Hi Felecia [Closed]

The Bar was seemingly empty, desolate. The metallic stools were put upside down on each side of the many tables inside the Platinum Playhouse. Though there was the lack of any living bodies inside, there would always be a certain goat-ish demon and masked Psyche-Terrorist duo lounging about and taking in the tranquil silence. But today was different; one was brooding in their chair while taking momentary sips from a glass of whisky and the other was away in the kitchen to keep their stores stocked.

The television in the corner intoned. "The Cadets managed to apprehend the Platinum Playhouse leader. Although the damage to the block is fairly extensive, there are no casualties to be reported. As of the moment, the notorious leader of the Platinum Playhouse--"

The animated screen turned into a quiet and reflective black as Mad Dog flicked a finger at the switch. It was the same thing since all morning. A huge obnoxious hurrah for catching public enemy number one. He wanted to know what the hell happened. Why was the leader of this new generation caught all of a sudden? It boggled his mind how quickly shit hit the fan. It frustrated him when no one even bothered to come by to explain, probably because of that nobody's letter. Is it no wonder why he was at his mind's wits?


He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket before roughly dragging it out. When his eyes glanced on the Restricted call, his brow furrowed in annoyance. Who in the Hell could it be? Grudgingly, he swiped right and put the receiver to his ear. The Psyche-Terrorist rudely growled. "Who the hell is this?"

Dread would begin to pit in his stomach at the familiar sing-song voice. Oh God, why her now of all times? A woman seemed to be disgruntled as she spoke. "Oh. My. God. Is that how you say hi to people? Like, c'mon! You're not gonna have many friends, Maddy!"

The Psyche-Terrorist took one whole mouthful of whisky just for this. The surge of booze was starting to hit him just right as he muttered. "I swear to God I ain't drunk enough for this... Da' hell you want, Gossip Girl? Sorry to tell ya', but I ain't in the mood for a booty call."

"Ew, no! As if I even want to get with a mutt! Not in your lifetime! Hey, I heard you're with the Platinum Playhouse, aren't you?" The woman laughed at him through the phone. He could already imagine her twirling her hair as he narrowed his eyes.

He answered as he roughly swept his legs on top of another nearby stool. "So what if I am? What's it to ya?"


"I'm hanging up." It wasn't a request: it was a declaration. Not all of the booze in this Bar was going to make it for him. He already regret having to even meet her in the first place. He would have even more reason for remorse with his phone beginning to shine. "Not if I get there first!~"

"No! Stay the fu--"

But it was too late! Before he knew it, a flash of light blinded him through his phone and he could feel a foot kicking him in the face as a woman cackled through the connection all the way. The whisky glass fell from his grip to finally shatter on the bar ground as Mad Dog let out a spew of indecipherable curses--which, of course would get the attention of a certain goat to come back to the front.