"If you prefer Celsius over other shit and eat pizza on missions then I have confidence you have mildly good taste as well." Axl sighed dramatically, like that was physically hard to say. It wasn't. She was so much less insufferable than most humans. He'd take rude yet straightforward than pretending to be nice and never giving a good answer any day. Plus she could make a funny joke EVERY once in a while.

"Cheers to that." He said flatly, shaking his head. It's weird how brains worked. He must be more resilient than most because some people konked off just because their job was hard or some sad fucking excuse like that. He had the most miserable life in existence. Stolen from his family, tortured for his entire life, forced into a life of obedience, trained for the military since age 5, burnt, almost blown up, turned into a literal fucking cyborg... and here he was. Still alive. Eating pizza.

"If my brain was the only thing growing ... actually, it'd probably be fine. It has room to grow." He was GOING to say that it would suck because his skull wasn't growing but that wouldn't work very well. Considering. At least he had enough brain to strategize about fighting.

"Hey, I still have about a day to decide. Give or take. Depending on if we die on this mission or the next. And it isn't my fault." He huffed. Meaning it was his stupid hybrid loyalty shits fault, but that was NOT HIM. He just had to convince himself of that. Definitely not him. The one thing he knew for certain is that it WAS partially the loyalty factor, if not all.

Axl glanced at the food then at the box before walking over to the pizza and plopping down, grabbing a piece. He could eat. And it was probably smart to eat before drinking a bunch of Jagerbombs. Burned going down, burned while inside. After scarfing down a piece of pizza like he hadn't eaten in weeks... totally not true... he was delighted to find that the hollow ache was leaving. Even with that little bit. Meaning he took another piece of pizza, because it would be great if he didn't feel like a sad empty sack of skin. He wanted to feel like a happy full sack of skin.

After eating 3 or 4 pieces; he had lost count; he stopped and wagered that would have to be enough. Axl attempted to reach the box without moving, failed, and instead reached out his wing and pulled it slowly towards him. He opened it up and got out a bottle of Jagermeister, 4 cans of Redbull- little overkill if you asked him- and two special shot glasses. He left the whiskey in there, because he didn't want to die QUITE yet. Since he didn't want to drink it immediately after eating, he started getting them ready, carefully pouring the Jagermeister in the middle and the redbull around the outside. Perfect.

"Well thanks. I'm pretty sure that's better than unsure of excellent taste, at least," she snorted. To be unsure of perfection or certain of mediocrity. Or... something. Sounded like something Shakespeare might say. Maybe it was 'to be unsure of a bit above average or sure of just barely on par with average'.

"Ah, good, because if your head got any bigger, you'd REALLY look like Billy," she teased. Complexion? Check. Scars? Check. He just needed to be shorter and more of the proportion of a balloon on a popsicle stick. Then he could pass for someone cosplaying as Billy on Halloween.

"Hm, one day versus what, almost several weeks already to decide? Suuure," Norrie returned with a smirk. Given the evidence thus far, Norrie'd guess he'd be sticking around for a while. Or until this mission was over, at least. Then she wouldn't blame him if he wanted to leave, government be damned.

Norrie was, admittedly, rather pleased with the fact that Axl was actually eating, not just either going straight for the alcohol or eating just enough to say he did. Maybe he was learning. Not so much to do smart shit, just to do less stupid shit. It's a start, right? He was doing far better than Jackson, at least.

She wrinkled her nose as she watched him pour drinks. "Eugh. Seems like if liquid coolant got mixed with Febreeze and whatever chemical flavorings they put in Nerds." Delightful, actually. Maybe also like if they flavored 9-volt batteries for the goobers who like to lick 'em for that little shock. Yum.

She did, upon further consideration, have some apprehension about actually consuming that. It just seemed like a not-so-great idea. Pizza on a mission was one thing, fuckin jeagerbombs? Oof. She also had the distinct feeling that she absolutely would NOT handle it well. Yay.

"It is infinitely better." Axl stated firmly. He would rather be sure of being okay than be unsure of being great. The riddles of being alive.

"How DARE you." He feigned offense, a hand clutching his heart. (Okay, I realized, one thing EVERY one of my characters has in common is that they are SUPER dramatic. Not sort of. Super xD) "I'm sure if I asked almost anyone else, they would decide I was dashing and delightful to look at." He sniffed. That was less than true, as if you asked a normal person what they thought of him they USUALLY screamed. Some were just disgusted. And a small amount made cruel comments about him being a monster, but pfft. As long as he could fake believing he was handsomer than handsome, then he was good. Fake it till you make it, right?

