[not-shiloh]

lucindadyer‌:

Lucy ‘hmms’ at the name before smiling. “Cute. Certainly has a personality,” she points out. Pets were nice, but too much responsibility for Lucy to handle. She watches as Shiloh puts Thor back down, and then the dog is back to running around them. 

“So are you two faring well with the storm?” she asks, trying to make conversation. Today, at least, it wasn’t raining. The wind was still annoying as ever though. “Hasn’t freaked out Thor, has it?” 

Shiloh laughs, and shakes her head. "Honestly, I think he likes it more than I do. I'm more of a 'sit inside with a blanket and a coffee' kind of person, but he gets annoying if I don't take him out."

 It's cold as hell, but she's still sweating inside her sweater and raincoat. She probably would've ditched the coat if it hadn't been for her sister insisting that it MIGHT start raining. Which hadn't been proven true yet, but oh well. "You? I mean, I wouldn't have even left my house if I didn't have to, so what brings you out?"

[not-shiloh]

clemnewman‌:

“UH-HUH, SURE,” Clem says, tone disbelieving as he tries his best to stifle his mischievous snicker. “I think the lady doth protest too much,” he quips quickly. He tries in vain to remember what Shiloh’s work is—if she’s even working, since isn’t she, like, twenty or something and thus, still kind of a bum?—but it only takes him a couple of seconds before he gives up and he doesn’t even know (or, perhaps more accurately, can’t remember) what she event went to college for. Still, her remark gives him enough fodder to snap off a retort, and it’s what he does best. “Enough of your own money that you can’t even afford a measly drink in the local bar,” he says. “You are very much an adult and very much financially capable,” he continues, the sarcasm almost painful to hear with how obvious it is. “Being broke is the vogue amongst us adults, definitely.”

"God," Shiloh grumbles, folding her arms across her chest. "Does no one ever tell you to shut up? Is that why my sister left you?" She knows why Macy left him. Cheating, obviously, and because Macy was always better than Clem, one hundred percent better. But she likes poking him, especially when he's pissing her off, and even if she knows it probably won't do any good.

“Even if I wasn’t broke, I wouldn’t buy a drink for someone who’s such an asshole.”

[not-shiloh]

drsloane‌:

[ open starter ]

Storms, in Sloane’s opinion, are the perfect weather.

They’re tumultuous and wild, crackling with energy, appropriately dramatic, and, best of all: most people tend to stay inside when they’re happening. It’s not that the town is dead – there’s cars everywhere, honking angrily, but the sidewalks are almost barren, the beaches empty, everyone doing their best to shelter themselves from the storm.

Except for a few. Namely, Sloane, who’s in the middle of bursting into a shore-side shop, looking like a drowned rat, if a drowned rat could be said to be absolutely thrilled about the situation.

They target the person nearest the door, and grab the closest wrist they can find. “There’s a beached Siren,” Sloane announces, no hello, no will you help me, just setting about starting to drag their chosen help toward the door. “And I can’t lift her by myself. So you’re coming to help. Stop dawdling.”

Weather like this was good for one thing, and that was being inside, wrapped up in blankets, with a nice cup of hot chocolate. At least, that was what Shiloh thought. Thor, however, had been whining at the front door all morning. She would have let him keep it up, too, except that her grandmother had already hated the there was even a dog in the house, and was even more upset that she had to actually see or hear him. And it was a lot harder to ignore an old woman telling her to 'take that damn dog outside' than it was to ignore the dog himself. So she'd stuffed Thor into her backpack, and told him to behave himself. 

And he had been. She'd taken refuge inside a small shop, and he hadn't made a peep - Which was good, because there was definitely a no dogs policy. Or, you know, animals at all.

She'd just been thinking it'd probably be safe to go home, except at  that exact moment, someone grabbed her wrist. A beached siren? Shit. And, as if on cue, Thor started barking. Because of course he did. The shopkeeper gave her a stern look, but she was already being dragged out the door. "I - Fine, but I have my dog.." She said, yanking her arm away and following the person who had grabbed her. 

[not-shiloh]

lucindadyer‌:

Instead of heading home, she took to walking around. A smoke and a walk always helped clear her head. It was about the only thing she could do aside from leaving Violl’s Cove for a week, but she wasn’t itching for that yet. 

