Hyde is at the bar, in his
Stones shirt and jeans, looking over a mess of eight-tracks and cassettes. His boot is tapping to some invisible beat, and he's smoking. The snark implied in the title has not yet happened, but rest assured it will if you join his thread.
And if that's not a sell, I don't know what is.
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Eight tracks? Wow are you behind the times.
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"Yeah, it's amazing what happens when you're actually from a time where they still make eight tracks."
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Sucks, don't it? You want me to get you a cd player and some cd's? Maybe the latest Ozzy Osbourne, Alice Cooper, etc?
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I see you brought friends with you tonight.
*she wasn't being snarky *
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Well, if you are gonna deny having em does it really matter which ones are his?
You know, i think we have some of the same friends. Who knew?
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Yeah, I think that was intentional.
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He bends over in concentration and starts picking the errant nuts out of Hyde's lap with less than sober precision. "Want some?" he inquires politely. "They're cashews... my favorite... after sex."
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"I don't want your hand on your nuts in my lap, either!"
Smirking to himself, he starts to brush them off...and into his own hand. Waste not, want not.
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She'd sleep there if she could.
"What in Fortune's name are those?" she asks, sliding over a few stools.
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"This thing contains music?"
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