"Changes of heart happen quickly." Axl grumbled. Okay, so what if he wasn't going to leave. Poor her. "My apologies to be such a burden since I obviously can't decide whether or not to leave." He drawled sarcastically, shaking his head.

Honestly, he was hugely glad he had eaten. Instead of feeling like literal shit, he felt great. Okay, well not great. Mediocre. Not dying anymore. Passable as alive. He smirked as she started to describe the Jagerbombs, a snort of amusement escaping. If that was true, he'd love them even more. Like... the flavorings from the Nerd candy? He had heard that was delicious. Not that he could tell.

The look on her face said it ALL. Axl damn near laughed as he watched her. "Good lord, I didn't take you as the one who would be hesitant about alcohol." He teased, picking up his glass and downing it in one go. His eyes widened slightly. "Hooooly mother forking shirt balls that was amazing." He shook out his head, the burn still present in his chest. He hadn't had a Jagerbomb in FOREVER. "Pu-lease try it. Pretty please. I'll try not to laugh at your face." He grinned at her, fangs flashing as he made himself up another shot. Oh yes, he was taking more. To hell with staying sober. Bahahahaha. Like that was ever gonna happen.

"Ah, good." It definitely sounded better, at least. Better to be really shitty than fakely perfect.

"Oh yeah, I believe you. Go ahead and ask Jackson," Norrie snorted. (but... it's such a vibe xD I find it very entertaining lol) He'd probably either say nothing in an attempt to keep his ass in tact - whether Norrie or Axl got to him first didn't matter too much - or he'd make a face and try to be gentle and fail.

"Really? I thought you had no heart," she teased. Hadn't he said he had no soul? Ehh, close enough. "I dunno if burden's the right word..." she mused. No, it wasn't. He was somehow simultaneously the fun uncle and the fun uncle's favorite gremlin, who was incredibly chaotic but entertaining. The one who picked up on swear words all too quickly and was eager to try the fun uncle's beer.

"Oh hush you. I generally prefer being sober, thanks," she sniffed indignantly. Generally. Not so much right now. "Ain't no way it's that good," she grumbled. That was where literally any idiot would say dOnT kNoW UnLeSs yoU TrY iT.

"Fine," she muttered, grabbing a shot glass, only hesitating a little before quickly downing it with a grimace, managing not to retch a little, much to her credit.

"God DAMN that's strong," she half-wheezed. Bit of an understatement there, it almost felt like the liquid version of a freezer burn, but on the inside. It wasn't bad, though, just very unfamiliar. It'd definitely be better with Celsius instead of redbull, but whatever. It was still potable.

"There, happy?" she said flatly. He'd better be.

"That is literally the reason I said almost anyone else. Jackson would be included in the almost." Axl huffed. He didn't trust Jackson to say something good OR bad.

"Technically it is an important organ for pumping blood through your body.." He said flatly. "But referencing it in that way, sure. Pretty sure I don't have much left." In that way, hearts were something that could shatter and it wasn't always romantically. Plus, he was 60 percent sure he had said soul. What he had found was that you could, in fact, live without a heart.. referencing it in that manner. It just kinda sucked. Specially when you're brain hadn't accepted it yet. Not fully.

"Annoying tag along? Partially human punching bag?" He offered. He could try harder. Unhelpful sidekick. Smart ass comment maker. Dirty joke extraordinaire. Positive wording and him never got along well, so these sounded pretty accurate. His time with her hadn't been completely useless and not fun, so he couldn't complain, though.

"Generally." Axl smirked. He would not let that slide tonight- naw, they were going to forget about their worries for a short while before they went and got themselves killed. "It's that good." He stated in a convincing manner, eyebrows lifting exuberantly. "It will make your brain cells rearrange on the way in." He added with an evil look, his smile curving into an almost amused look when she hesitated before downing the shot. A bark of laughter escaped at her slight retch and exclamation.

"But that's the best part." He threw back another shot, relishing in the burn. Like someone was slowly dragging a lighter down the back of your throat to your chest. That would be a cool torture method. He was lucky people hadn't figured out how to do that yet, or he'd be torched from the inside out. "Quite." He said cheerfully, popping open the whiskey- as if he needed More- and pouring himself a glass, swirling it around before taking a sip. The sweet relief of knowing he wouldn't have to worry about shit soon. He knew from experience that he could get about 5 Jagerbombs in without any other alcohol and not die, but the hangover was fucking terrible. So he was gonna shoot for four and drink enough whiskey to make it 6.

