"Don't ye even dare to say something." He says roughly before throwing a box of beer on the winnebagos cold floor, he probably stole it from Hannibak, again.

he's a god-awful hot head, punching his father only brought issues, as if he already didn't have enough of those. Things went downhill a while ago. That's why he got the winnebago in the first place, but after getting into another fight with what remained of his family, he lost a few remaining contacts and his own bedroom. Maybe a couple of his LPs, too.

"Fuckin shithead-" He hisses with glory while trying to open of the cold cans. Cursing on his own father always brings him joy, who could blame him, really.

"You met him i presume-" "Course I met that asshole!" He barks out and kicks into his bass by an accident. You hear him utter more insults while he's trying to pick the good old instrument

"Around a pub, where else."

His gaze travels to the magazines on his bed. The open house magazines you showed him about a month ago right after he got kicked out from the local school.

"Don't start again." Of course, he would dismiss any idea of going to college or any glimmer of help. Who needs it? It's not like his future is bright.