She stares at the ground as she walks, counting her steps in the hopes it’ll quiet down her thoughts. She doesn’t notice the sound of steps quickly approaching her until the dog is at her legs in a rush. It’s not a big dog at all, but the rush at her legs surprises her enough to catch herself from falling back. As it begins to bark and growl, the owner is scooping the dog up and away from her. 

Lifting her gaze, she realizes she recognizes them. Lucy smiles. “It’s okay.No harm was done. Just gave me a bit of a surprise there,” she reassures. “I didn’t realize you had a dog. What’s their name?”

Shiloh feels even worse when she recognizes the person who's caught Thor's attention - Lucy. A friend of Clem's - It always surprises her, that Clem actually has friends. But, stranger things have happened, right? 

"Thor." He barks, seeming to agree with her. "Really, it's more like he has me, if I'm being honest.." She trails off, distracted by his incessant pawing at her arms, and tentatively places him on the ground, giving him a look that she hopes conveys that if he acts up again, she's putting him back on the leash. 

[not-shiloh]

clemnewman‌:

CLEM KNITS his eyebrows together. “You don’t have a credit card?” he asks, before another possibility captures his imagination. “Or do they not trust you with one?” He waggles his eyebrow as if taunting her, but it’s all in his characteristic good fun. “Alright, then,” he says, “entertain me: what, pray tell, would you be doing besides bothering me as you usually do?” The question almost has a bite, but it’s said in such a carefree way that it’s clear he doesn’t think he’s said anything insulting. After all, it is true that Shiloh has made a habit out of hanging around him more often than she should for someone whose sister’s heart got broken by him—but in all these moments between them, he’s never asked why precisely she sticks around, and he’s most definitely not going to start asking now. “And thinking about bothering me doesn’t count, you know.”

God. He's insufferably, really insufferable. She doesn't want to explain herself, because she knows damn well that Clem isn't going to understand why she isn't simply let loose with a credit card like he apparently was. One, because her family isn't that kind of well off, but second.. Well, she's had one too many late night, vodka fueled online shopping sprees for her parents to think she's financially  competent anymore. Macy is in charge of the money while they're out of town, because of course she is.  

"They do trust me!" She says, indignantly, which makes it sound like even more of a lie. "Anyway, I'm an adult." She is, it's true, and she does have a job, part time, at the local art supply store. But again, drunk online shopping. "I can make my own money."

[not-shiloh]

romangrxy‌:

Somedays it was so easy for Roman himself to forget there was more to him that existed beyond everything that was the golden boy. Smothered with love a child like him must have been, to end up to radiant. Reflecting the rays of the sun against glowing skin.  Love was a word he’d know the taste of on his tongue. The way the word would form in his mouth and sculpt the air around it. He’d practice it sometimes to those who longed to hear it.

A pretty thing such as Roman, it was all they wanted to hear sometimes. 

To be loved by a creature so beautiful. They’d always be too distracted to see the poison that ran in his veins and carved the corners of his smile. Shattered mirrors, he’d hear the ghost of words whispered. He’d hear the longing so many voiced to him. Desperation. The desire to devour him. Claim him as their own.

Some days he’d amuse their games, he’d whisper between sheets and tangled limbs. Roman would find gasped breaths of names as easily forgotten as they were forged. Shiloh was never one of those he’d long to forget. However it seemed time kept their distance. An emptiness in the air between them. Awkwardness. He’d never say the words she wanted to hear, and in turn, she’d stop sending words in return.

A collide would send him shuffling back, a bright smile drawn to his lips as he looked down to a fluffy creature that bounded into him. A laugh would follow, but as the air filled with joy and his hands stroked the dog’s ears, his eyes would meet a gaze that would strike familiarity in guilt.

“He’s not a problem, I’m sorry I don’t have any treats to offer- what was it Thor? I’m sorry Thor,” Roman would continue bending down to Thor’s level, perhaps just so he didn’t have to meet eyes with Shiloh again. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you, buddy.”

It wasn't until she had collected the dog that she noticed who the person actually was - Roman. Roman, who she has been making a point to avoid for years, that Roman, is standing in front of her, smiling that smile of his, and she feels all of a sudden exactly as flustered as she did the last time they really spoke. In high school. God. Fuck. She hates it. She hates how totally not calm and collected she's always felt around him, how she still feels the same goddamn way. 

