[center][img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjcyLmJmNmU4Mi5SWE50dzZrZ1RTNGdSR1ZzWVdOeWIybDQuMAAA/pretty-girls-script-demo.regular.png[/img][/center] Esmé suddenly found himself ungracefully positioned on the floor of the bathroom; his ringing ears and pounding head told him that there was some sort of explosion. Oh, God these bloodthirsty morons are going to get him killed. [color=lightcoral]“Typical Americans, always looking to make every single confrontation into the Alamo. It is like they never heard of gracefully making an exit.”[/color] Esmé muttered under his breath as he shakily rose to his feet. He felt relatively unharmed, but upon closer inspection much to his horror he chipped a nail on his left hand. [color=lightcoral]“Merde Merde Merde”[/color], he swore in anger. Where was he going to find a skilled beauty technician in these trying times. This was truly the most grievous injury received in this conflict for sure. Savages, the lot of them. The thought of the bunch of barbarians killing each other outside over some petty disagreement that they could barely comprehend only slightly improved his ever-souring disposition. Now would certainly be an ideal time to slip away before the rival gang of brutes associated him with these delta-human dummies. He secretly stashed away a Comme des Garçons overnight bag just for occasions such as this. He swore to himself he would only take the essentials, but who was he kidding everything he owned could be considered essential. It would be a heartbreaking process to sift through his numerous possessions again and only keep what he could comfortably carry in his luxury overnight bag. Esmé vowed to burn what clothes he couldn’t carry as to protect them from the less fashionable. He was sure even God couldn’t tolerate the unfashionable and there was a special spot in damnation saved for them. Before he could slink to his woefully dismal quarters and start the tedious process of packing. He felt a tinge of morbid curiosity coupled with the uneasy feeling regarding what the group of degenerates would do him if he was caught deserting in a time of conflict. He peeked his head out the bathroom and once assured of his safety made his way down the hall. He peered in the rooms he passed guaranteeing that they were indeed empty. He pauses when he gets to near a room that looks like it has certainly seen better days. Looked like it was torched and bullet riddled, probably one of those ingrates’ meth lab exploded. Now which of those dullards occupied this room. He crouches down outside the charred entrance to the room ready to run back to safety a moments notice. [color=f08080]“Umm…Mademoiselle…Uh…Plant Person…Vine Vixen…Weed Wretch…Hollyhock Harlot…no, let me guess your name is probably something pedestrian like Rose. Ha! How droll. Well, anyways regardless of your uninspiring name I am just ensuring that your dea…okay. Just checking your condition before I escap...help the others. If you’re not dying and need assistance, make some kind of noise. No, no sweetie I am not an angel just your bett…teammate. Well, ‘teammate’ probably elicits a stronger connotation then we have, I would say ‘associate’ is a better word in this case. If you think that your current situation would make me ill fellow associate, please also indicate that. Like I do not handle hideous deformities well. I mean, to be perfectly honest I normally find your fashion sense and looks to be a peg or two above absolutely revolting but compared to the rest of the reprobates that populate this establishment you are stunning. You don’t hold a candle to me, but then again who does. What I am saying darling is when you put in the effort you certainly look decent. I consider myself a bleeding heart when it comes charity cases such as yours, so if you want you could certainly hit me up for some fashion tips if you’re not dead that is. Shame, we can’t do anything about the height, though it could be a hidden strength in the right hands. Oh, listen to me prattle on. You’re probably dead though. Here I am talking to a corpse or a soon to be corpse and wasting all my good advice. C'est la vie. If it is any condolence my nail was chipped earlier, I find our two regrettable situations to be comparable. Well not really.” [/color]