#fuck sky daddy and his cronies

[naddpod-encounter-tourney]

Option 1:

Enemy: High King Durretar, Ancient Blue Dragon of the Sapphire Scale

Episode: C3 E27: King of Dragons

Time: 48:48-2:11:35 (battle stops at 2:03:55 but initiative ends at the later time)

Finish: Princess Shiverblight

Notes: On 3, regicide! The level 8 party decides to fight an ancient dragon on their own when only one of them manages to long rest beforehand. The mechanics of this encounter include dragon riding and are so goddam cool. It's also incredibly visual and one of Murph's best uses of lair actions to date.

Propaganda: (anonymous) CMON ITS KING OF DRAGONS. SO SICK. genuinely from the bottom of my heart the most exciting, interesting, and cool encounter I've ever seen. Rad as hell both mechanically and plot wise. SHIVERBLIGHT SWEEP!!

MY SUPERBOWL OF DND FIGHTS!!!!! TRULY SO ICONIC AND FUN!!!! COMBAT OF ALL TIME

I mean, come on! It was a giant fucking sky battle on the backs of dragons, unbelievably cinematic, lots of close calls, princess shiver blight, nothing comes fucking close!

Princess Shiverblight MVP

you know.

it's just so sick and scary

Option 2:

Enemy: Lord Ultrus and the Order of the Runny Eye

Episode: C3 E44: Trial by Steel and C3 E45: Lord Ultrus

Time: 1:04:08 (44) - 1:42:08 (45)

Finish: Hardwon (traps Ultrus in the Kingshammer)

Notes: Hardwon starts the battle with a Battlemaster ability. Jaina and Calder finally get involved in a fight (from inside the helm!!). Callie joins them inside the helm, and Ultrus and the cultists keep swapping who is inside the helm and who is outside the helm. Hardwon has a real Hardwon moment of standing alone, facing down a god (or a giant who made a deal with a god and has the powers of a god, who was responsible for the death of his best friend). Sol does some shenanigans and kind of keeps missing but is also impossible to hit. Kenna keeps saving lives. I cannot actually describe in words the moment where Hardwon regains the Kingshammer, casts Spirit Guardians, and an army joins them, as we get to finally see Cobb's final moments and the memory that was stored in the hammer. Jake is playing 2 PCs wonderfully. Also: "Hardwon! Catch!"

Propaganda: (anonymous) Not only is the battlefield dynamic and engaging (having Ultrus and his cronies switching between battlefields, making it effectively two battles at once) it also has narrative emotional stakes and big character moments (Old Cobb’s last words to Hardwon).

(also this post)

The concurrent battles in the material plane and in the demiplane, Ultrus's ability to switch between the two so everyone got to fight both him and the warlock goons, the extra abilities stolen from the trapped prisoners, the mechanics for breaking out of the helm, HARDWON AND JAINA AND THE DWARF DADDIES

god i know so many people will add this one but i love it so much. the way they jump back and forth between the Trial by Steel and the fight inside the helm is SO GOOD. i still have goosebumps from Jaina throwing the queenshammer through the barrier and Hardwon catching it. also the stakes were SO HIGH it was FANTASTIC. 10/10 combat

HUGE!!!! ITS HUGE!!!!! omg where to even start with this. the rolls alone feels INSANE AGSHAJDJSKD. JAINA AND CALDER. THE MOMENT WITH THE KINGSHAMMER. CALDER SUCCESSFULLY TACKLING ULTRUS. HARDWON GETTING A 30 TO PUT HIM IN THE HAMMER. THE SPIRIT GUARDIANS???????? I CRIED

truly the epitome of murph encounters! two different battles waging at the same time, with different combat styles (one big enemy vs lots of weaker baddies) in different planes, that then switch so everyone gets to fight in every situation. great group of PCs and NPCs that make excellent choices (shoutout to jake for playing two characters at once!), tons of emotional beats, and a very satisfying narrative closure to the arc. gotta love it

[rabbiteartrans]

The most confusing part about the "hail Malthus" at the end of Urinetown is...

