Shit.
Sparks flutter out back of the club as Riff attempts for the dozenth time to light his damn cigarette.
"Stupid fuckin' lighter man, come on..."
Flick. Flick. Flick. No ignition. Between this, and the 'incident' that occured on the floor of the Prose today...
"Grrr, man, come ON! Today fucking SUCKS!"
The irate ratboy chucks his faulty lighter into the wall, causing it to burst open and spill onto the ground. Spilling just like...
A shudder wracks Riff's body. He does NOT need to think about that. Or what he just saw in general. Nope. That can be processed once his extended 'break' is finished and he's back on shift. For now?
He needs a light.
"Hey, uh- excuse me?" Riff trots up to the nearest individual in the back alley - some slutty looking catboy, one of the dancers if he recalls correctly - and puts on his best pitiable grin.
"Sorry to bug you, but do you got a light? My lighter broke and-"
Sudden snickering interrupts Riff's thought process as the catboy's lips curl into a derisive smirk.
"Yeah mousie, I saw what happened to your lighter. You sure showed it who's the boss. Gonna headbutt the wall next to try and knock it down?"
The stripper looms over Riff with a foot of height on the poor ratboy. "Get. Lost."
Riff recoils from the words, jaw clenching and arms crossing in discomfort. "Right, uh...thanks," He mumbles out as he retreats away from the sassy catboy slut. "Rude, man..." Riff mutters, cheeks heated up in embarassment. Even the dancers here at the Prose like to bully him. Assholes. All of them, assholes...
"..." Contemplatively, Riff stares at the closed back door. Maybe he should just cut his unofficial break early and head inside. "No point prolonging it..." Riff mutters, walking up and into the Purple Prose. His workplace, his home away from home! More like a mouse trap. Speaking of which...
"And by the way," Riff snaps back at the catboy with a sunset glare, "I'm part RAT, not a mouse."
He slams the door behind him at that. Not exactly a stunning comeback, but getting the last word in felt good. Small victories.
"Now, uh...back to work," Riff says with a slight grimace, walking deeper into the club. Strobe lights and half-dressed kemonomimi litter the main floor as Riff approaches the bar, intent on retaking his place behind-
There's someone behind the bar. HIS bar. As in, the one he's...like...paid to bartend.
"Woah, w-what the fuck?" Riff says, pointing with wide worried eyes at вы. "What're you doing back there?? Did they replace me- wait, am I FIRED? Is it because of the thing? The thing that- Ah..."
Riff groans, covering his tomato-red face.
"Shit."
