[ boothill, hatless, is right up in his cell in the security room. he's kicked the bed in half and trashed whatever was on it. his knuckles have been beat up and scratched where they've fruitlessly punched at the walls, the iron sharp and frayed and broken, exposing the shadows and some wires underneath.
he's standing in the middle of the room, facing the broken bits of the bed. his head whips to whoever's walked in on him, his eye still glowing, sharp teeth bared in a scowl.
it's this kid. boothill turns and walks up right to the bars. ]
I ain't forkin' tellin' you fudge, ya little varmint.
[ oh he wants SO BAD to make fun of his swearing. he wants to do it sooooooo bad he almost has to physically restrain himself from it. but he manages. ]
...do you actually want to pass this so-called "audit"? Because this is, unfortunately, a team effort. And this is your last chance to tell us anything that might give us a leg up, you know.
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he's standing in the middle of the room, facing the broken bits of the bed. his head whips to whoever's walked in on him, his eye still glowing, sharp teeth bared in a scowl.
it's this kid. boothill turns and walks up right to the bars. ]
I ain't forkin' tellin' you fudge, ya little varmint.
no subject
...do you actually want to pass this so-called "audit"? Because this is, unfortunately, a team effort. And this is your last chance to tell us anything that might give us a leg up, you know.
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Bite me, you 'lil forker. [ he's practically growling. ] I got nothin' to say to you unless you're gettin' me outta this cell.
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I'll let you out if you manage to say fuck. Even just the once.