Cabbies And Killers - Tumblr Posts

"Fucking tell me about it." Blitz sat down heavily on the barstool next to Roth, folded his arms, and plunked his forehead down hard on them. "That whole thing was--you know, I'm obviously the actual fucking worst at coping mechanisms," he said with a little snort, lifting his head to look at his friend, "but that shit was something else.

"And some of the fuckers there I don't even know. It's just fun for them. Feels good, I guess. Safe. Hating people. I--I get that." He sat up straight and poked at a fading moisture-ring someone's glass had left on the bar. "But like, this asshole Dennis. He wanted to fuck me at a Bee party. I kind of remember it, mostly that he was really like, you know, fucking grabby. I remember the taste of his breath more than anything else, I was so fucked up and drunk. Apparently, Bee insisted my daughter take me home because I was so 'not okay,'" Blitz made air quotes, "and yet this fucker, Dennis, is now entitled to hate me? Cause he couldn't drunk-assault me?

"I've done a lot of shit, man, but I've never fucked someone who was too wasted to consent. Fuck that. Fuck everyone at the party. I mean fuck me, too. But... Jesus fucking Christ. So does just like, everyone know about that shit? It was on the radio, right?" The imp leaned back now, clacking the ends of his horns against the back of the barstool. It made a satisfying sound, so he did it again, and when the bartender finally came over, he just flipped him off rather than order a drink.

“Now, far be it from me, but throwing a yearly hate party for one Imp is too much. It reeks of scorned bitch vibes.”

That last made Blitz laugh, and although there was some grief in the sound, there was also the inevitable shedding of pain; that was why friendship was so damn important, after all. Just to talk to each other, to acknowledge the things that hurt, to validate each other, sometimes that was enough to get someone through the darkest times. He watched Roth for a moment, then nodded and finally looked back at the bartender, behaving himself. Blitz ordered a drink, and once it was in his hand, he took a long sip, then nodded towards Roth's glass.

"Can I get your next? Absinthe, right? Stolas drinks that... buuuut this probably isn't the time to talk about him. He's--free. Of me. Doing his own shit now, and maybe--maybe someday we'll figure ourselves out. But until then? No more dwelling. And you're right, maybe I should take pride in living in their heads rent-free," he added with a quiet little snort of amusement, although deep down he wasn't so sure this was the kind of thing to really take pride in. Still, it felt good to just hang out and vibe with his friend, and he reached out with his tail to tap against Roth's leg, just the briefest little friendly gesture, meant to reassure and to thank.

"So, you don't follow Verosika for the music, huh? Totally follow her for the plot?" Blitz grinned and turned on the seat so he could face Roth better, tucking one leg up under himself. "You should go for it, man. Try flirting with her. She's--maybe a petty, jealous, stalking bitch, but she's more than that. She's pretty great. And maybe I'm fucking biased here, but I think you're pretty great, so, you know. If you're into that, you should totally tell her. Maybe someone like you, with some common fucking sense, would be good for her.

"I mean," he looked down at his drink, smiling a little more sadly now, "you're good for me, and we're not even dating." Blitz took another swallow, then looked back over. "How have you been though? What have you been up to? Are you like--are you okay these days?"

Sympathy on call, Roth listened to every word of Blitzo’s story. Bohemian in taste, Roth consumed Absinthe prepared by the French method.

To Roth, The Imp struck him as having thick skin. Blitzo was a killer, an assassin free of scruples. Yet, the pain was all over The Imp’s face. Though soused, Roth couldn’t ignore it. He’s seen that face in the mirror. Every. Time.

If this was anyone, Roth would find the humor in the situation. Laughing the pain away. Seeing the absurdity and stupidity of it. Yet, comedy was hard to summon. After all, Blitz was his friend and laughter wasn’t the medicine.

Surprisingly, Roth knew who Dennis was through Gehenna policy. They were instructed to never give rides to Dennis. To always ignore Dennis. To never help Dennis. To run over Dennis when the opportunity presents itself. Not surprising, considering Gehenna bans certain people from using their lustrous service. Just, Roth wasn’t sure ( or can remember ) what Dennis even did.

Just that everyone hated him. It was tradition. Yet, considering what Dennis was doing with Blitz, that policy was justified.

Taking communion from his glass, Roth’s eyes studied Blitzo. He answers candidly.

“Yeah, everyone. I learned through Sinstagram. I uh . . . follow Verosika. I don’t care about the music, not my style.”

Roth confessed, knowing he followed Verosika out of lust and attraction. Sure, he doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell with her. But hey, he can dream on.

“I saw the selfies and learned about the party. Yeah, I think it’s overdone and serves no therapy. It’s like- scratching open a scab, making it bleed.”

That’s how Roth felt about the party and attendants. The way Roth carried his hatred seemed downright righteous and mature compared to Verosika. Sure, that’s from a friend’s biased perspective. Yet again. The scab analogy carried enough weight.

“Well . . .  what can you do? Just move on, leave them to their hate and shit. Besides, you should take pride my man. You live in their heads rent free.”