Fandom: Dragon Ball Z
Characters: Toma/Bardock
Word Count: 246
Warnings: dead dudes during death are distasteful
Summary:Then, because the alternative is worse;Toma punches the fuckwit.
Notes: ancient drabble babble
In hell, there were only two things.
Be bored as piss or be drunk as piss.
Bardock, boozy fucker he is, relishes the latter with an almost religious fever.
"This," he tells the small red skinned ogre behind the bar, "Tastes like piss. On a warm summer's day." And while Bardock is rude, he's not wasteful. He gulps down his summer's piss flavored beer. "Do you have anything autumn inspired?"
"Give him paint thinner. Better yet, rat poison." Toma says helpfully.
"Maybe it'll get the shit to come out of his ass instead of his mouth." Fasha fiddles with her earring, rolling it over the pad of her thumb, sharp little grin in place.
As it turns out, there's paint thinner and disinfectant on the rocks. Bardock is mildly impressed. "Wintery piss, then. Good man, after me own heart." The ogre snorts, already moving toward the cluster of bodiless souls with dark frothy pints in his hands. There's a longing sigh and Toma turns to see Bardock fluttering his short eyelashes exaggeratedly at the bartender.
"Oh," laughs Fasha, leering with all her tiny white teeth bared, "I do believe the princess's panties have been stolen."
Bardock scoffs, scratching his scar. "'Heart', you mean. I'm a damn classy lady."
Snorting around the wet neck of his warming beer, Toma mutters "No easy lay, you."
Sloe eyes catch his, dark and bright like burning coal. Toma looks away. The look continues and he refuses to think about it.