#t3nets

[newwayin]

location: on the way to early rise bakery & cafe. it's a beautiful morning, isn't it? specifically: greer ( @t3nets )

7 : 30 a.m. the crisp, cool air bites at his cheek, welcoming the chill with open arms. like always, it bides with a walk with a leash loosely hanging from his hand, he was completely ready to go by himself but upon spotting someone familiar, he doesn't hesitate to approach with a smile on his lips. " greer, what a coincidence to see you out. it's good to see you unharmed. i was on my way to the bakery if you would like to join me. " and charlie is calm with a slightly wagging tail, this time a small cowboy hat is accompanied upon his head. " my treat. "

[horrorphase]

ꜜ ﹙ 🪞  ﹚ ﹕ henrietta had been here too many times, could still remember the first time she had snuck into this bar, couple of years shy from legality, just to watch red creek's newest shitty garage band, with dreams too big for a place they could never break out of. but the ambiance was certainly impeccable despite being a cemetery of broken dreams. that was the only reason she was even here now ﹕ redstone was still that place where she could just sit back and unwind, not as chaotic as the warehouse, whiskey glass held between her fingers, the warmth sliding down her throat and catching in her bones. here, she could just drown out the noise, letting it all become a whisper as the spinning in her head slowed to a throb she could live with. and then she heard someone call out that name— FINCH ! she heard it, and it drew her attention like a thread through the room, pushing through the crush of shoulders and laughter against her better judgment, following that name through the dense air of sweat and unfiltered smoke until she was close enough to see him clearly. call it curiosity, wondering how he turned out after all these years ﹕ but all she could see was that familiar face, passage of time had definitely been carved into him, a little more tired, a little less welcoming. and there was a sentiment simmering inside her, but she had other things to worry about than old friends. but there was also a desire to just talk, to take a closer look even if she'd do nothing about it in the end. so henrietta stood still, eyes fixed on him for a moment, before she spoke, the words rolling out sharp, like she couldn't keep them inside any longer. “ you're what, twenty-six ? and people still call you that ? grow up. ” @t3nets

[alrighties]

🎥 CLOSE UP ON ﹕  the clock just seconds away from striking twelve noon, three, two, one, and foster's gaze drifted towards the chime of the bell above the door ⸻ finch standing in the doorway of the video store, like a dog conditioned to know when to ask for food. though, to actually eat was a concept as capricious as the temperatures of lake michigan when it came to the kiskova stray. foster always came prepared nonetheless. “ here i thought you wouldn't come. didn't see you at all during halloween, thought you fuckin' died like alaina. or worse, you got fuckin' laid for once and i wasn't there to watch. ” and there were a plethora of other reasons he wanted to see finch that night, but just because the day passed didn't mean he couldn't make one of the reasons known now. hands move quick, deft as he rummaged through his satchel, unveiling a line of colored ziplock bags, each vibrant against the dull sheen of the counter. a smug smile bloomed over his lips, surely no one else had thought of this offering : fluffy cake crumbs inside a purple bag, a deep pink one with a berry compote, a pale green one holding delicate frosting inside, and a yellow one that seemed to be filled with sugared sprinkles. some people got all fucking weird about their birthdays, triggering some kind of existential midlife crisis, so maybe this was just foster's way of saying happy birthday without actually saying it. “ should last you a whole week, bon appetit. ” @t3nets

[repentulant]

⁑ finch should consider himself lucky that santiago is clinging to this one more night philosophy. any other night, he would've been pestering for a hit & making an honest effort to catch up to whatever cloud his opposite is floating on already. in honor of the double holiday — halloween & finch's birthday — he'll even skim over the little man tag. ❝ gonna be wall t' wall in there. ❞ he complains, mindlessly following along with the flow of the crowd. he then chokes out a laugh at finch's comment. ❝ jeez, i'd be . . . world's shittiest rendition of myers. appreciate your support though. ❞ he holds the mask up from his side just enough to catch the light — won't be putting it on when he can barely see out of the thing — and lets out a laugh again. ❝ i'm brahms. different mask guy. doesn't really matter though. ❞ he drops the mask and looks up to ponder finch's costume— he thinks he can pinpoint the guy from the newest addition to the crow's franchise, but . . . ❝ temu michael myers meets, uh, sleep token guy without the mask. ❞ santi decides instead. ❝ it could work. ❞

he watches the crowd filter past, blurs of other costumes & reeking of spilled drinks. part of him mourns the mask of the club lighting & mind-numbing flow of people inside. ❝ well, happy birthday to you. off to celebrate with the entirety of red creek now. ❞

