Your romantic rights are all that you got [OPEN THREAD COME PLAY]
Who: Xanxus and YOU!!
What: The angry bouncer is getting drunk. IS HE A HAPPY DRUNK? A SAD DRUNK?? A VIOLENT DRUNK?!?! COME AND FIND OUT!!! O-or don't. Whatever. I don't blame you.
When: Monday 15th February, sometime after 6pm
Where: The bar
Notes/Warnings: potential drunken crack Xanxus. So...excessive pottymouthing, violence, hatespeak, the usual. ♥
There were not enough cursewords in any language ever to properly express the fully depths of Xanxus' wrath at not only being given the memory of marrying so shitty goddamn kid. There were even less that could hope to fill the world in on how he felt at later discovering that those 'memories' were utter bullshit. Nevertheless, the scarred Italian man had given it a damn good try. When he'd run out of real words, he'd made up his own on the spot, ranting against this fucking hellhole of an island and its highhanded piece-of-shit gods in syllables that were more like bitten sounds than anything coherent. Even after a month here Xanxus hadn't been prepared for this level of sheer fuckery.
Now he was stuck with a suit and a ring he'd apparently gotten married in except not really and did it really even matter any more because he didn't remember but apparently he had for a week or something and-- ARRRGH.
Finally he'd stopped yelling and swearing and inventing words like some highly pissed-off Shakespeare and headed for his second option. The bar was more home to him than anywhere else on this island; he rarely spent time in his apartment, since he wasn't exactly fond of the snotfaced little shit he shared it with. The bar was nice and dark and seedy, and he got employee discount. Xanxus moodily waved the 'tender to pour him another glass of whiskey, planning to get drunk enough that he could sleep with wanting to strangle everything ever. That was just tiring.
♫
What: The angry bouncer is getting drunk. IS HE A HAPPY DRUNK? A SAD DRUNK?? A VIOLENT DRUNK?!?! COME AND FIND OUT!!! O-or don't. Whatever. I don't blame you.
When: Monday 15th February, sometime after 6pm
Where: The bar
Notes/Warnings: potential drunken crack Xanxus. So...excessive pottymouthing, violence, hatespeak, the usual. ♥
There were not enough cursewords in any language ever to properly express the fully depths of Xanxus' wrath at not only being given the memory of marrying so shitty goddamn kid. There were even less that could hope to fill the world in on how he felt at later discovering that those 'memories' were utter bullshit. Nevertheless, the scarred Italian man had given it a damn good try. When he'd run out of real words, he'd made up his own on the spot, ranting against this fucking hellhole of an island and its highhanded piece-of-shit gods in syllables that were more like bitten sounds than anything coherent. Even after a month here Xanxus hadn't been prepared for this level of sheer fuckery.
Now he was stuck with a suit and a ring he'd apparently gotten married in except not really and did it really even matter any more because he didn't remember but apparently he had for a week or something and-- ARRRGH.
Finally he'd stopped yelling and swearing and inventing words like some highly pissed-off Shakespeare and headed for his second option. The bar was more home to him than anywhere else on this island; he rarely spent time in his apartment, since he wasn't exactly fond of the snotfaced little shit he shared it with. The bar was nice and dark and seedy, and he got employee discount. Xanxus moodily waved the 'tender to pour him another glass of whiskey, planning to get drunk enough that he could sleep with wanting to strangle everything ever. That was just tiring.
♫