Thor clearly seems to feel much more at ease with Roman than she does. His barks soften to whines, and he paws at her arms, desperate to be let go so he can lick his new friend. Asshole, Shiloh thinks, as she holds him a little tighter. Aren't dogs supposed to protect you, not lead you into horrible and awkward situations? Then again, Thor isn't a regular dog. She bites her lip, trying to say something coherent, not just a random string of words. "Roman! Hi, it's, um. Hi." Fuck. She couldn't have sounded more stupid. Like, had she even really tried? God. It was like she was exactly the same girl she’d been in high school, sitting on someone’s porch, trying to put her feelings into words and failing miserably.

[not-shiloh]

clemnewman‌:

HE NODS VIGOROUSLY. “Of course I don’t,” he echoes, the emphasis heavy on the words. It escapes him how it makes him all the more unbelievable, but he’s too far gone to care. Her last statement makes him look at her with disbelieving eyes and a quirked-up mouth. “Broke? You?” he asks. “Just ask your parents for money, duh.” If the statement makes it sounds like it’s just that easy, it’s because it’s always been that easy for him. Granted, he did make money of his own now, but he was ever so thankful for the vast familial wealth that he could always use as a back-up if things drastically go sour. “How much can a pint even cost? Ten, twenty dollars?” 

Here's the thing - Shiloh's family isn't rich, but they're not poor, either. They had the money to help both their daughters through college, they have the money to pay for a nice suburban home, and if she asked, her mom would give her cash. But that's the problem. Her mom is rarely home, always with some friend or at some meeting, and her dad is usually on business trips, and then Macy is in charge of the money and then.. Well, it's different with Macy. 

"I can't, they're out of town." She said, almost whining. "I think. If it was that easy, I'd be actually having fun, not hanging around with you while you wait to check out Mothman's ass."

[not-shiloh]

clemnewman‌:

IT FLOORS HIM how easily the question of hers takes the wind out of his sail, leaving him adrift and floating aimlessly. Did he—did he look like a nebbish? “I don’t care about what your sister thinks about me,” he says, immediately on the defensive, his voice frank. “I was just asking to be polite.” As if politeness could even cover the level of interest he’d been showing, but he’s living through smokescreens and falsehoods, and one more isn’t going to hurt. 

(As if to confirm his disinterest, he doesn’t even ask about the blasted boyfriend, even though he’s positively burning to know more.)

He lets out a laugh, condescending and infuriating. “Darling, I know the law,” he says, his voice almost in a sing-song cadence. “Besides, I didn’t think you’d be so averse to the idea of a drink with li’l old me.” He grins, almost as if this idea enchants him. “But I was thinking of getting a drink in Nightingale, but… well, who knows?” He shrugs, as if the idea is slipping out of his thinking like water through his fingers.

Polite? Was Clem ever polite? Or at least, was he ever polite when he didn't want something? "Of course you don't want." She said, trying to conceal her amused smile. She loves the thought that she might be putting him on edge. Usually she wants to put people at ease, even if she doesn't like them - Wants them to like her. But she doesn't care what Clem thinks of her. Mostly because she knows that she's never going to be able to make him care. It doesn't matter. 

"I'm not averse," She says. "More like broke."

[not-shiloh]

clemnewman‌:

“YEAH? WHAT WORDS?” Clem asks, insistent, wanting to know every single last detail down to the final drop. He almost looks—banish the thought!—clingy but he can’t stop himself from this interrogation, especially when Shiloh’s being this cagy and indirect. Clever little minx, he can’t help but think, she knows precisely how to catch me.

Because, really, in truth? He can’t bear the idea of Macy moving on, of the poor woman somehow managing to finally love someone else other than him. In his mind, he thought of her as his still, as if she’ll come crawling back any second now, just begging to be taken back.

Clem shakes the flask and only huffs as she shakes her head. “You rob me of my alcohol,” he says, “and that’s the best thing you got?” He rolls his eyes. “You are aware you now owe me a drink, right, darling?”

