There was little that could sour Alder's mood faster than overhearing some mewling sycophant's delight at having briefly interacted with the 'handsome' Team Plasma orator. Hmph. As if any male that effeminate could qualify as handsome.
'Pretty' was a better word. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Time for another drink.
It was always something tiny, too. Inconsequential. 'Oh, look at me, I got him to answer a question.'
I've fucked him, Alder always wanted to sneer, just to see the look on their face.
Worse yet was when two of these fools tried to one-up each other with their meaningless achievements. 'He answered your question, huh? Well he spoke to me for a full minute after one of his speeches.' Shock. Awe. Desperate pleading for more details - what was he like?
'Fake' would be a good answer. 'I've come on his face' would probably be Alder's personal response.
…Not that he had the capacity for such rudeness in him anyway, these days. No, instead he'd just sit at the bar and helplessly listen, mocking them in his head relentlessly until they either tired of fawning over his Ghetsis or some friendly stranger struck up a conversation with him.