Throughout the show... as far as i've noticed, overpopulation as a theme is never so much as hinted at, especially as a cause of the drought. In fact it's made pretty explicitly clear there IS tons of water still - notably in the song 'Mr. Cladwell', the sky being filled with dark grey clouds, aka WATER! It just pretty much NEVER rains. It's an ecological disaster born from the effects of climate change.

And that's not even the only aspect of the show that seemingly stands in opposition to a Malthusian reading. (That sentence is possibly the most pretentious i've ever sounded).

If anything the show seems to hold a lot of anti-capitalist (pro-communist you might even say) messages.

Caldwell and his cronies are pretty clearly shown to be money-grubbing scumbags putting on a show of using their funds to further a common goal of the masses (finding a long-term solution to the drought) while actually just hoarding wealth and paying off governmental figures and law officers to keep the working class under their collective thumb for the sake of draining more from them. The proletariat rising up against the bourgeoisie is,, kinda the whole point of the show!

And the first act of said uprising is.. well, taking over the local pay-toilet and therefore disrupting Caldwell's revenue stream. Seizing the means of production as it were. Even locking themselves inside it at one point when The Rich(tm) come cracking down on them.

Urinetown also very obviously has a TON of Brechtian influences. Brecht famously being a pretty starch communist and never shying away from promoting such messages in his work.

And yknow, getting to the point of this point... Karl Marx, the fuckin Daddy Big Dick of Communism(tm)? Fucking HATED Malthus and his bullshit theories. So Brecht very much would have too.

There are only really 2 moments in the show where it strays away at all from this sorta reading:

Right after Snuff That Girl where they seem to imply that like.... the rich are victims of a widespread smear campaign?? ("Let's bring our message of hate to the entire world!" "Easy, friend, a message like ours works best under extremely unbalanced circumstances." "Such as we have right here?" "Exactly. Now, get the rope.")

At the very end where all the water is used up and they essentially say Cladwell was Right ("As cruel as Caldwell B. Cladwell was, his measures effectively regulated water consumption, sparing the town the same fate as the phantom Urinetown."), and end the show with a shout of "Hail Malthus!".

Curiously though, even in that final scene there's still a through-line of anti-capitalist sentiment. The only surviving Rich Bitch, Mister McQueen, "opened a bottling factory just outside of Brasília, which did rather well until the Amazon dried up. Then he moved". Odd detail to throw in at the very end, no? I never even noticed McQueen, a very minor side character, did survive until re-reading the script just today. I interpret it as a show that the influences of capitalism, of bottling up this natural resource and selling it, is what's CAUSING the devastation in the first place. The Amazon was still holding on despite the drought somehow, until little bastard McQueen, the final remaining vestiges of Cladwell's previous empire, gets to it. Earlier, Cladwell also mentions (re: Senator Fipp's metaphorically filthy hands) "you can wash them soon enough! Wash them by the banks of the Rio del Rio". I could find no information on what the fuck that is! It isn't... any real river or anything. But Rio does translate from portuguese to "river" so I assume he just meant "the rivers of Río" - so there's established even more places still flush with water.

That's actually another running plot-line in the show. Cladwell's Rich Bitches (including the cops) repeatedly talk about how they're going to move to Rio de Janeiro with their hordes throughout both acts. It's also mentioned he's spent "a lifetime building this company" - his whole bare minimum 40 year life. A company dedicated to running these public toilets and controlling water consumption. Something necessary for a drought.. that's only lasted 20 years. He also says (re:establishing his company's stronghold on the local water supply) "twenty years ago we came to the people of this community". We, as an established company. Presenting himself as an outsider, not already part of the local community. Righhhht when the drought began.