*      ❪       🦇       ❫    ﹕ 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗻𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗯 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁   𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀   𝘂𝗽   𝗮    path    beneath    pale    skin    &  a cold slosh of alcohol that   settles    low    in    an empty    stomach.    he    inhales the joint slotted between inked fingers,    eyes    mere    dark    marbles    rolling    in    his    skull.    ❛ yeah  — and  you're   comin'  little  man, ❜  they're  not given much of a choice as a stampede of rowdy youths usher them forward,  clambering  together   in an echo of woops  & raucous laughter.  premade  cocktail mixes overflow red  solo  cups & those that have been emptied crackle  under  their  shoes.  as  if  on  cue they're equipped   with   their  own theme  song;   the  bass  of  warped techno bleating through cheap wireless  speakers &  reviving   what  leftover  adrenaline  had  been   sucked out  by   the  attempt  in  a  total cancellation of one of redcreek's most infamous bashes.  there's  a  crease  at   his  forehead   as  he   makes the half - assed effort   in   clocking   santi's    costume,  brain  far too fucked   to   focus.  ❛ you  dressed  as  michael myers or sumn' ?  like  uh, like a  last  minute  version. temu - style, y'know ? ❜  he  tries,   attention  diverting  to  a  passing  cowboy belt   of  gelatin  shots  spritzed  with  limes,  those  in  which  he  chucks  out  toward   the   direction  of  the  mosh pit.  ❛ fuck  it, i  dig  it. ❜ not one to judge after all, being dressed in hollywood's poorly revamped version of horror's beloved eric draven.

[den1als]

⠂ ⠀ CASE STATUS : closed | @t3nets , for cairo . ⠂ ⠀ LAST SEEN : redemption chappell .

⠀⠀ ❝ forgive me , father , for i have sinned ... ❞ a loud , monotonous voice echoes throughout the house of the lord , hands clasped behind the sheriff's back as he took long and careful strides down the center aisle . demetrius trails off , the sight of the pew he and his family occupied catching his eye , making him stop right next to it . how long has it been since he attended a service ? weeks ... maybe a month or two - or three . the mental math exhausted him , shoulders rolling back he looked up from the seat to glance around the chappell , taking note of any similarities or changes made .

⠀⠀ ❝ may god have mercy on soul , save thy from evil , so on and so forth ... ❞ a hand waves in the air , brushing off his butchered attempt at ... whatever he was trying to communicate with the priest . demetrius deeply chuckles at his own antics before his demeanor changed ; long arms then opened up in a welcoming posture , a professional , quaint grin on his lips . ❝ cairo , is it ? i hope i'm not disturbing you . ❞

[rusticjpg]

@t3nets,　　DEER LAKE,　EARLY MORNING.

THERE'S  SOMETHING  TO  BE  SAID  ABOUT  GROWING  UP  IN  RED  CREEK  (  about  having  escaped  unscathed  )  —  violence  was  a  phantom,  just  a  big  bad  her  father  conjured  when  justifying  curfews,  a  story  woven  into  her  life's  fabric  through  whispers  and  murmurs,  but  never  quite  pressing  itself  against  her  skin.  she  moved  through  it  like  a  smoke  too,  never  inhaling  it  deep  enough  to  make  it  her  own.

until  now,  when  it  had  flung  itself  onto  her  doorstep  (  because  what  is  deer  lake  if  not  a  second  home?  )

there  he  was,  its  harbinger,  body  sprawled  in  the  reeds  like  a  puppet  whose  strings  had  been  cut.  her  heart  slammed  against  her  ribcage,  a  frantic  staccato  that  echoed  in  her  ears.  her  sanctuary  of  stillness  had  teeth  too,  it  turned  out,  and  dead  creek's  same  rotting  pulse.  the  trees  loomed  above  her,  their  gnarled  branches  reaching  for  her  like  claws.  something  jagged  and  unforgiving  festered  in  the  lake's  blackened  depths  -  and  now,  it  was  wholly  hers  to  sift  through.

