“I hope manners is the next cool trend.”
It took a few seconds for Noel’s words to register in his mind. Unlike most other times, it wasn’t because Maxim was distracted or lost in his own headspace, but rather because he was focusing on burning as many of the customer’s characteristics in his mind as possible as he watched him exit the shop. He returned too late from his break to fully understand what happened or what this man’s problem was but it still didn’t give him any right to act like a dick to any of his friends. Unfortunately for that that sucker, Maxim was looking for a new victim to terrorize, and this kind of behavior just bumped a particular fuckstick up in line. Especially since he knew for a fact that the stranger couldn’t possibly be complaining about a tattoo from Noel—a son of the tattoo god. His infuriating personality—maybe. But not his art.
Only when he was out of view did he turn his attention back to his co-worker, a shrug easy on his shoulders as he shook his head. “Don’t get your hopes up.” His tone is nearly nonchalant, almost successfully masking his annoyance at the spectacle. “I don’t think he’s the type to follow trends.”
Images and ideas of possible torture flooded his mind as he thought of that wretched man again. Perhaps manners could be something drilled into him in his dreams. As in, with a literal drill to the head to symbolize the headache of a rotten dipshit he was being.
“Next time he comes in, he’s either going to apologize or eat his own dick.” The words came out as a mutter, laced with venom and spite. Maxim was aware that he didn’t exactly have the authority to deny entry to customers, but knowing their boss, he was almost certain a ban would be a kinder punishment than anything Kaz could come up with.