What i'm getting at here is a theory of Cladwell, as a representation of Capitalistic greed, taking advantage of the rapidly worsening climate crisis and manipulating circumstances to create an absurdly extreme water extreme shortage and make mountains of cash under the guise of humanitarianism. Then the plan was, when this area's people have been bled dry of all they have, move on to Rio. Most of them die of course but that plan lives on with McQueen... who then moves on to somewhere else. The pattern continues.

Um.. this kinda just devolved into Urinetown Conspiracy Theories huh

My point is, the views of the show on capitalism and corporations and the bourgeoisie are clear as day despite a couple questionable tidbits - theyre parasites, and what good they claim to do for you is only so you can keep feeding them til you're empty.

The end result of the people using up all their water after Cladwell is gone and dying isn't a Malthusian trap, it's a Tragedy of the Commons (a situation where individuals in a group given free reign to a resource will selfishly abuse that privilege, causing depletion). A whole thing that is equally shitty but does have some actual like.. real-world applications at least at a base level.

So... yeah, I don't believe that Urinetown is trying to promote a Malthusian mindset at all.

.... so why the "Hail Malthus"?? Idfk!

Closest I could give ya is maybe it's an ironic shout-out, mocking the ideas of Malthus by giving an ending greatly resembling a Malthusian trap to a story that basks in an opposing ideology. Like fuckin... Nintendo releasing a Mario game all about going fast and saving the world from an evil scientist and going "wow Sonic's great huh everyone? ;)"

Idk, thinking up analogies is hard.

Sorry for this being so long and rambly - i've been researching abd mulling over and bashing out this post for like.... minimum 3.5 hours by now and it's nearly 4am

I hope it made sense (disclaimer: i'm a moron, take every piece of information here with a grain of salt probably) and uhhh if anyone reading this has any further insights???? Lemme know, this has been Killing Me

Edit:

I do wish people would stop interacting with this bcnffnfndfn

It's Bad and Dumb and Humiliating

also schniggles' comment is Correct

[jjba-hell]

Repaid

Day 3 and its time for some spaghetti western shenanigans.

Listen... I don’t like Westerns but I did have way too much fun writing this so do with it what you may.

Reader stays gender neutral in this house, no real warnings save for some guns and violence. Enjoy.

The dull ache in your right eye socket is really starting to get you. You’d figured you could sleep it off if not for the scratchy material of the tavern sheets under your skin.

Wait.

How did you get to the tavern again? Last time you checked Miles was a few days behind you and he had the money. The plan was to camp.

Camp... camp... oh right camp! You sat up to look for anyone else awake- someone should be on watch but there’s no dying campfire beside you. There was nothing beside you, not even a horse to say you’d been left behind. All that stretched around you was an infinite amount of desert sand painted pale blue by the full moon above you.

“Shit.” You hiss out between your teeth as you push yourself up on your feet. Not even so much as a sleeping mat was underneath you and god this stupid eye of yours was foggy. Must be some sand caught in your eye- wouldn’t it scratch though?

You didn’t have much time to consider pondering as a shadow- that’s the best you could describe it- pushed its shoulder through you and continued a sluggish walk ahead of you to fuck knows where.

“Where are you going?” You found yourself asking with a voice much too hoarse to be your own. Not only was it hoarse but it brought awareness to just how dry and cracked your mouth and throat were. If you’d been out here since sundown or ever before that your throat was probably bleeding. Might explain the taste.

Without feeling like you had much choice you started walking after the shadow. The longer you walked the worse every annoying itch turned into an ache- the scratchiness in your throat only seemed to get worse the more you huffed a breath to continue walking. If you were following death, honestly you’d just laugh.

After what felt like hours you were no longer alone- a few other figures much like the one you were following seemed to join you in blindly walking after the leader. You couldn’t see much of them either, not that they were close enough to look at anyway. The town’s dull yellow lights seemed to brighten every step you took but it wasn’t enough to convince your body to cooperate. The closer you got, the heavier your limbs, the harder the steps until your knees gave out under you and your face acquainted itself with the dirt.