“shit,”  she  muttered,  the  word  escaping  her  lips  in  a  burst  of  fog.  she  forced  herself  to  move  towards  him.  his  coat  hung  from  his  frame  in  shreds,  barely  clinging  to  him  like  torn  fur  on  a  hunted  beast.  her  throat  burned  as  she  knelt  beside  him,  the  snow  seeping  through  her  jeans.  up  close,  the  details  were  worse.  his  chest  rose  and  fell  in  shallow,  broken  movements,  each  breath  ragged,  wet,  like  something  inside  him  had  torn.  her  hands  hovered  over  his  wounds,  trembling  —  useless.  "greer,"  recognition  strikes  her  even  through  the  bruises,  the  blood  trickling  from  his  mouth.

“i’m  gonna  get  help,  okay?  i'll  get  help,"  the  words  are  a  fragile  promise  that  spill  out  from  her  in  a  rush  as  she  fought  to  keep  the  panic  at  bay,  gloved  hands  already  fumbling  for  her  phone  in  her  back pocket.  

[enternights]

𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭　:　finch's bedroom in that fuckass apartment, 6pm 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖳𝖴𝖲　:　closed for finch kiskova @t3nets

the  last  few  days  have  been  harsh  on  angela.  disappearances,  murders,  arguments,  and  accusations  —  it  was  all  getting  to  be  a  little  too  much;  indifference  is  no  longer  an  option  when  she's  being  forced  to  care.  still,  it  can  get  a  little  overwhelming,  and  sometimes  angela  wants  a  reason  to  forget  anything  like  this  ever  happened.  her  solution  to  escapism  comes  in  the  form  of  one  finch  kiskova,  who  sits  across  from  her  on  his  bed  while  she  shuffles  a  deck  of  tarot  cards  in  her  hands.  “  c'mon,  i  need  the  practice.  it's  been  a  while  since  i've  done  one  of  these,  ”  angela  persuades,  presenting  him  the  shuffled  deck.  “  what  do  you  wanna  know?  could  be  anything  —  life  in  general,  you  career  . . .  even  love?  ” she asks, an eyebrow raised in anticipation.

[ichorstained]

avery spent too much time with finch as it is, having the unfortunate privilege of being one of his roommates. frankly, she did laundry to get away from him and june and now there they were, doing laundry together. she doesn't comment when he throws his clothes in with hers. she's playing the long con -- make all of finch's whites pink. an exasperated sound comes out of avery as she rolls her eyes. " what is wrong with you finch? genuinely. " she had never heard someone accuse her dad of panty snatching but she would probably believe someone if they told her -- as long as that person wasn't finch. " are you sure it wasn't kieran? he probably ran out of clean boxers and stole yours. " or maybe it was a curoius piper but she would never throw her baby sister under the bus. " dude you're making a mess, " she points to the bag he's holding, a frown on her lips.

* ❪ 🦇 ❫ ﹕ 𝘁𝗵𝗲   𝗺𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲   𝗮𝗰𝗿𝗼𝘀𝘀   𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺   𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀   𝗮𝘀   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿  laundry   mashes   together   ( had   shoved   it   all in before she could retaliate ),   the   coins   in   his   pockets   slipping   out   &   clanking   against   metal   with   obnoxious   PLINKS.   the   man   behind   the   counter   clears   his   throat   in   finch's   direction,   a   call   to   sea   that   he   floats   to   like   a   lost   ship,    exchanging  something   that   he   steps   in   to   cover   with   his   body.   a shuffle of paper as he continues the chatter.  ❛  your   freaky   ass   dad   for   sure.   pretty   sure   he   took   a   pair   of   my   fuckin'   underwear   one time.   slept   over   kie's   when   we   were   like  — what ?  twenty ?    —    next   mornin   nothin'. ❜      the   cashier   avoids   hearing   the   conversation   altogether   as   soon   as   their   interaction   ends,   nodding   him   off   with   a   scurry   into   the   back.   finch is shoving an envelope in his pocket with one hand, a powdered bag of laundry detergent in the other that spills from a hole in its corner as he makes his way to the open washing drawer.

