasp for breath. He knows he’s said too much now. He’s revealed what his weakness was, his soft side. And he knows it.

"Wow! Blaming me for Beau's death?!" Larry roars in a fit of laughter. "And you think it's my fault your life's shitty?! Oh wait, sorry. Was shitty?"

He doesn't pay any mind to the bruising grip around his shoulders or to the possibility of a gruesome death. His madness acts as a set of stairs, allowing him to transcend his petty fears into a state of giggling delirium. 

A string of gasping laughs dies down to finally make way for his pompous smirk. "Violet...The daughter?" He pauses, letting out a throaty chuckle.

In the past, he had caught glimpses of her traipsing through the house, frowning, arguing, crying. An immovable core of cynicism and loathing, she was practically a girl-Tate.

"You don't even know what love is." Larry sighs dramatically through his arrogant smile. "It's an adult thing, Tate. I'm sure you would've learned what it was if you weren't stuck here."