All you could remember after that was the feeling of hands clasping themselves under your arms and your feet dragging behind you.

“That’s the only memory I have of that night. I had no idea I even spoke to you.” You admitted to the man whose saddle you were slung over. “So unless you plan on selling yourselves out for a little bounty money I don’t see why this is fucking necessary.”

When you’d woken up from that night you found yourself more coddled than you’d ever been in your life- swaddled in soft sheets and even softer pajamas, wrapped up in bandages like you were a porcelain doll.

Didn’t last long and now you owed this gang money for your stay and a doctors visit. You promised you’d pay them back but you didn’t have a fucking penny on you. Their solution? Tying your hands in front of you and slinging you over the saddle of the one with the weird eyes.

“You admitted to being from the McRoys gang- that’s loyalty bonded by blood.” The gruff voice above you commented, not doing anything to qualm the painful pounding your stomach was getting from the horse’s steps.

“My sister married a McRoy for fuck’s sake, those fucks don’t mean shit to me!”

“Swear that on ya daddy’s grave?” Came the question after some audible hooves clambering to get closer to your head.

“I’ll do ya one better- I’ll put ‘em in his grave and THEN swear they ain’t mean shit to me.”

Their boss slowed down to a stop and you’ve never wanted to slide headfirst into the sand more than you did in that moment. “This the place?”

You were hauled off of the horse and onto shakey legs. True as hell you stood at the sign for the McRoy ranch and to even a bigger surprise your goddamn horse stood at the troth drinking water with your saddle on and all.

“Why you fucking- untie me right now.” You held your bound wrists at the giant man that had lifted you off.

He only gave an amused huff of air from his nose as he cut you free so you could stomp through the hot sand on bare feet.

“And you leave me? After hauling you out of your fucking mother all those years ago, I topple off you once and you fucking high-tail it?” You angrily grab the knapsack from its back to rummage through for some clothes- wasting no time to slip over your head and over your ass to replace the pajamas.

“Are you sure you were riding alone?” The brunette with the ponytails asked.

“Yeah. I don’t even remember why I toppled, let alone where or how..” You peered at the team once more. “My boots?”

They all seemed to share a laugh as the blonde coughed it up and you humiliatingly stepped straight in them.

“Right. So now that we’re all on equal footing... what do you really want from me?”

Being an outcast in any group was difficult, LaSquadra was no different. You’d have to risk your skin more than once to finally be able to earn even a bit of trust from their boss specifically and what you’d deem your cut was quickly snatched up by Formaggio for drinks until one day Risotto handed you your cut of coin and instead of quietly handing over the money, pulled a gun at Formaggio’s head- the first right move you’d pulled in weeks.

You’d soon learn each of them held a bounty over their heads- deciding to stick together instead of trying to haul each other’s asses to the nearest sheriff. And with your handiwork all over the McRoy ranch heist (clean as you’d tried to keep it), you’d find yourself with a bounty almost comparable to Risotto’s.

It was only when your place among them was solidified that you found yourself suggesting more and more outlandish schemes for a bigger cash grab.

“But we gotta start thinking logically about this- if we burn down every sheriff’s office there’d be no evidence to incriminate us.” You had jabbed at Illuso as you two ducked under an overturned table. One moment you were offering a stand off in the town square, the next thing you knew the bar was being blown sky high by some awfully desperate lawmen.

Risotto’s bullwhip slid across the shattered glass from the neighboring table and that what all signal you needed. “And all of this because ONE wanted poster showed you having a mole on your upper lip.”

“Did you not see the size of that thing??”

Risotto kicked the overturned table to slide into the crowd- leaving you enough of a gap to between the bullets to crack the whip into a couple hands- those viper venom soaked bone shards woven into the end was doing enough damage to the holder’s hand to knock ‘em out of the game for the count.

