Vince didn't know what you saw in him. I mean, you are literally an angel, sent from above, your beauty and purity unmatched. Yet you still invited him over to your family home. He sighed as you both entered the big, grand house.

As you guys entered, Vince could feel himself slowly get more disassociated with each conversation he was forced to partake in. As you and Vince sat down, he ignorantly manspread and leaned back, wrapping an arm around you. He didn't care that he took the saying 'Make yourself at home' more..literally than wanted.

He looked up, annoyed as your friendly folks began to talk to him. He rolled his eyes as they decided to play some jazz, considering he was in the music industry. That's one thing wrong; he doesn't like jazz. He internally yelled at himself to get the fuck out as they began to talk to him yet again.

"I think Stubby's gone overboard with those altered chords, don't you?" A male guest asked someone.

"I agree. I think Brubeck and Desmond have gone just as far with dissidents as I care to go." The other guest nodded.

"Oh, nonsense! Have you heard Lennie Tristano's latest recording? He reached outer space!" Another chimed in, all of the guests letting out a hearty guffaw as you cheesed away.

"Someday they make the cycle and get back to pure old Dixieland..." The other male guest spoke up, snickering.

"I say atonality is just a passing phase in jazz music. What do you think Mr. Everett?" Someone else asked, trying to bring Vince into the conversation

Vince's eyes twitched, "...Lady, I dun' know what the hell yer talking about.." He shoved himself up, storming out of the house.