"Sounds like a just don't just my head down my ass problem and we'll be perfectly fine." Axl retorted. He had no problem- except her. So unless SHE could bend that way, then no way man, because that was double standards. Nuh huh.

He easily managed to avoid getting smacked, snickering laughter escaping as he watched her expression. "Awww, did I offend someone?" His voice was bordering delighted as he poked her in the arm. He was practically pushing them towards crashing, but pfft if they didn't die here, then they'd die later in this mission. Plus, the banter would never end. He never really hated it, because they were both equally cruel. If he was a kind old guy with a fragile heart, he would've died already, but he had just asked her if she meant she should fuck herself or he should fuck her, and he felt like that was a strong you're both not okay.

"I do remember saying that, and I stick by it. You're grumpier than a hippo getting slowly chewed on by an alligator without being able to do anything. Getting laid might help." He said helpfully. "Specifically if you drink so much alcohol you don't remember what happened. Short term happiness." Otherwise, she'd be complaining and grumbling about whatever happened for the next 20 years. Or 3 weeks. Depending how long they actually lived. With her driving skills, 3 minutes. Maaaaybe it was sort of his fault for poking her and shit, but whatever. The grammar sucked, but it did kind of point towards the latter, which was prooooobably a little better for her. Still horrifyingly gut wrenching.

His eyebrows lifted and he glanced slowly at Jackson, not really fathoming how dumb one person could be. "... I..." He failed halfway through a retort, just slowly shaking his head and turning his gaze back out the windshield. Wow. WOW. He wasn't sure ... wasn't sure if he'd recover from hearing that.

"Would you also like to know ahead of time when I plan on carving your voice box out in your sleep?" He asked with a sweet tone dripping with venom.

He muttered something under his breath that was incoherent enough that no one could understand it, his eyes narrowed in concentration. His translator was massively confused, and he was relying 90 percent off of his own knowledge at this point. Meaning it was rough. Technically he knew the entirety of at least 34 languages, but he detected Kurdish and his... his mind was only so amazing. "I wasn't playing a fucking part." He growled, debating whether to accidentally brush against the lady as he walked past. She'd probably be an object in space before they were even in. "Grr." Axl turned to the old woman again, forced out a couple carefully chosen words. She brightened- he thought? Maybe she was just constipated. He couldn't tell. But if she actually did brighten, that was good. What was good was that she started waddling out and away. Okay then. Have fun trying to make it anywhere. He blinked before going inside the house. The first thing he did was almost died, as there was a hole down to the basement, filled with jagged boards. His wings flared out and he almost hit the ceiling before putting himself on solid ground. "The fucking hell- how did she get out!?" Axl looked to the gaping hole in front of the door, then the old lady, then the hole. "She's a fucking spider."

"We? YOU might be fine, but then I still gotta deal with you," Norrie grumbled. Which was actually fine[ish], since he kept her attention off if Jackson, thus keeping the dumbass alive.

She shot him a glare, trying her hardest not to grab him by the wrist and twist as far in the wrong direction it'd go. She'd have to find a reason to do it to Jackson instead, since she did in fact need Axl intact. So instead, she settled for a sarcastic, "Nooooo."

She looked at him sideways for a moment, trying to gauge whether he really thought that was such a grand idea. "Wow. You give terrible advice." What was even the point of getting laid if you were gonna be absolutely hammered? Why not just stick with the alcohol and not throw STDs into the mix? Just stupid, man. One or the other, come on, you can't do both.

"Hmm... ideally yes, but that sounds like it could be a fun surprise," Norrie mused. Way more fun than his previous suggestion, at least. Waking up to no voicebox was infinitely better than waking up with gonorrhea.

"Oh damn. Sucks to be you, then; that a blind old bag pities you," She snickered. Well, technically all of them, but that didn't matter. Either way, whatever Axl'd managed to understand of Chocolate Grandma and then say back had apparently worked, so gold star for him. Yay.

"See, was that so hard?" She said, as he presumably thanked her, judging by her reaction. Or Chocolate Grandma had the shits. Hard to say.