You got enough of them down to give Ghiaccio the chance to fire a few shots and Melone to bust open the window where Pesci awaited with your way out.

Risotto slid in behind your table and handed the loaded pistol for your round of shots. Not that you missed half as much as the men your travelled with.

Your right eye never did stop being foggy- Melone suspected cataracts but you saw targets much too easy with your foggy eye to cover it up completely. Maybe you were taking “deadeye” too literally though.

After 5 out of 6 rounds now lodged firmly in some lawmen’s thighs you hopped out the window last and took off after the rest of your team.

“If we have to pay for one more bar’s repairs I swear to god I’ll turn myself in for a hanging.” Formaggio huffed as he dropped onto the dusty floor beside you- fingers outstretched for the bottle of moonshine you were only passing around- that shit was vile.

“They’ve been hot on our trail for a while now- you think the townspeople are sick of us?”

“Somehow I doubt they’re willing to take their chances with Ciocolatta’s cronies, must be something else.” Prosciutto lowered himself to your other side, offering a cigarette which you did accept. “You don’t think it’s the new governor?”

“That little blonde pipsqueak? No, there’s no way- he probably got that job from his daddy and doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, let alone getting lawmen to run us down this consistently. Illuso, you’re the one making people squeal when we stay in town, no rumors that could have sparked this?”

“Carne’s allegedly dead but he’s not big enough for the people to let their guards down now.”

“Well we might be finding out soon.” All your heads spun to Risotto as he walked back into camp from the first watch. “There’s someone coming this way.”

“I’m guessing you think we can take them?”

“Sick of running. Anyone who’d come this far after us at least deserves an audience.”

You’d packed everything up except the fire in the camp- if it was going to be a shootout, at least you’d be ready to leave. You were about to mount your horse when Risotto stopped you. “I’m gonna let you stand up front-“ he handed you his bullwhip and two more casings of ammo. “If anything goes south, you’re our best shot.”

So you nodded and led your horse to the front, the others waiting behind you as the group- matching your own in numbers- came to a stop.

“You calling the shots?” The one with long white hair cascading under the brim of his hat asked.

“Nah- just the front line. What you come out all this way for? The moonshine’s shit unfortunately.”

“Precaution. We’re not here for any arrests, though.” Mr Black Bob came to his partner’s defense- the rest only seemed to wait.

“No arrests? You say that with a lawman right next to you?” You gave a nod to Mr Moonhair.

The click of a pistol had the hairs on the back of your head stand up. You didn’t know from which side it came from but it was like a cascade of 13 other pistols pulling back their hammers.

“Perhaps we should talk before we jump to conclusions. Name’s Bucciarati.”

“Well Bucciarati it sounded like that pistol cock came from your side first. I don’t know if I can trust a bunch of snakes that lie to my face.”

It was surprisingly not Mr Moonhair that removed his revolver from its holster. It was the one with the bandana over his head.

Another cascade of metal slipping from leather as they all pointed at one another, save for you and Bucciarati. “Got some trigger-happy subordinates there, Bucci. Who do you work for?”

“The governor.” All charm had left his voice and now you were left to the stiff formalities of a man serving.

“Ah. So you ARE lawmen.”

“We have no idea what sinister grip you have over the townspeople but it will not continue like this. We’re here for an ultimatum. Disappear from your business and all bounties will drop- no lawman will arrest you and the warrant for your hangings will be dropped.”

“Mhm and if we’re caught doing our usual business?”

“Then all charges are doubled.”

You couldn’t help but give an earnest laugh as you broke the stare off between you and Bucciarati. You leisurely turned around and mounted your horse. Risotto gave you a knowing look as you did, stealing yourself to look into Bucciarati’s ocean blue eyes.

“Do yourselves a favor- go visit Reaverbrooke. Ask some questions... shit if anyone is still there... and get a feel for the service we provide. Make sure you report all of that to the little blonde boy’s boot you’re lickin’ and maybe then we can talk on ultimatums.”

