Lion Head Mesa (ap) I wish you nothing but the gentle kiss of yellow piss.

the thing about doing things for money was, well, you got used to doing terrible things. shoko had no such reservations about the sport (or lack thereof) of beating a drunk man. 

he’d been around enough to know the tension in the room only ended one way. he was poised on ramesses’ word, and the moment the pharaoh spoke shoko followed after arsenio. 

the joviality of his drunken brethren was fading. shoko caught just enough of a glimpse to feel a faint prickle of sympathy. not enough to stay his teeth, which were already aiming at reyes’ haunch to hamstring him while the mazoi closed in.