Norrie didn't even bother trying to hide her laugh at the fact Axl almost took a digger in what might've been Chocolate Grandma's murder basement. "I think, judging by the fact the only decent curtains are upstairs and the state of this hole, she doesn't live down there," She mused. Or maybe Chocolate Grandma did, and she ate people to stay alive; she was actually over a thousand years old.

She neatly sidestepped the hole and immediately had to grab Jackson by the shirt collar and yank him back as he wandered too close. "Okayy, anyway, stay outta the fucking hole," She grumbled tiredly. "Now. Sleeping arrangement. Jackson, you can have the couch." The couch which had moth holes, looked like a burlap sack, and smelled like something had died in it. Jackson was insufferable and snored like a fuckin bear, so that was the best option. That left her and Axl, with one bedroom. (one bed trope/forced proximity except they mostly just tolerate each other lmao) Fucking hell. Well, maybe he'd opt for the basement with god knows what was down there.

"You poor baby, drink some milk and cry about it." Axl snorted, rolling his eyes. They were both suffering, she didn't get to take it all. Whether it was from her or Jackson, he was slowly dying.

The glare she gave him promised pain, but she held back because she needed his delightful skills. What a delightful discovery. His smirk broadened slightly. "I'm going to have to get you a punching bag, aren't I? Sad that you need me." He mused tauntingly. If anything cheered him up, it was making her mad. It was SO FUN with a 99 percent risk of getting seriously injured! Stupid things were always the most fun.

"And you're no fun." He pointed out. "But fine. Either get laid or drink a ton. Pick one. Either would improve your attitude." He grumbled. She couldn't get any WORSE, so something had to work. Actually, wait, he should test that theory. Could Miss Eleanor Calvert get any grumpier than she already was. He bet if he referred to her by that exact name, she would get at least 3 times more unhappy.

"It would be very fun! Every time you tried to snap at me, it'd come out as a delightful rasp. You'd have to get fluent in sign language, and I'd have to pretend to have no idea what you were saying. How delightful." He grinned, his feline eyes glittering with literal evil intent, very much like a cat. A cat that could talk and loved using his claws even more than a normal cat.

"It's all of us, sweetheart. She pities the whole sad group." Axl snorted lowly, side eyeing the woman as she walked away. Well, he thought it was a woman. It may have changed genders over time. He was going to refer to that as an it from now on. He was 90 percent sure she saw the world be created, and fought in every war that ever existed, but he was 100 percent sure it had a deal with God because Gawd DAMN.

"Yes. It actually was, and not just because I couldn't understand a fuckin word she said." He scowled. Also because he had to speak in ONE language, because he couldn't juggle six, and he didn't know which one she would understand well enough. He had eventually chosen Vietnamese, and it seemed that it had worked.

Axl offered a searing glare towards the hole that had almost eaten him, then turned it to Norrie, who was obviously laughing at him. "You would've lost a partner if I didn't have wings." He huffed, then threw his hands up. "No shit, Sherlock. But it didn't fucking jump out the top window. We saw it walk out this door. DID IT FUCKING LEVITATE?!" The only way he saw to get around the hole was where Norrie was, a narrow ledge, and the monster living in this house had walked straight out the door. Not around the edge. HOW.

He resorted to muttering under his breath as Norrie started handing out sleeping assignments like paperwork, observing what he could see of the house, his black eyes narrowed. (They're both gonna die of murder xD) "Ima check out the basement." Right on cue, when he heard that Jackson got the couch, meaning Norrie and him would be stuck in the bedroom. He dropped through the small hole, carefully, and landed in a pile of boards, nearly breaking both his legs as they all crumbled under him and shifted. He managed to save it as he hopped down, then looked around, pupils narrowing to slits in the dark. Unsurprisingly, three bats flew out, unhappy about being disturbed. It looked mostly empty, except... "THERE'S A FUCKING COFFIN IN THE BASEMENT WHAT THE HELL." He shot up out of the hole, looking horrified. "Why!? It - the human alien thing that lived here just- what's in it?" A second later, he was gone again, creeping towards the dusty coffin. The lid was barely even closed. He lifted it up slightly and a FOUL stench hit his nose, causing him to gag and cough. Then his eyes landed on a slowly decaying corpse, still looking to be about three centuries younger than the live one. He lifted his lip In disgust, slowly closing the lid. Nooope. Axl got out of the basement quickly, a bit traumatized. "I guess we get the bedroom." He'd take Norrie over a corpse any day, specifically one that looked like it had only been there for a month or two.