[clandestone]

closed starter with: darshan and finch (@t3nets) setting: the "apartment", 4pm

This was a call he’d been expecting for a while- it was just a shock that it hadn’t come sooner. Each step towards the front door felt torturous, like he had to force each foot to move, plant, and push forward. It wasn’t fear, or anxiety, or even apprehension, he just… didn’t want to do it. What could be gained? Even if they actually allowed him entry into the apartment, which he was certain would never happen without a warrant, what was he supposed to do about it? Politely ask them to evict the hoard of excess people that lived there? Ask them to pay for a biohazard specialist to come in and deep clean the place? But it didn’t matter that it was a lost cause- a neighbor had asked them to do a welfare check, and he was required to comply. A quick knock on the door accomplished nothing, and he waited in silence before calling out. “It’s Officer Brar, just here to check the place out. Got a few complaints.” He stood for a minute before knocking again, and he was about to leave when Finch popped his head out. “Mind if I take a look around? Just gotta make sure everyone is alive and relatively healthy, and I’ll be on my way.”

[lonelela]

TIME : evening, definitely PLACE : the warehouse WITH : greer aatkani , @t3nets

the buzz of drunken patrons was about the only thing lela could hear besides her own heartbeat. it wasn't very often that she found herself at the warehouse - especially after the fight that had broken out that she had only heard about. she wasn't big on crowded spaces regardless but tonight she wanted the companionship even if it was from the bartender that was serving her drinks all night. "can I get another jack and coke?" she mentioned to greer in front of her. when he came back, she gave a soft smile. "okay, so tell me the worst pickup line that you've heard used."

[capitclkarma]

@t3nets || kaz + finch

"it's nice, ya know? not seeing you at the police station for once." he'd meant to keep that to himself, but too many late nights had destroyed what little filter he had. it was important, kaz thought, to make time for family whenever possible. but his spare time had been slim, his energy even more. thoughts of their mother stuck in her room danced across his thoughts, and a quick phone call, and he'd managed to find a few minutes to meet his younger brother. "what were you doing on halloween by the way?" small talk or interrogation talk, both were interwoven together as he tried to connect with finch.

[hypnotiscd]

○    NOW DELIVERING TO . . .    ⏤ @t3nets !

" hey cairo . " nadia has always inwardly cringed at the notion of calling him FATHER , despite that being what he is . even when other people say it , she's had to swallow back a look of alarm . she extends her hand out , offering a box of SISTERS OF THE MOON candles . she knows he likes them , finds them practicable for his work . nadia is good at remembering things , and people ( ironic , when she feels her own parents have forgotten her ) . " here . you'll probably need them for lighting prayers and stuff right ? people will be desperate for them right now or whatever . " nadia doesn't mention alaina's name . she doesn't need to . she tilts her head to the side and she surveys him . " or use them for a bubble bath . i don't know . priests are allowed to bubble bath , yeah ? "

[redcreekfm]

members , please unfollow @horrorphase , @t3nets , @inadeqcies , @hypnotiscd , & @ins1ders !

[ofvolatile]

where : redemption chapel . status : closed with @t3nets

under the looming steeple of redemption chapel , thierry pauses , as if the church itself might reject him before he steps inside . the chill of the autumn morning clings to his skin . the heavy wooden doors shuts behind him , sealing him into a space that feels both sacred and suffocating . it’s been years since he last set foot here , the day his grandmother was laid to rest beneath his watchful gaze was the last time . yet this place has always held him in its quiet grip — a tether he has never entirely severed . now , it calls him back , summoned once more by death . his gaze sweeps over the holy space — the crucifix looming at its center , the cluster of votive candles flickering like watchful eyes . at the edge of the pews , thierry lingers , the hem of his tailored coat brushing against the worn wood dulled by decades of worship . the trembling flames seems to respond to an unseen presence , drawing his attention . memories press in , sharp and unwelcome . once the church , had been a place of solace beneath the shadow of stained-glass windows and whispered prayers . but it was also here that he had endured his grandmother's whispered curses , her rosary beads clicking in her hands . even now , years after her passing , her presence lingers . he feels her ghost in the shadows , her cold , judgmental gaze watching , waiting for him to fall . thierry lowers himself onto the bench , elbows resting on his knees , fingers lacing together . but no prayer forms on his lips , only silence . deliberate footsteps draw nearer , and he senses the priest before he sees him . “ father , ” thierry says , cutting through the stillness . he lifts his gaze , and straightens slightly , explaining before the question of his absence can be asked , “ the dead , have a way of calling us back to places we'd rather forget . ”

[vincentdesirepassera]

{English}

---

Once upon a time, there was The Man in 10 Lives.

