Something like that. Can't say for sure--I've never had to cope with splashed succubus entrails before. Goat entrails, a couple times before I found better ways of divination. But that's a bit different.
[If he had less of a guilty conscience, he'd probably run. As it is, he merely drops his half-opened pack of cigarettes in surprise, spends a split-second looking like he very much wants to flee...and takes the punch.]
[He palms his face, checking for blood. He might have bitten his lip a little, but that's all right, he'll live. He crouches to pick up his cigarettes, not quite looking at Eden.]
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It sounds like you got through the mess all right, anyway.
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Happy fuckin' birthday to me.
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Where's me present yeh son of a bitch?
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What d'you want, flowers?
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For a pimple, you're pretty educated on this shit, though.
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Yeah, well...I had to be doing something when I was supposed to be paying attention in school, didn't I?
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