"Go eat shit," She muttered. Anyone in a teaching or parental position to a child would tell you to just ignore it and they'll stop. Now, we all know from experience that it doesn't really work, but Norrie was still trying anyway, just to avoid doing something she might regret doing. Or something that'd kill them before she got a chance to regret it.

"I thought that's what he was for," She said, indicating Jackson with her free hand. He, of course, disagreed.

"Actually, I've got loads of useful skills, like...um..." He couldn't come up with anything. There probably wasn't anyone alive who could, actually. Or not alive. Anyone who'd ever possibly existed ever.

"I'm good, thanks," She returned snarkily. Her attitude could, in fact, get worse. Far worse. As it was currently, it was generally considered a good mood. She hadn't tried to strangle anyone yet, nor threaten them in any serious manner.

"Ah yes, delightful. Little did you know, I actually DO know some sign language." To prove it, she flipped him off. There ya have it, fuck you in sign language. Brilliant.

"As do I, kitty. You two are particularly pitiful creatures," Norrie said as condescendingly as humanly possible. Jackson because he had an IQ below 75, and Axl because, well, at the moment, he looked like he lost a fight with a meat grinder. Norrie just looked like she was rooting for said meat grinder.

"I think that's an overstatement, since by the looks of it, you figured it out," She snorted. That old thing sounded like she was only speaking in dead languages. Funny, since she looked well past her own expiration date.

"Pfft, you'd've been fine. Maybe a few broken bones, but that's okay," She snickered. He'd have to be really fuckin stupid to die from, what, an 8, maybe 10 foot fall? "Maybe, hell if I know. Or she's just lived with the hole so long she knows how to get around it better." Or she's a vampire, which would also explain how she was so old. (new headcanon xD)

(bingo xD) Norrie watched as he went to check out the basement hole, and it took a second to register what he'd shouted. Once it did though, Norrie about collapsed in a rare fit of laughter. Then he went back for the hole, for whatever reason, and when he returned, the look on his face only made her laugh harder. "Oh god. You fucking opened it, didn't you?" She wheezed. Once she'd calmed down enough to breathe again, she went off to explore the rest of the small shack, which didn't take long. A bathroom that was more of an outhouse built too close to the main structure, something resembling a kitchen but the size of a walk-in closet, a sparsly furnished bedroom not much larger than the kitchen, and an almost absurd amount of cabinets, small closets, and other such storage spaces for such a tiny dwelling.

"Not that much canine DNA in me." Axl snickered, loving the sheer annoyance he was causing her. It wasn't anything extreme, but bit by bit, he'd make not murdering him a little harder. Then again, she did the same thing to him, so they were even.

"Yes... actually, if you spun a story, that'd work well. Mutilate him to your hearts desire, then report that he was taken by the enemy and tortured." He mused, slowly looking over as they tried to speak. "We could literally just say he was stupid enough to let himself get kidnapped they'd believe it." Because it was true. Jackson was the type of guy to get into a white van without any bribes. No candy needed... he'd jump right in if you asked.

"Too bad. To each their own." He sighed in extreme exasperation, thinking for a moment. Sounded delightful to him but whatever. If she wanted to be a total buzzkill, he couldn't stop her. Party pooper.

"Expected and unoffending." He flashed a sympathetic smile. "Try harder, sweetheart." He had literally made up whole languages in his mind out of boredom, and here she was using a universal sign that everyone understood. Sooo boring.

He threw her a flat, unamused look, looking at Jackson then down at himself. "I do have to argue that I am slightly less pitiful than Jackass." He complained quietly. "Considering I'm literally a computer murder thing with bullets in his hand." That was cool as fuck. No one could deny that. He was not massively pitiful. Maybe a little bit so, but that was because he had about -4 percent body fat. He was convinced that his stomach ate quite a bit of him when it got hungry enough. It was hard as HELL to keep any muscle mass, because it always wanted to eat itself.