He downed two more in short time and, unsurpsingly, even with his high tolerance to alcohol... was passed the line into drunk. Good for him, when he got drunk, he usually just got more fun. Less shitty. More smily and acceptable of stupid dares, really. Since he sadly capped himself at 4 Jagerbombs, he was sipping the whiskey now, a low rumble of a chuckle escaping as he tilted his head. "Funny how I got stuck with the gorgeous jackass, hm." He mused, his southern accent slurring slightly with the very words that he obviously wasn't in the right mind to think about. "Yet you're not half bad, Norrie. Guess I got lucky compared to some options. Rather die by you than on the end of a chain, eh?" He took another sip of the whiskey, looking softly amused. "And the idiotic clown, of course..." Apparently, His internal views of Jackson were exactly the same as the ones he shared. He studied the glass for a moment, his fingers loosely wrapped around it, eyes narrowed. His pupils narrowed to slips before rounding back out, then narrowing again. He blinked, then shook his head. "Goddamn. This was fullllll... wasn't it." Hmm. He may have exceeded what he had decided was a good idea. Welllll, he would just not drink more than this glass. He'd be fine, right? All he had to do was sleep, and if he passed out, that wouldn't be hard. With that in mind, he took another sip. His back rested against the rickety wall, and that was good, or otherwise he would've completely fallen over by now. "Cooonsidering I bet neither of us are gonna remember this in the morning... the names ain't Axl." He commented, glancing up and almost partially focusing on her. "It's actually Rhys, but that thing is obviously dead. Died with my old life, that's why I go by Axl. Seemed easy enough." Another sip of the whiskey. "Rhys Jager." Funny. He hadn't thought about that name in years. He hadn't thought about himself as Rhys Jager since he had officially changed his name in his own mind at age ... 8? Maybe. Whenever he decided he wouldn't ever go back to his old life. The good life.

"Uh-huh. Then if I were you, I'd change that almost anyone to a select few," she snorted. Actually, she probably wouldn't. Yeah, no, he was probably right with that 'almost anyone'. Hell, he'd probably have everyone who enjoyed Twilight straight-up swooning over him without any effort.

"Well. Not that you've acknowledged like... ever." There was probably some small store of human emotion locked away somewhere, dusty and forgotten, but still there. Probably. It was entirely possible that Norrie was wrong, though.

"Stress relief tag-along? Human-enough punching bag?" She returned. Just the way Jackson radiated stupidity constantly, without even needing to say anything, was enough to annoy Norrie, which Axl just so happened to combat quite well.

"Mm, generally," she confirmed, "but I don't think anything that's happened thus far falls under 'generally'." It really did not. But general day-to-day life was also kind of shitty, so why not live a little, before they probably die a lot? "Oh, how delightful," Norrie snorted. Right about now, though? Didn't sound half bad.

She shot him a glare, though it was undercut by the fact she was trying not to grin at the same time. "You said you'd try not to laugh," she grumbled, feigning annoyance. To be honest, it was all such good fun.

"Eh, can't argue," she hummed. "I need another, though." 'Another' turned into somewhere around 4 or 5; she lost count. She also lost track of where up was, and the floor didn't seem at all steady. Not regulation standard, no-sirree-bob. It was swaying and spinning too damn much. Come with me, and you'll be, in a world of OSHA violationsss. If walking, or, hell, even just standing, was difficult, trying to put together complete sentences was harder. Thoughts were hardly coming in full, coherent strings.

She opted to lean against the wall instead, since being able to think less on verticality seemed to help other brain functions. Her glass had been abandoned somewhere, though she wasn't sure where exactly. She wasn't sure of anything except that the next morning was going to be ROUGH.

"I- hwut?" she slurred, casting him a sidelong glance. Comprehension was at an all-time low. She was beginning to doubt he'd even said anything in the first place, given how outlandish it seemed, coming from him. As he continued, Norrie's confusion visibly grew. Not half bad? Bullshit. She snorted and shook her head. "You're weird. Butta good-weird, y'know? I like it," she mumbled.

"Huh. Then... whaddaya wamme to call ya?" she asked slowly. It made little difference to her, particularly right now. You could probably tell her the most ridiculous shit and get a very subdued reaction. Or, a much smaller chance, full-on drunken panic followed by winding up passed out on the floor. Hard to say. OR, third option, she'd manage to fall down the gaping hole in the floor. That... was probably all too likely, really. Quite the hazard.