The barrels lowered as you spoke, watching Bucciarati keep up his attempt at a death stare.

“But since you’re lucky, you’re dealing with the bleeding heart of this gang- we’ll lay low until you come back to us. Same time next week?”

Bucciarati wasn’t given much time to answer as you led your squad out of the camp. Once enough distance was put between you, Risotto came up beside you.

“You’re leading us to their base? What are you mad?”

“Someone’s gotta put that pipsqueak back into his place. Who better than us?”

[ohhsstylo]

Disgusting Days (pt. 1) [Murdoc Niccals Drabble]

Hey, here’s a (long) drabble about Murdoc’s childhood. And it’s going to be lowkey interactive!

I’m gonna post follow up’s to this with a Good End and a Bad End! Aksjajs please go easy on me, it’s my first time writing Gorillaz stuff-

TW: (mentions of) child abuse

It was a disgusting day.

The morning sky was overcast, and the lazy sun seeped through the clouds and right onto Murdoc’s face, like an accusatory spotlight. The grass was damp from a storm that had passed in the night, like the face of someone who had long since stopped crying, and it was that nauseating temperature where you felt too hot wearing a coat, but too cold without one.

Murdoc slipped into the playground, swift and silent as a ghost. He had barely been on the pavement a second before the harsh slam of a car door behind him made him wince, and the wind whipped his clothes as his father’s car sped away down the decrepit street.

Murdoc’s heart felt like it was wrapped up in chains as he slunk across the playground towards his classroom. His hands hid deep in his pockets, fiddling with the holes in the fabric, while his shoulders hugged his ears. He kept his head down, barely lifting his eyes high enough to see where he was going. 

He didn’t want the world to see him. He didn’t want to see the world. Not like this. Not with the tear stains on his cheeks and the giant purple bruise covering his eye.

Murdoc often arrived at and left school with scratches and bruises and bumps. But he’d never looked this bad. Well, he’d never been outside looking this bad, anyway.

He’d attempted to hide it, but nothing worked. The make-up his father used on him before those disgraceful performances was locked away, and god knows what would happen if he was caught trying to take it. And Murdoc’s hair simply wasn’t long enough to cover the unsightly bruise.

That didn’t stop him from trying though. He’d hurt his head earlier that morning trying to force his fringe to reach his cheek. He’d ended up reluctantly leaving it pulled down in an awkward triangle, covering his eye but leaving a distinctive purple ring sticking out from underneath it.

But anything was better than nothing, he thought.

As he crossed the dinted tarmac, the sickening white sky felt like it was suffocating him. When he reached his classroom, no one was stood outside of it, and it felt like it was the first time he had gotten to breathe that morning. He leaned his hunched shoulder against the cold brick wall, hiding himself in the shadows, wishing he could just blend in with them and disappear. Murdoc squeezed his eyes shut, trying to avoid the tears pricking the corners of them, only to wince at the sudden pain, making it even harder.

It was then that he felt a presence in front of him. He felt his throat grow tight as he pried open his damp eyes.

Stood in front of him, hands locked to his hips, was Tony Chopper, a intimidating lump of a boy, with two cronies stood either side of him, considerably smaller and less meaty than him. The three of them moved in on Murdoc like a flock of hungry vultures, and they caged him against the wall from all sides. Their eyes looked glassy and their teeth seemed abnormally sharp through their twisted smiles.

“Oi, faceache.” Tony spat. “Why’s your eye purple, eh?” Murdoc didn’t reply. His gaze stayed glued to the ground, as Tony moved closer, grumbling in his face. “You were ugly enough, you dint ‘ave to go and make it worse.”

Tony and the boys stood at his sides began to laugh, and Murdoc’s fists started to tense at the spiteful sound. He could just about see their faces out of the corner of his eye, and that alone made a pit of pure fire start to stoke in his stomach.