"I barely figured it out." His eyes narrowed. "And considering my translator was confused, it was bad." His mind was programmed to recognize every language, and he should be able to speak it to some degree... but apparently 15 different languages in one didn't make sense. Three times out of five when it tried to listen to her talk, it just said new language detected, and the other two out of five times it flashed different random languages. Like Latin. LATIN. No one spoke Latin anymore.

"It would not be okay- I can't heal fast if I don't have food or rest. That's why I look like fucking Swiss cheese!" Although his body had done some major healing in the one sad night of sleep he got. No- wait. He hadn't actually slept, had he? He had paced the whole night. Or most of it. He couldn't remember. Well, that was unhelpful. "I still think she is supernatural and possibly the deity that created the earth." He mused seriously, nose wrinkling. That thing, hardly called a woman, was NOT normal. For more than one reason.

Axl glared at her as she all but dissolved into hooting laughter, then gave up and shook his head. "She's a necromancer." He muttered under his breath, then shuddered. "I really hope she doesn't try to romance this neck." The sentence was barely audible, mostly because whispered in the most terrified manner he had ever mustered up. God, that was a scary thought. "I did." His two word answer was accompanied by a gag. "And a murderer. She's a murderer too." He hadn't- he hadn't expected to actually FIND SOMEONE. Someone that had died no more than 3 months ago.

He didn't bother going to explore everything, instead finding a rag that looked like it might make his arm more dirty than it already was and also might have either Cocaine or bone dust on it. He blew the cloud of, his eyes going cross-eyed as he sniffed the cloud. Definitely Cocaine. Actually, he should be thankful it wasn't bone dust. "Hoooooli shiiiit that's strong." Apparently breathing it straight out of the air was stupid. He shook it out the best he could, getting possibly mildly high in the process as he 'accidentally' inhaled almost all of it, his pupils narrowing to slits again as he finally started cleaning the blood off of his metal arm.

"Uh-huh, sure, kitty," Norrie said flatly, rolling her eyes. He'd claimed before that he had more canine DNA than feline, so he'd better pick between kitty and doggy.

She nodded in agreement, much to Jackson's dismay. He was visibly trying to piece together words to make an argument, but nothing of use was coming out, as per usual. He looked even more hurt when Norrie didn't try to argue with Axl- he wasn't wrong, so why try to make Jackson feel better about his stupidity? (Not them making fun of Jackson before their own abduction mwahaha xD) It was a waste of air. "Very true. Though is it kidnapping if you go willingly?" She mused. He'd definitely go without any fuss, maybe even happily. Hey dipshit, wanna see my new kitten? Boom, Jackson in the van.

"Yeah, you can keep your AIDS to yourself," She said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. No thank you, please. That didn't exactly sound like Norrie's idea of a fun time.

"Maybe I wasn't trying to be offensive, you limp-dicked rooster-fucker," She retorted. Cock-a-doodle-doo. What a horrible visual.

She looked him up and down judgmentally for a moment before saying, "Hm, slightly less pitiful, sure." Only slightly. Jackson was probably a Make-A-Wish kid, except he was too dumb to realize that he was supposed to die at some point.

"But you DID, does it fucking matter that it was hard?" Norrie huffed. Almost a good setup for a lame-ass that's what she said joke.

"Womp womp. I hope you're not trying to say I haven't fed you," She said, narrowing her eyes at him. It's not like he wasn't allowed to ask for food for fuck's sake, it was kind of her JOB now to make sure he was up to snuff.

"She's probably Baba Yaga, and the house's got chicken legs," Norrie mused. The delightful witch of russian folklore, who lives in an ambulatory house on chicken legs, flies in a giant mortar and pestle, and is probably older than dirt.

"Maybe that'll teach you not to go opening coffins you find in people's basements," She snickered. That corpse was probably going to be moved into a closet when all the flesh rotted away. To be a skeleton in the closet. Har-har.

