“So, Rhonda, you excited? It’s your first vacation with us after all!” “Explain why exactly I can’t stay behind with Metzger and Grace?” “What? You can’t ski?” “Not...here with her family stuck in fucking Oz of all places?! “Your dessert is starting to run, Rhonda.” Glynn puts a hand on her shoulder. “Eat up. You need some meat on them bones.”
Man, that pumpkin pie sure looks good. Lucky bastard. His granny actually cares enough to send nice things… Well, the bastard won’t be lucky for long. It’ll be Thanksgiving all over again...fudge Rebadow’s mother keeps seeding, but he was so sick of fudge! Fuck this. Thanks to the bastard and his bitch grandma, he’ll never look at a good ol’ pumpkin pie the same way again.
He looks at the Advent Calendar with pride. He knew that language learning website would pay off - sure, he didn’t get to know women the way he wanted to - that hot German chick he’s been talking...about that shit without candy - but what does she know? He won’t let those inspirational phrases go to waste! He looks at his chart. Paolo Rosa has done well in that High School program…
“Petey, I’m just off to…” And there he is again, crawling over the floor, scrubbing it furiously. Damn. He can’t be left alone, not even for a few minutes. For fucks sake, is it so...a bad dream.” He’s gotten used to telling him what’s easiest. It still feels like a horrible lie, though - a part of him hates himself, whenever he thinks about it. “Everything is alright.”
The smug bastard Loewen is arguing with some fish guy again, not that Vern gives a fuck. He has other problems. Word’s out that most of Oz just froze over. He’s worried about his boys out there...defying him, but… they are his boys, for fucks sake. He loves them, and he wants only what’s best for them. He buries his face in his hands. He just prays to the Lord he’ll find them soon.
He wakes up that morning - a week into Petey almost not talking - cold all over. It’s like knives stabbing into his face. His hands too as soon as he pulls the covers back, rushing to the radiator... “They are fighting over the hot showers. Today we got a guy who had his nose and an ear bitten off.” “Damn, that’s sick.” “Yeah, guess you could call it that.”
...use crying over spilt milk. He needs to focus. Getting good with Adebisi it is… so to figure out how he has to think like that crazy fuck does. Adebisi seems really intent on that whole king-shit. Death must have done something to that mind of his. So, Antonio has to think king… maybe a grand ball to welcome the union? Nah, that won’t work. A ball ain’t no ball if you don’t have women in...
He stretches his limbs. Another day, another brawl. He likes that. The war has sure improved his dull life. Before the war, everything was always the same old. Wake up, eat, shit, stand around Adebisi...had been there, the war would have been won long ago. When did he get the last update? Seems like quite some time has passed since then... “Hey, Chiquito… any news about the war?”
He raises his hand. “We haven’t talked about the people captured by the niggers,” he says, trying to appear bored about the subject. But damn that fucking Alvarez. Now Chico has to go and save... that’s what he’s good at. That’s what he understands. There’s so little that his mind can grasp, and... There it is again, the rage. But it’s alright. Today he’ll need it.