“Maybe it’s just eyeshadow.” Said the boy to his left. The boy to his right made a noise in agreement. 

“Yeah. Maybe Murdoc wears make-up.”

Murdoc could feel the fire making it’s way up his chest and into his throat, as Tony opened his mouth again, feigning a realisation.

“Ohhh,” he began. “No, I know.” He placed a grubby hand on Murdoc’s forehead, yanking him back by the hair and exposing his busted eye. “Ohhh, did your daddy hit you again, faceache?” Murdoc gritted his teeth. “Little twat like you. No wonder he hurts you. I’d hate having you for a kid, too.” Murdoc could feel the fire in his fists now... he felt it behind his eyes, pure hate framed by the unsightly bruise. “You’re obviously a bad son. He’d have no reason otherwise. You obviously deserve it.”

Murdoc couldn’t contain the fire anymore. It was burning him alive, it had been for years, and like fuck he was gonna let these bullies avoid it any longer.

He lunged at Tony, tackling him to the ground. He scratched and kicked and hit, sending the other two boys running for a teacher.

“You twat! He has no fucking reason! I’ve done nothing! I’ve done nothing to him! Or you! You’re always a prick to me! What’s your reason? What’s anyone’s reason?! What did I do?!” His tears turned to steam on his burning face, the pain all over his body only adding fuel to the flames. “Tell me! Tell me you prick!”

By this time a crowd had gathered, but they were quickly cut through by a teacher, frantically being led by Tony’s accomplices.

“What’s going on? What happened?” She stammered. When all she saw was Tony on the floor being yelled at and pummelled by Murdoc, she had all she needed to make an assumption. She grabbed a kicking and screaming Murdoc by the underarms and dragged him off Tony, who began dramatically gasping for air.

“He attacked me, miss!” Tony exclaimed, clutching his chest.

“He did, miss! He did!”

“We seen it!”

“Fucked if I did!” Murdoc yelled, only able to see red. The teacher had put him down on the ground by now, but she had a grip on his arm, which she promptly tightened.

“Murdoc Niccals, watch that disgusting language!”

“I think he should be expelled, miss!” Tony uttered, standing up with an exaggerated wobble.

“We’ll be the ones who decide things like that.” She said firmly, before yanking Murdoc’s arm again to pull him to attention. “Although, this will definitely have consequences. We have no choice but to contact your father.”

And then, the red haze in Murdoc’s eyes faded to grey. His world began to spin. Tony, and all of the other kids began to whisper and giggle.

“N-no, miss, please don’t- miss, I promise I’ll have detentions for a month- 2 months- just, don’t tell him-“

“Sorry, Murdoc. I have no choice.”

She stared at him. He stared at her, his eyes deep and filled with 50 different emotions. His swollen, purple eye seemed even more prominent now, and the teacher sniffed. This kid must get in a lot of fights the school didn’t know about.

If only his father would do something about that.

Murdoc’s mouth tasted like blood as he was dragged to the headteacher’s office.

Murdoc held a cold hand to his face, over the area many bruises had sat before. The mouth of the bottle in his hand pressed hard against his lips as the bitter liquid slid down his throat. He pulled the bottle away with a sigh, and hunched over where he was on the edge of his bed.

His own personal painkiller.

“Why that memory?” Murdoc asked himself. “Why that? Why now?”

Murdoc didn’t know what to think. Were the new tears in his eyes from anger, sorrow, fear..? Was the alcohol warping everything? Nothing seemed real and he couldn’t quite decide if that was good or bad.

It was a disgusting day. It was a disgusting life.

The only thing that broke his twisted train of thought was a sudden soft knocking on his door.

“Murdoc?” Came a familiar, nasally voice. “What ya doin?”

“Go away, 2D!” He yelled, his throat scratchy and strained.

But in spite of everything, Murdoc heard his door creak open, and the familiar voice sounded louder.

“Murdoc, are yew cryin..?”

Fuck, was he being that loud..?