Norrie had finished exploring the little shack and then went on to go through all the cabinets she could, starting with the kitchen. It looked like most of the food was pre-WW1 supplies, maybe older. Many of the labels had long since faded and peeled, now unreadable, and it was all coated in a disgustingly thick layer of dust. She found a bottle of what was either alcohol, some form of oil, or possibly embalming fluid. The idea was to have Jackson try it and see if he lived or not, but he did his best to politely decline. "Um.. can I possibly opt out?" Now, Norrie had two options. Tell him no, he had to at least taste it, or be a decent human being and not shove it down his gullet. She opted for the second, and figured Axl may be willing to try it. "Hey kitty, look what I found. I... don't know what it is," She said, leaving off the wanna drink it? for now, to avoid potentially scaring him off.

Although Jackson looked rightly distraught about this, Axl thought it was a splendid idea. On that note, he was truly shocked the guy understood what they were saying. Then again, mutilate and torture were pretty straight forward bad words to hear when someone was talking about you. Even Jackson had to know that, right? ".... Ima opt for yes. That's why they're always like 'don't get into vans, kids' and when the kids do it is still called kidnapping." They always blame the person in the van. Didn't seem QUITE fair. Maybe if it was a 4 year old, sure, but even an eight year old should be able to put 2 and 2 together.

"I do not have AIDS, thank you very much. I would've died long ago had that been the case." He sniffed haughtily. Honestly surprising, though. To some extent. The idiots never wanted him to die, so they brought him to the brink of death but never let him fall off. Kind of them. Which meant they avoided letting him get diseases that would kill him. AIDS would probably kill him faster than a stab wound to the chest, considering all the other diseases he was exposed to.

"Does the same go for that sentence?" He asked with a smirk. "Awfully easy to rile you up, darlin'. Or at least have your language escalate from a 6 to a 9." He taunted slowly, though not going any further and saying what he wanted to say. Which was a first, honestly.

Axl grinned and nodding enthusiastically. "See? Not QUITE as bad. I'm still winning." He said cheerfully. As long as he never dipped to or below Jackson's playing field, then he was fine being as pitiful as she wanted to call him. He would only get truly offended if she started to actually believe he was more pitiful than Jackson, because that was bad.

He bit the inside of his cheek as SOON as she spoke, but he couldn't help the words. "That's what she said." He mumbled with a defeated huff, knowing damn well it was a sorry excuse for a that's what she said joke but failing to put it into action.

"I believe you've fed me once, so let me be ever grateful and never have to eat again." He said sarcastically, but he really didn't care. He was guessing he wouldn't eat this mission, just for distraction purposes, but he'd eat after they got back and would be fine. And if they didn't get back, he'd eat never and also be fine because he'd be dead. Simple as that.

"If this house fuckin' stands up and dumps us out the front or runs away with us ima be pissed." He glared at the old rotting wood like it could possibly do that.

"I needed to know! It's better to know than to wonder, okay? Ignorance is bliss sometimes, but I've never been into bliss." He did not miss that he worded that like bliss was a drug, eyes wrinkling for a second before he got over it and turned back to the rag. It was the Cocaine's fault.

Axl made sure every crevice and joint was all nice and shiny, then reached one wing around and started wiping the tips. He was fine with being bloody, but his precious metal was not. He made sure to get every last speck of blood off, methodically and slowly, despite not being able to see quite straight.

By the time he was done, he was also back down on earth- ish. He glanced outside to see that it was bright as hell, so if they wanted any sleep, they'd better try and get it now. When night came, they were moving out. Considering he much preferred a nocturnal lifestyle, he was pleased about this. Nighttime was always better. It was cooler, easier on the eyes, less people were around, more animals were out - so much better. Of course, he didn't get to enjoy all that because they were both running from Germany everything and hunting Germans. So this was fun. He dropped the cloth on what he assumed was a counter, though it could've been a mummifying table for all he knew, then peered around until he found the bedroom area. There wasn't even a damn chair he could sit on- in the whole house. There wasn't a table, a wooden chair, nothin'. He sat on the floor with a grumbling huff, brushing off his hands.