It all began in 1996. Little information is available about his childhood. Vin'c remains very discreet about his family as he wishes to preserve it.

It was in 2010 that Vin'c began to show himself as a musician, when he was only 13 years old (a few months before his 14th birthday on 2 August):

- 2010: Infraction

- 2011: The Beedies

- 2012: Playbong

- 2013: F.I.S.T: Fear of Insanity of a Slave Teen

In 2013, after finishing school and starting his active life, he decided to found "Vincenzo D. Passera", allowing him to access the beginning of a great story. He then embarked on a first career as an actor comedian, represented with the colors of the Netherlands, where his goal was to make people laugh and bring them together. It was at this moment that he created the first identity of MXL without even knowing that he would be named "The Man in 10 Lives" several years later. Through two "test" careers - one in performance in 2013 and one in production in 2014 - he achieved his goal of launching his own career:

- 2013: DBS: Dead Bros Step

- 2014: Iron Slappers

In 2014, he founded the "Vin'c Ded Pass" universe, which would become manager in England a few years later, with 5 Official Side Projects and 2 Ghost Projects:

- 2014: #1 Vin'c Ded Pass (Solo)

- 2015: #2 Dave Emanuel & Vin'c Ded Pass (Duo) -> New in 2025: #2 The Winchester (Duo 2.0)

- 2016: #3 DVF: Dave Emanuel & Vin'c Ded Pass Feat Flacko (Trio) -> New in 2026: #2 T3NET (Trio 2.0)

- 2017: Ghost Project 1

- 2018: Ghost Project 2

- 2019: #4 We Are Resident (Live)

- 2020: #5 Désiré (Prod)

Through all his side projects, Vin'c gained the support of artists such as Hardwell, Armin van Buuren, Tiesto, DJ Snake, Dimitri Vegas & Like Mike, Steve Aoki, Nervo, Lost Frequencies, and many others. He performed in various countries such as France, Switzerland, the Netherlands, England, and Italy. He also had the opportunity to sign with different labels, including his own, Smoking Bloodshed Records (formerly Miser’ Records), as well as Sony Music, Spinnin, and Panda Funk,...

In 2015, Vin'c realized that playing was not enough for him, but that he wanted to bring together several artistic professions under the same flag. He then founded his own label in Switzerland, the "Smoking Bloodshed" Universe, including Events, School, Records, Shop, In and Out. Through his Smoking Bloodshed events, he had the opportunity to invite many artists who support Vin’c as well as others who are closer to the label. The label has worked in multiple Swiss establishments as well as outdoors during events.

In 2016, Vin'c had already been working for several years in the medical and social field. He then wished to develop something that was very close to his heart and founded the "Mais Thy Pass" Universe. This company for the medical and social sector offers personalized training as well as various services such as mediation, coaching, and socio-educational consulting in France.

Four years later, Vin’c will have worked in five human domains in ten years: Social, Medical, Sales, Teaching, and Security.

It is by accumulating several jobs at the same time as well as developing artistic (film & music) and multiple projects that Vin’c had what he calls "the best training of my life", but at the cost of health that will weaken and require a break between 2019 and 2024 from the stage and shooting.

In 2017, Vin'c founded a film production company in the United States of America as an actor/co-producer, and officially announced shortly after Thanksgiving the "Bros United Pictures" Universe.

In 2018, Vin’c founded "Passer@W", a borderless company linked to media creation such as photography, video, and 3D, which reminded him of a passion transmitted by an old friend, that of photography.

In the two years that followed, Vin'c launched his last two side projects as indicated above.

