𝑲𝑨𝑮𝑼𝑻𝑺𝑼𝑪𝑯𝑰 𝑺𝑻𝒀𝑳𝑬.

“And who the hell are you?” He peeks over his shoulder, away from the pile of thrashed punks heaped up before him. There's a brief pause... This 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 be a bad joke. “Spare me the lecture, little haystack-head. From one human to another, you look like a total dumbass.”

Eyes narrow. It's a simple gesture, brief, yet still enough for Zapp to assume an offensive stance. “You're one to talk, geriatric geezer. Nobody teach you that it's rude to stare? Someone ought to learn 'ya some manners!”

“Whatever, I'll show you who's stupid. Watch and learn, my clueless, slimey compadre!” Currently, he's elbow deep in one of many teeming trash cans, rummaging for something—anything—worth pawning off...

// to a FAULT

Hands perched upon hips, he stares (rather, scowls) right back. This one reeks of death—akin to an old buzzard he's the ultimate displeasure of knowing. “Hey, quadruple-eyes! Take a pic, why don't 'ya? It'll last longer.”

“The fuck are 𝘺𝘰𝘶 starin' at, finhead? Looking for a fight?!”