"It's been years, Clem. Why do you still care what my sister thinks about you?" It's amusing, how concerned he is. Even more amusing to her, because she knows that if Clem asked, her sister would go back to him, easily. But she can't let him know that. It's in her sisters best interest. Something she can pretend she's concerned about. "I think she has a new boyfriend from work, or something. He's nice." The truth is, Macy has been on two lukewarm dates, and Shiloh has only met him once. But he doesn’t seem bad. Not as bad as Clem. But not as interesting, either. 

“What, are you going to like, sue me if I don’t buy you one?” She says, teasing. She doesn’t know anything about law, and even more specifically, nothing about lawsuits.

[not-shiloh]

clemnewman‌:

CLEM NARROWS HIS EYES, the issue of the flask forgotten as he latches into this altogether new topic of interest. “She hates me?” he asks, the interest in his voice almost palpable. “Really?” If he’s acting for all purposes like he can’t believe such a notion of a woman he cheated on numerous times hating him, it’s because he genuinely cannot fathom the possibility. As far as he’s concerned, Macy had loved him when she left—and what a wound that is: that she left him rather than the other way around—and so she loves him still. To hear otherwise is, quite frankly, mind-boggling; it becomes a point of curiosity, something that he’s quite eager to learn more about. “She said this to you?”

(Perhaps that’s why he keeps Shiloh around, then? To keep tabs on Macy?)

(Then again, it’s less him keeping Shiloh around and more her just not keeping away.)

He pouts, almost rather playfully, at her comment. “Have to do?” he echoes, voice rising in some kind of indignant rage. “Darling,” he says slowly, as if she’s stupid. “You keep sticking around me like glue stuck in my shoe”—which were, of course, Louboutins, because what else could they be?—“so don’t give me that bull.”

"Well, not in so many words," Shiloh replies with a shrug. "But she's my sister. I know her." Another lie. She's known Macy since she was born, and yet she hardly knows anything about her. Macy is a mystery. Macy is an enigma. Maybe it's why Shiloh will never be enough like her. "But, like, obviously. You thought she didn't?" She laughs, like Clem was stupid for thinking that her sister might feel anything but disdain for him. He isn't. He probably knows her sister better than she does.

She shrugs in response to his comment, because, well, it's true. What is she supposed to say to that?

[not-shiloh]

clemnewman‌:

SHILOH EASILY TAKES the flask away from him, and amused eyes watch as she takes a swig, then two. “I’m not,” he says again, a tiny smidge of annoyance flaring up from within him. “And don’t you dare drink all of that,” he adds, pointing to the flask. He doesn’t know where he might even start with refilling it in a place like this, all the drinks he’s seen so far just the same variations of pumpkin juice or apple juice. If he’s lucky, though, he might chance upon some hard cider in this festival—but perhaps he’d be asking for too much.

The mention of her sister makes him almost nostalgic. “How is your sister, by the way?” Clem asks, his smile almost leering, as if he’s extremely satisfied with himself. What for, he doesn’t immediately advertise, but it’s not too difficult to imagine him actually gloating. “Is she here? Maybe she’ll say yes to a threesome with me and Mothman if I ask her prettily enough.” And oh, how he asked so much from her when they were together. Old habits do die hard, don’t they?

Clem scoffs. He always forgets that Shiloh, though having moved here very young, wasn’t a native. (Though he doesn’t have room to talk: he’d been born when his parents were celebrating Hannukah in their winter estate at Connecticut, so he’s not as much a native as he likes to say he is.) “The craziness is part of the charm,” he says. “You learn to live with it.” That’s what he did, after all, and he learned to beat it, being the talk of the town despite how utterly bland and normal he could have been, wholly human as he is in this fantastical world. “I hope I’m part of the fun kind of crazy you’re talking about,” Clem finishes, wide smile almost like an inviting snarl—an oxymoron, but when has Clem not been wrapped up in presenting himself as something to wonder about, to gaze at, to behold as a spectacle?

Don't dare? It was like he was challenging her. Of course, he probably wasn't - But she took a few more drinks, and the flask felt considerably lighter in her hand. The warmth of the alcohol washed over her, and she handed it back with an almost innocent smile. "I think there's still a little bit left, don't worry."

She couldn't help but roll her eyes at the comment about her sister. "Ew.  Seriously, like. I never thought that she could actually hate anyone. Until now." It was a lie. Macy still definitely loved Clem, to a point where it was actually pathetic. But she wasn't going to say that out loud, not to him. As much as she disliked her sister, she wasn't about to give Clem that kind of satisfaction. If she was being honest, he’d fit into her family, in one aspect, which was that he was completely insufferable. 

