Barrow Fields yo adrian!

He sucked in his breath with a sharp hiss, feigning hurt and dismay. Damn, girl, right out with the zingers, Vercingetorix replied, blinking rapidly, like an injured faun. You think they're gonna write songs about a gnarly dude like me? Nah, you and the sea. . .that's song-worthy. Plenty of jokes about my face, though, he added, shooting her a fiendish grin and sliding his tongue over his gleaming fangs for extra effect.

His countenance relaxed, then, and he let out some chuckles. Vercingetorix, miss, he introduced himself, bowing his head for a moment before looking at her again. My parents hated me, or at least everyone destined to meet me. You can call me Verx. He shrugged, eyes rolling toward the sea. You know, maybe that's why there are no songs about me: what really--honestly--rhymes with Vercingetorix?

Tricks. Sticks. Mix. But, like, whatever. The whole damn word, is what he meant.