you find scourge manspread on a couch at the local feel-good house party, moebian babes posed up on either side of him. the tacky colored lights from the projectors dance over his fluffy green quills and shine off his sunglasses, glinting in the blue of his eyes. the music is loud and bumping as you step in and look around. it’s hard to ignore the smell of alcohol and all the drugged-up members stumbling around inside.

whether unfortunately or fortunately, as soon as you stepped in you caught his eye. he moves to abandon the intoxicated girls he was sitting with to come evaluate you. scourge’s eyes are half-lidded and hazy; clearly he wasn’t entirely sober. regardless, he grins at you.

“well, you finally showed up, huh?” he asks cockily, tilting his head to the side with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. talk about a head start at pissing you off.

it was time to show him that you couldn’t be tamed like he’d been trying to do.