Sometimes. 

“Well, given the other options..” She said, looking around with a sigh. “You’ll have to do, I guess.”

[not-shiloh]

leandroramirez‌:

          𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄  𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒  𝐘𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃  𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄  𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄  𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄.   work  at  the  bar  was  more  than  a  full  time  job,  the  nightingale’s  upkeep  requiring  more  from  co-owner  than  a  usual  nine-to-five.   but  he  wouldn’t  have  it  any  other  way   —   he  owed  that  much  to  the  family  that  put  enough  faith  in  him  to  allow  part  ownership  of  a  business  they  funded  in  the  first  place.   what  was  tricky,  however,  was  juggling  daily  chores  with  support  meetings,  sponsorship  &  general  day  to  day  life  as  well  as  getting   enough sleep  to  maintain  sanity.   it  wasn’t  easy  by  any  means   —   addiction  was  a  constant  battle  waged  with  every  breath,  &  sometimes  it  felt  as  simple  as  reaching  for  the  nearest  bottle  to  relieve  mounting  stress   —   but  willpower  prevailed  &  nicotine  was  the  only  substance  allowed  to  alleviate  cravings.

          cigarettes  were  the  end  goal  on  midday  walk,  attention  elsewhere   —   he’d  only  finished  his  night  shift  8  hours  prior,  so  tiredness  still  clung  to  eyes  that  blink  fruitlessly  against  outside  air,  yawn  stifled  by  clenched  fist.   route  was  automatic  so  mind  was  free  to  wander,  until  he  was  brought  back  to  reality  by  something  thumping  against  his  shins.   steps  are  halted,  lines  that  had  furrowed  brows  softening   —   a  huff  of  amusement  passes  lips  at  the  dog’s  greeting,  in  the  way  it  seemed  adamant  to  prove  its  superiority  despite  being  maybe  7  pounds  soaking  wet   —   he  waves  away  the  apology,  smile  brushing  features,   ❛   maybe  he  smells  the  cat  on  me         ❜   hand  is  proffered  for  inspection,  fingers  curled  into  a  fist  lest  growled  threat  becomes  reality,   ❛   what’s  his  name  ?   ❜

Shiloh was still holding the leash, while awkwardly trying to stop Thor to keep from leaping out of her arms. He didn't, and instead entertained himself by chewing on the sleeve of her hoodie. People said that chewing was something puppies grew out of, but Thor never had. Most recently, Macy's favorite pair of heels had been a target. Now, apparently, it was her arm. 

"Thor." She said. "Like the god, not the Marvel character." She added, after Thor barked, seemingly in protest. "It doesn't matter, really, because he hardly knows his name anyway."

[not-shiloh]

clemnewman‌:

THE BARRAGE OF WORDS feels almost overwhelming. Clem could handle many things, but Shiloh is everywhere, and it’s both confusing and amusing and puzzling at the same time. He wonders why she stays despite the hurt he’s piled on both her and her sister; and he wonders, too, how much more he can push and take and get. After all, if there’s a limit somewhere, Clem looks for it with the pure intent of crashing himself against it.

“Don’t you get it?” he asks, tilting his head and seemingly looking at her as if in a new light. “Sounding weird was the point.” He says this in a tone that makes it sound like it should be obvious, as if she really should have known that fact. Nevertheless, he relents to her request, despite his earlier protestation of not wanting to share, and he offers her the flask. He supposes there’s no harm in indulging her, after all, especially when she’s proven she can be quite the fun distraction.

However, he winces (even if only internally) at her next words. “I’m not,” he says, blissfully unaware that he doth protest too much. “I’m not even here for him, I’m here for his ass.” As if Mothman’s ass was’t part of Mothman himself. It’s a weak defence—and he should know, since he’s a lawyer—but he lets it stand, a part of him curious about how Shiloh would take it. “I suppose,” he adds, voice sounding like he’s caught the thought on its tail-end, “that you’d rather be anywhere else other than here.” The tone almost ironic, there was, however, a question left unasked, left only in implications: so why are you here then?