"That's true. BUT if you're asking random children to get in your vehicle, I think it counts regardless of how willingly they go," Norrie said. If you were trying to get kids to go with you anywhere, then the blame ultimately falls back on you. Saying "welp, they shouldn't have gotten in that car" is about the same as trying to justify rape with the old "well what were they wearing?" Don't fuckin matter, keep your junk to yourself.

"Well you're gonna end up with it if you think getting drunk and sleeping around is a good idea," She retorted. Or HIV. Or literally any STI/STD under the sun. Grand idea.

"No," She huffed, rolling her eyes. "Bold of you to assume this is a 9." More like a 5-7. Unless he really actually truly pissed her off, it wouldn't get higher than an 8.

"Oh yeah, winning is totally the word I'd pick," She retorted, "more like just barely limping a few millimeters ahead of him." Winning? No. Not losing as badly? Closer. It was like proclaiming you were older than your twin sibling, simply because you were born two minutes earlier.

She shot him a glare at his sad little joke, visibly disappointed by his immaturity. What had she expected, though? She definitely wasn't any better. There was a very small chance she was worse, actually. He could produce some amount of decency when needed, Norrie didn't give enough fucks to do the same.

"Twice. Not that you show any inclination to eat, anyway," She grumbled. Hey, she didn't HAVE to, but she did anyway. Why exactly it mattered to her if he starved or not, she wasn't sure, but in her defense, she also felt some amount of responsibility for Jackson, so it was probably the same thing.

"I thought you were already mad at it for the hole in the floor? Have you two made up already?" She snickered. That, kids, is why you must be aware of any and all possible holes in floors. Or walls, particularly in public bathrooms.

"That... okay, fair enough. Just next time you open a coffin, don't expect it to be pleasant," Norrie said, wrinkling her nose. Hm yes a coffin, let's open it and HOLY FUCKIN SHIT A DEAD BODY, WHO'D'VE THUNK IT.

She took another look at the dusty-ass bottle, unsure whether the glass was brown to begin with or just really fuckin filthy, and decided tasting it could wait. She'd probably end up breaking it trying to get the damned thing open anyway. Instead, she figured she might as well try to make their sleeping arrangement tolerable, which meant finding extra pillows and rolling them in a sheet to make one long pillow divider. Good enough.

"Hrmmm." Axl grumbled lowly, the growling sound reverberating around in his chest. "If the child doesn't even ATTEMPT to resist, though, they're stupid enough as to where the kidnappers are doing the world a favor." He pointed out slowly, then paused for a moment as he contemplated how wrong that sounded. As in if a morally sane person heard him say that, they'd execute him on the spot. Meh. "If they were smart enough to even hesitate, though, totally the kidnappers fault. 100 percent." He added, like that justified it.

"I said it might help, not that it was a good idea. Not like we can do it anyway." He sighed mournfully. No, he was a wee bit busy blowing up Germany. How sad. And back in the US, he'd be far too trapped still. If he made it back.

"I'm assuming it is a 9, never said what scale." He flashed a smug smile. "If I'm thinking 1-100, then I'm being gracious. In this instant, I was thinking somewhere around -3 to 18, so a 9 would make a little more sense." Per usual, he had to make everything as difficult and confusing as possible.

"I would be winning because I would be ahead of him, millimeters or miles. Thats logic." He snorted. "If we crossed a finish line, the people wouldn't be like 'oops, it was only a couple millimeters. Guess the stupid one wins.' They'd recognize my obvious talent and praise my name." In any case, he would still be winning. If he was not losing, then he was winning. That's how life worked. Problem was, he was usually losing.

Axl hadn't been able to hold back, no matter how much he tried. Any sentence that could possibly be twisted, would. (Actually, I've gotten way worse about this in RL xD. My best friend has a mind akin to Axl's, and she has changed me to be in her department of gutter thoughts. We were literally eating dinner and her brother said something about his pancake being super soft and floppy, and we both simultaneously said 'that's what she said' and almost died laughing. We're broken. Broken, I say)

"Twice... and I love food. Just... food doesn't love me." He wrinkled his nose. His stomach was tiiiiny, since he wasn't used to eating, so he could only eat a very small amount at a time or he'd get massively sick. He very much enjoyed any food given to him, but even eating an apple could make him feel like shit. He knew the idiots at the lab did that on purpose so that they wouldn't have to feed him as much. Stupid ass mutton heads.

