Cuz if you don't care, we don't care

[Sebastian]

Roman Mordvinov

Proya came out and look better than before. Course anything woulda been better than the CCD prison duds in the bright pink. That was a real fashion statement there. Prolly some psyops bullshit reason to make the prisoners dress in that fashion, but fucked if he'd know.

Anyway, guy came out and was good to go. Almost. Wanted some candy. Roman got that. No fun going out without something to make the night special. He took a swig of his rum and put it on the table before getting up and heading to the cabinet. He liked the the warmth that blanketed his brain as he walked. From within he pulled out a few baggies and some containers of powder and dropped them on the table. Another pass pulled out some of the various accouterments- lighter, spoon, strap, some needles, a bong, whatever he'd need. He also nodded at the bar.

"Let's tear some shit up, bro. Nice club down the street where we can find some trouble. There's some good China White there, though I tend to take it without the needle. Don't like the track marks. Some Shaolin Sleep and Green Monster. That's it for now. Load up if you want."


But he paused, fixing the guy with a stair. It was like giving a starving man a banquet. "We didn't just break you out because we thought you were handsome. You're smart enough to know that this is a mutually beneficial arrangement. As long as you can help us, you'll be alright. Call it probation if you want. But we treat our people good, bruh. We don't cut 'em loose."
For a moment, shame filled him as he thought of Bas. Well, we don't mostly. That had been pop's call.

On a whim he decided pops would pay for that one day. Maybe. If he still remembered.

He didn't like this feeling. He reached over and started preparing some stuff for himself. "Well, better dive in. 'Fore we head out rollin'"
He DID wanna do some rollin', too. He wanted to jack some shit up.