Shiloh accepted the flask, and took a swig, listening to him. Mothman's ass? God. He really was weird. It was probably good that Macy wasn't married to him anymore, at least, if Shiloh had had her sister's best interests in mind. But did she ever really?

"Omigod, Clem. You're a total Mothhead, I can't believe it!" She said, giggling, and taking another drink. If he wanted the flask back, he'd have to take it from her, she decided - He probably would. "The only way this would be better if you and Macy were still married. Jesus christ." At this point, she was having more than a bit of a giggle fit, and people around were starting to stare, so she collected herself. "Not surprised you're an ass man, though." 

She shrugged. "I'd rather be anywhere else, except at my house. Macy and grandma are being serious nightmares, so.. This is a change of scenery at least, right? Even if everyone here is also crazy, it’s like.. The fun kind. Sort of, at least.”

[not-shiloh]

When Shiloh was little, like little as in she can't really remember how old she was, her dad told her and Macy this joke - Or, really, it was a riddle. Regardless, it always made her laugh, at the time, and still now whenever she thinks of it. When is a door not a door? When it's a jar. She knows that it's something that's supposed to be clever, a little trick, but she's always thought it was funny. She's looking at Thor, who is running in circles around her, wrapping his leash around her legs, and looking generally ridiculous. When is a dog not a dog? She's still not entirely convinced Thor is a dog. He flops over on his back, he's always hated the leash, and she sighs, and leans down to unclip it. 

It's instaneous, really, how he jumps up and runs down the sidewalk. She doesn't bother to call after him, because he always comes back. He isn't trained, but he's not dumb either, so she's not worried about it. At least, she's not worried until she sees Thor launch all of his six pounds of body weight at an unsuspecting passerby. This is when she intervenes, rushing over to scoop him up. 

Flustered, she looks at the person as apologetically as she can. "I'm so sorry, he's really just.. He's very friendly, I promise." Thor, however, is growling and yapping, like he's trying to prove her wrong. "He just wants to say hello."

[not-shiloh]

clemnewman‌:

THERE’S ONLY ONE REASON WHY CLEM WOULD WANT TO SEE MOTHMAN, and that’s to see if the real Mothman’s ass truly held a candle to the ass he saw while he was in West Virginia. It might be asking for too much and reality was always so disappointing, but he still finds himself in line for the Mothman stall, despite literally haranguing against Mothman superfans in his head just a while ago—do they really call themselves Mothheads?—and it’s why he’s here to stay, despite the long line and the sun beating down on his back and his rather undeniable need to take a drink. Or two. 

The line moves at a snail’s pace—or scratch that, it moves even slower than a snail’s pace. Clem doesn’t know what’s taking so long, or if perhaps he can throw money away at the problem: take a guard or something and flash a couple Benjamins just for a bump at the line, but he doesn’t want to make the cryptid think Violl’s Cove is somehow profitable and return next year for an encore.

With nothing else to do, he takes out his flask and takes a drink. Catching the eye of someone else watching him, he stops and takes a pause. “I’d offer you a taste,” he says, which is a goddamn lie, but… well, they don’t know that. “Unfortunately, I’m very particular with who I share bodily fluids with.”

To be perfectly frank, Shiloh has no real interest in Mothman. He's just.. Dare she say it, almost mainstream. Which as a cryptid does not appeal to her, at all. Isn't the point to be all mysterious and secretive and shit? Not to do signings at local festivals? She wants to grab every person she sees wearing a Mothman T shirt and shake them, and say 'HE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT YOU, HE'S ONLY IN IT FOR THE MONEY'. But she doesn't. Instead, she tries to store away faces to sketch later. If there's one thing this is good for, it's fodder for her art, at the very least. 

But while she's scanning faces in the excessively long line, she spots one familiar. Clem. Macy's ex husband. A total piece of shit, and yet, somehow someone she has chosen as decent company. "You know, when you say bodily fluids, it sounds super weird, Clem. Anyway, I'll wipe it off when I'm done, c'mon." She hops back and forth from one foot to another. “Please. This whole shitshow is unbearable. I bet Mothman is more of a dick than you are, and look at these idiots, falling all over themselves to see him and -” It takes a moment to realize that Clem is in fact, one of those idiots. “Omigod. Fuck. Holy shit. Are you like... A Mothhead?”