"I'm ignoring you and pretending my life is amazing." He sniffed, envisioning a lake and almost instantly seeing a body floating in it. Okay, brain. He winced and glanced around. Yup, he wasn't returning from this.

"I never said I expected it to be pleasant. I just expected bones, I guess." He mused. "The coffin had dirt clinging to the sides... it had already been buried. Somebody dug it up. I assumed that meant it had been down there a little while." Apparently, he shouldn't have. Assuming anything was bad, because... obviously... ass-u-me.

Axl glanced at the bed as she started making a pillow divider thing- badly, he must add- and snorted. "No need. I won't be sleeping tonight anyway." To be courteous, he'd even pace in the other room as to not interrupt her own not sleeping. With that in mind, he pushed off of the floor and wandered out, peering at the bottle of stuff she had set on the counter. He could smell the reek of it like a brick wall hitting his nose. With a cough of disgust, he moved away and found a spot on the floor that looked like it wouldn't cave in, then started pacing slowly.

"Wh- no. That's not how that works," She sighed. "If you have a three-year-old who's very extroverted and hasn't learned that the world fucking sucks yet, nor can they fully grasp that concept anyway, is it the child's fault or the pervert who's had several decades to get his shit together?" That should be pretty goddamn obvious. Now, you do sort of get a gray area when you get to around 9-12 years old, by then it falls back mainly on the parents for being shitty at actually parenting. Older than 12-ish? Prooobably the kid's fault for being so damn thick in the skull by then. HOWEVER. The VAST majority of blame was STILL on the goddamn pervert. Like, at least 60% of it. "But if they don't hesitate, then it's justified?" Norrie'd kill a child with minimal inner conflict, not turn a blind eye to trafficking.

"Who said we can't? Pretty sure DoorDash recently launched in Germany, and they'll deliver alcohol," she mused. (click) Honestly a viable option, they didn't have to go anywhere and they could just have Jackson get the door- he looked rather innocent and forgettable. The only problem was the hangover- but they could order coffee or something, that shit helps to some degree, right? Eh, they'd figure it out.

"What kind of fuckwad uses a scale of NEGATIVE FUCKING 3 TO 18? What is WRONG with you?" She huffed with a disgusted look. 0 to 20 was acceptable, not -3 to 18, dammit. Hell, even -5 to 15 would be better.

"Well yeah, if you ain't winning, you're losing, but the degree to which you're winning determines how smug you can be about it. If you're just barely winning, you just barely get to be smug," Norrie retorted. It was probably the only thing that kept people humble besides, y'know, actually losing, but even then many people were shit at that.

(omg that's so funny tho xD 10 outta 10 response lmao)

"Fair. Buuuut... do acknowledge the fact that you still need some form of calories, and are - big shocker - allowed to express needs," She said. The fuck was she gonna say if he told her he needed something? Ha, no, too bad, so sad you little fucker, deal with it? Well, maybe, if he had terrible timing, but it'd be more of an annoyed 'not right now'.

"Uh-huh. You have fun with that," She muttered, shaking her head. (Rather off-topic, but that body in a lake reminded me of what I dreamt last night- my family was watching supercross, and one dude was wearing no protective gear, just his shorts, being cocky. He took a digger, visibly broke/fucked up his spine, and the announcer dudes deadass said "Welp, the most humane thing here is suicide, he's gonna be put down." and honestly I've been a little fucked up all day thinking about that T-T)

"Oh god, she's a grave robber," Norrie said dramatically and despairingly. That just made it worse, though- that it was clear it'd been dug up previously.

She glanced at him sideways and asked, "When was the last time you slept? Like, actually slept? I don't care WHERE you sleep, whether it's the floor, a closet, or with that corpse, but I refuse to be dragging another sleep-deprived idiot, I do that enough with me, myself, and I."