Although Axl didn't know humans super well, he was 90 percent sure that most of them would fall for him without the wings and horns, and the other 10 percent were fantasy readers that would fall for literally anything. He might not even speak and they would be all over it. He had actually encountered one of those people once- she was in the military, visiting the place where he was kept, and visibly loving looking into each cage. Which was messed up, considering they were literally half dead. She had let out this obnoxious squeal when she glanced at him- then he was pretty sure he got eye fucked for a while.

"Pff. Everyone has an emotional heart, with the exception of two things. Horrible mental disorders and trauma. Depending on how bad they were, you get your heart taken more quickly. I, of course, was heartless sooner rather than later." He explained flatly. You could be born a psychopath and miss the heart step altogether, or you could be turned into one like him.

"Sounds about right." He nodded slowly. He could probably accept that he was a stress relief tag along, though he didn't know how. He guessed Jackson was so bad that in light of that, he looked better.

"Fair. But we're still drinking." He stated. He could accept that, as long as he didn't get left to be mocked while he was blackout drunk and she had only had a single drink. Definitely not okay.

"I did try!" Axl exclaimed, blinking innocently. "I just failed. Never said I could, just said I'd try." And he obviously couldn't, because damn that was funny.

He was not standing, because obviously he was so much smarter than that, instead sprawled out on the floor with his back against the wall. Whiskey in his hand, eyes slightly glazed over, lopsided smirk on his lips. He didn't have much left, but he was still going, unlike Norrie. His gaze slowly moved her way as she sputtered out a question, tilting his head. "I can't tell if you didn't hear me or if you have no idea how to take that..." He mumbled, his voice dragging out slowly. He was quite good at saying stuff while drunk- too good, apparently. He said things he really shouldn't. "Das da best compliment I think I'll ever get from you." A slow grin spread across his face. "A good weird." He would take that. Even if he might not remember it- not that he wanted to, considering they're both very much under the influence- he was still pleased in the moment. "Axl works." He mused, finishing the whiskey and setting the glass down. Time had seemed to slow for him, making every movement painstakingly snail paced. Every time he blinked, it became slower, until there would be stretches when all he saw was black. Yeaaaaah, he was Axl now... no need to go back to whatever he was. His eyes almost shut as he attempted not to blink again, brain begging him to let it shut down. He obviously needed sleep, and badly, and it was showing. "Shhhhiiiiit....." He muttered as everything faded into darkness again. This time, it didn't go bright. Well, he had successfully drank himself into sleep- one way to do it- so good for him. Now he was slumped on the floor at a painful looking angle, but it wasn't like he cared. He was literally unconscious.

"Ehh, even then I'm pretty sure size varies. There are some people that just kind of suck from birth," she mused, shaking her head. It was hard to say whether the kids that were just visibly.. off would turn out psychopaths void of emotion, or if they were just weird like that. They were probably adopted, and their biological mother was Morticia Addams.

"Yuuup. I think you actually managed a good idea," she snorted. Well, it was about on par with stealing Wal-Mart shopping carts and jousting using brooms and an accomplice to push you, but whatever. Actually, that sounded delightful. Just try not to stab your opponent's eye out, kid.

"I did not hear a single bit of trying. More saying than doing. Doesn't count," she sniffed indignantly. If you're only gonna yap, you'd better shut your trap.

"Um. The second one?" she drawled. Mostly the second one. Part of her was still doubting that anything was really happening at all. Maybe the sun blew up sooner than expected. If that was the case, this was alright. Maybe a little better than alright, actually.

She was vaguely aware of her legs trying to give up on legging, opting to allow them their paid leave and slide rather ungracefully down the wall so she was sitting next to Axl, half leaning against him. "Mm, probably. I dunno," she mused with a yawn, letting her head fall on his shoulder. Everything seemed a little fuzzy around the edges, and thinking was somehow getting harder.

"Mm, but does Axl work?" she half whispered. The most likely interpretation of that was are you ok, tho? Hard to say. Norrie may have just crossed into the land of watching your weight? But what about a wait for your watch? You would, but you haven't got the time!-type nonsense. Well, if she wasn't totally there yet, odds were she'd fall asleep before she got there. Yippee. That actually felt... imminent. She wasn't even aware of the fact that she did indeed slip off into a delightful alcohol-induced nap.

"True true." Some people were like the grinch, but they didn't have awful singing to grow their heart. Honestly, people were just messed up. One size never fit all, and lots of people had a smaller heart than you'd think. Then there was that one annoying person who's heart was so big it was bursting out of their chest and they had to share their love with everyone they met, stranger or not. He hated that person.

