I’m not the who’s slowly but steadily being poisoned by the residual radiation left in the zones.
Nah. Just rapidly by the spunk you swallow every coupla hours. How’s that tastin’, by the way? Have they started comin’ in flavors yet?
… always thought they should, heh.. would’ve helped with the come-down…
The stench more than anything else. You rats reek of death and disease.
Heeh…. funny how y’say we’re the diseased ones when yer the one that’s sick.
I didn’t think you’d have the audacity or the stupidity to so blatantly broadcast your presence so soon after an attack on the City.
Aha, the… audacity… does my presence offend? I do this all the tiiime~… ain’t like you whitefucks do much about it, too busy bein’ fuckin’ cowards hidin’ in yer city.
"Red, Red they ain’t gonna cut nothin’ outta me. C’mon. Get it ta-gether."
Party gestured towards himself, hands touching the chest of his uniform. Wincing at the sound of the boy’s head hitting the wall, he took a step forward. “It’s me, Red. Lookit.” The Rat King moved cautiously but quickly, approaching Red and reaching over to him. He didn’t really care if the kid was going to get violent or not, Party Poison was outfitted in an Exterminator’s uniform and he could definitely take whatever Red threw at him.
He made a grab for the kid’s wrist, not looking to take his knife away, but just wanting him to be unable to use it. “Wake up,” he spat, “lookit me, Red.”
"It ain’t time t’kill him yet, spitfuck. We gotta share it with the boys, yeah?"
"Fuck off! Don’t—" Red panicked the second Party reached for him. It wasn’t him, it was the uniform, and in his state it was so easy to forget… "D-don’t touch me—"
He scrambled himself further into the corner, kicking his legs out when there was no room left to squeeze himself into, and let out a frantic scream when Party’s hand closed around his wrist. “Fucker, fucker, I said— NO!" Instantly he was struggling, flailing his limbs, twisting his body, beating at Party whenever he got the chance, moving more like he was having a child’s tantrum or some sort of spastic fit than anything else. Glass started to slice at his body where he was writhing on the ground when it wasn’t being stamped to pieces under his boots… and he wouldn’t stop screaming, getting louder and less coherent by the second.
"Kill, I’ll kill y-- He’s MINE, mine— LET GO—”
… Hm, what’sa matter? Rat got yer tongue? Aaahahahahahahaa~…
[[ wow it’s been years and there’s still nothing worse than constantly switching in and out of a million accounts haha r.i.p…. ]]