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Then there is me, that is Alex. I had just ittied back from some of the starry ultra-violence, and decided a cold milk-plus would by a dobby ending to the nochy, so Your Humble Narrator slides into a booth, and soviets a cold odin.

{OOC: I'm attempting to play Alex in first person, so this very well might be bloody shambles. :D}

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And nearby, there is a man, slumped down in his chair and staring, rather blankly, at an empty glass.

It's not that he's depressed or tired or anything, he's just... zoned out.

Very zoned out.

As I sit down in the bar, my rassoodock was ittyingthrough all the ultra-violence that had unfolded on this nochy. The short devotchka to whom I gave the old in-and-out. The brattie whose legs I brokiwoke. I peet at my moloko, and smeck, O my brothers.

And unlike Alex, Nick isn't thinking about anything. His mind is a total blank and nothing, nothing will snap him out of it!

... well, maybe that fly will. It's buzzing around Nick's head, close to his ear, and eventually Nick's conscious snaps into motion and with catlike reflexes, his hand goes up to smack it.

Instead, he smacks himself in the side of the head.

Damn it.

I slooshy a slapping zvook, around behind Your Humble Narrator, and I turn to viddy what sloochatted. I imagined it was some devotchka, tolchoking some molody malchick for getting a tomtick fresh, but instead, my brothers, I viddied a chelloveck, sitting there, rubbing his litso, cursing, and all that cal.

"Art thou bezhoomy or some cal?"

Nick turns toward the direction of the voice and blinks, caught between confusion and mild embarassment.

"... excuse me?"

"What's wrong with you? Why art thou tolchoking your litso?" I ask the bezoomny celloveck. He smots very confused-like.

His brows furrow.

He understands the first part of that sentence, so he answers, very slowly: "I have a toothache."

Yes. A toothache.

Your Humble Narrators slooshies his slovos, but they make no sense.

I figure, brothers, he doesn't understand the starry Nadsat, so I try and like translate it for him. "Why hit yourself in the face, then, brother?"

Oh.

Oh.

... damn.

Nick has no excuse. "Accident."

This makes YHN smeck. "Do you tolchok yourself often?"

"No," Nick says, scowling. "What language are you speaking?"

"Why," I govoreet, with a wry smile on my litso, "it's Nadsat, that is the heighth of teenage fashion. It's the way my droogs and I govoreet back at home."

Context clues, Nick thinks, brows furrowing as he listens.

"Nadsat," he repeats. "Never heard of it."

Sounds Russian, though.

"AJ has the files,"

Random says as he collapses into a seat nearby. He looks, not to put too fine a point on it, like shit. It's been a bad few days.

"Whenever you happen to be ready. She'll get in touch with you. Good?"

This is horrorshow news, brothers. I turn and say, "Horrorshow, big brother," a smile on Your Humble Narrator's litso.

That's when I really viddy him. His glazzies have baggies. He's all worn, and grahzny.

"You alright, dear brother?"

"If you could meet my dear brothers, Alex, you would not have to ask."

He runs a hand through his hair for the ninety billionth time, and manages to crack a smile.

"Any of the remaining eight or six dead."

and Your Humble Narrator just blinks at him. "Trouble with your bratties?"

"Well, Corwin died a bit ago. We think Eric, another brother, paternally at least because Dad was a whore back in the day, killed him so we're all over looking for the corpse. Good blackmail material. Eric's making a very strong bid for the throne, and a murder just might upset his chances a little. All of us want the crown for ourselves, but are more than willing to band together to avoid King Eric. Enemy of my enemy and all that."

Random rambles when he's tired.

That's a lot to pony, for little Alex.

And to be honest, brothers, I don't really know what to govoreet. "Brutal."

"Hopefully, I won't join the body count for a while, huh?"

Random laughs, thin and drawn out.

"Never wish you were royalty, love."

I smeck with him. It sounds rough, an all that cal, but I'd never want to be in his metso.

"No worries, big brother. I'm content with what you viddy."

He shrugs.

"Anyways. Met your lady fair commander yet?"

Alex smecks, real gromky. "We got to know each other, real horrorshow. I smot forward to rabbiting with her."

"I'm very glad. She's a good kid. Despite past differences."

Ah, fun times.

"I've seen part of what she can do, she's pretty horrorshow." I smile to myself, and to my big brother. "I'm still a tomtick sore from our encounter."