"Amazing, innit?" He grinned. A good idea? Axl? Nooo, those two couldn't ever go together. That didn't make sense.

"I tried SO HARD. I kept it in for all of 56 milliseconds. That is trying! Then it ripped out of me violently and I couldn't stop it." He whined, trying to justify his outburst. To be fair, it was funny.

"Good, that's easy..." It was better than the first one, he didn't want to repeat himself. Better she just have no idea how to respond or even think about that. It was kind of launched upon her within any warning, so she was good. He did vaguely hope no one remembered this conversation. It proooobably wouldn't end well for him, as he was constantly mocked about calling her a 'gorgeous jackass'. It was TRUE, though. She was fucking hot, and a fucking jackass. Anyone could see that. Except Jackson. Jackson was blind. And deaf. And dumb.

He hummed quietly to himself, absent mindedly, not thinking about ANYTHING. He had the amazing ability to do that. He thought he was humming Poisoning The Pigeons In The Park, but it also may have been the national anthem. He wasn't quite sure. He barely noticed her leaning against him, and unsurprisingly didn't care. Her whispered question took about 2 minutes to register, because what the fuck kind of a way was that to ask something so simple. He blinked slowly. "... noooope. Never again. But I'm not dead quite yet." He mused. That was all he could offer. He would never be okay, or even close to that. It was too late for that. But he was alive, ish, and he wasn't on the end of a chain anymore. That could be counted as a win.

Axl awoke far too long later, hours and hours later, so many hours, and he was not on the floor anymore. No, he was tied to a chair. Wait, nope, nevermind. Too soft. Norrie. He was tied to Norrie. The second thing he realized was that his head hurt SO FUCKING BAD that he wanted to die. He groaned quietly and slowly blinked, glancing around. They were in a room. Concrete. Boring. Grey. Jackson was no where to be seen. Their hands were tied together behind their back, their feet were tied, and he... had a muzzle on. His wings were gone. Blood was slowly dripping down his forehead- not a good sign. He shifted slightly and immediately hissed in pain, noticing something else- a bone was sticking out of his leg. White and disgusting to look at. Blood and mangled skin lay around it. So... he was massively hungover. They had gotten kidnapped. Jackson was MIA. They broke his leg to... keep him from running away? Norrie and him were tied together. He didn't have his wings. Any other problems? He blinked slowly, looking around again. Nope, that seemed sufficient on the problems side of the spectrum. "Norrie." He muttered, gently elbowing her ribs. "N-" He froze. Nevermind, there was ONE more problem. He remembered the contents of their conversation. How, he hadn't the faintest clue. Fuck. Pushing that thought away, he waited for Norrie to wake up, feeling like his head was going to split in half.

"Quite," she snorted, "I didn't think you had it in you." No, she didn't think he had many good ideas, but that didn't mean she wouldn't enjoy his terrible ideas.

"Ohh, wow, 56 whole milliseconds. Because I can count that, and it matters," she snorted, rolling her eyes. How the fuck was she supposed to be sure it really was 56 and not 55 milliseconds? He could be bluffing.

"Everything is easy when you're cool as fuck," she mumbled with about as much smugness as she could. Now, one could TRY to go about deciphering whatever the frick-frack paddywhack crackerjack THAT one meant, but it really wasn't worth all that effort. Best to just vaguely agree and carry on without much thought, something Norrie was an expert on. It came mostly from dealing with Jackson, really.

"Almost nearly dead but not quite," she mumbled in what was probably agreement. It was better than Totally completely entirely without a doubt dead as a doornail.

Norrie had exactly zero clue how much time had passed. Zero clue about much of anything, really, except that it felt like she'd either been shot in the head, or would be better off that way. With a groan of protest, she woke enough to become aware of the fact that she couldn't move, something rough was cutting into her wrists, and aside from the pounding headache, there was a vague ache absolutely everywhere. Whether soreness from not moving, bruises, or both, it was hard to say. Probably that last one. She felt like she'd aged 50-something years overnight. Or maybe over a week.

"Fuuuuck," she hissed under her breath. She glanced sideways at her hip, where she would normally have a handgun. Through the blurriness of her vision, she could make out that it was gone. Oh, how lovely. She felt woefully vulnerable without any sort of weapon.

Maybe... just maybe... getting hammered in an unfamiliar place, not to mention another flippin' country, wasn't such a grand idea. Phooey.