Following the global pandemic that struck in 2020, Vin’c decided to postpone several major events that could not be held under these conditions. This gave him time to focus on his private life, his jobs, and on his position regarding the development of what would, a few years later, become a real ecosystem.

As promised, our dear Vin’c resumes the quest for the ten lives of his projects, not counting his two known ghost projects: "AMF: Avec Mijn Friends in Yverdon" with his childhood best friend for private performance organization and more, as well as "MTD: Mind The Dam in London" with his cousin for the setup, light show,... of private and public performance without forgetting a Canadian Bonus "Maple Park" an application that cannot be explained but consumed.

In 2019, he founded "Les Franselles", a concept of Franco-Swiss distillery that will be launched once possible.

In 2020, he founded "Jack Dandy’s", a concept of Britano-American PUB which will open its doors once possible.

In 2021, following the tragic loss of his dog, Vin’c founded a family foundation with his mother to support the animal cause under the name of "PasserAnimals (Foundation for Djema)", which aims to have no borders, worthy of the animalist he has become.

In 2022, he created the ultimate company of the ecosystem "Univers MXL Corporation" which will aim for merchandising and premium development of various products in the Netherlands.

"Universal Passera" will be the legacy of the first Lord of his family by bringing together the 10 companies he founded, the 2 he co-founded and 1 application where he is vice-president, not to mention 2 personal studios and 5 trades that will have given Vin’c values that we will regularly find.

The story will never end; it is only beginning.

[horrorphase]

🪽ㅤㅤ   *ㅤㅤ   ﹙   📹    ﹚   ﹕        ❝      𝗼𝗳 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝘄𝗼-𝗵𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗱𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗮𝗿𝘀. it's from the criterion collection, dude ...      ❞      there wasn't a rise in his voice, unflinching and without fight as he held up the newest addition to his personal compendium, looking at it as if the boxset was carved from flesh and bone⸻  too precious and priceless, hands hovering close to dutch's to make sure it was treated with deliberate care in the other man's hands.     ❝      𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝗼𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗶. it's worth every goddamn penny.      ❞      the reverence was palpable in his foster's words, a smile tugging on his lips with an indulgent amusement. a dead giveaway of another one of foster's soliloquys about the world's great filmmakers. well, too bad dutch couldn't really see it nor could he escape it.     ❝      no one did it like pasolini, man. dude turned hustlers into fucking halos, sex workers into saints, pimps into contemporary prophets, vagabonds into vessels of divinity. and the real fuckin' saints ? the ones actually canonized into the roman catholic hall of fame ? he dragged them down to the dirt, through the mud, and into the grit of the fucking world. he's basically gay italian marxist jesus.      ❞      then, a quick pat to dutch's cheek, a soft laugh spilling before hands carefully taking the collector's set from the other man's grasp.     ❝      but hey, give me a raise and maybe you won't feel too bad about the cost of my interests.      ❞      

𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱      :   dutch    &    utp     !

𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗿:   4:34pm.

𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻:  open to interpretation !

*      ❪       📻      ❫    ﹕  ❛ 𝗻𝗼   𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴   𝘄𝗮𝘆   𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀   𝘁𝗵𝗲   𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹   𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗲 ? ❜   he   withers   in   disbelief,   reaching   out   to   grab   the   item   from   his   companion's   hands   and   trace   over   each   edge.   there   was no way.   had   to   be   an   explanation   etched   somewhere   on   it.   a    life changing, earth - shattering   reason   as   to   why   it   costed   an   arm and a leg.   he's   scoffing,   irritability   already   piqued   and   there   to   stay   as   they   move further down the aisle, white cane replacing the canine that typically accompanies.    ❛ i   mean   i   can   do   it,   but   i   shouldn't   have   to.   i   mean  —  what   the   fuck ?    how   is   anyone   actually   affording   this   stuff ?   you'd   think   with   everything   going   on   they'd   make   shit   cheaper. ❜    oh   yes,   dutch   gore,   a   ' man   of   the   people. '    never   raised   with   a   golden   spoon   in   his   mouth   ( albeit snatched   with   the   premise   of   giving   it   to   thy   neighbor — in favor of next of kin ). the   topic   turns   heads,   curious and uncomfortable with the voice   an   octave   higher   than   the   usual   conversationalist.