Pickles led the way up the stairs and to the rented room, perhaps a bit smug. After all, it was a bar, after a concert, and it was pretty much his lot in life to find someone for a tryst every time
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"Pixies unfortunately tend to lack the ability to rock the fuck out." Pickles said with a deadpan that ended up making him snicker, as he went to the bathroom to wash off the eyeshadow, lip gloss, and eyeliner.
Once finished, he looked much more... masculine. The overpowering glitter done away with (for the most part, as glitter is wont to stick to absolutely everything), as well as ninety percent of his jewelry, save for the peircings, he looked much more like any other guy from the 80s. "Well then, you've made yerself pretty damn comfortable."
Pickles chuckled, dropping himself down on the bed, kicking off his cowboy boots, "Isn't this shit amazing? People have been trying to grow a strain that matches its potency, but have failed. I think the Government laces it with something, or something." He shook his head, then, realizing he should just shut up.
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Once finished, he looked much more... masculine. The overpowering glitter done away with (for the most part, as glitter is wont to stick to absolutely everything), as well as ninety percent of his jewelry, save for the peircings, he looked much more like any other guy from the 80s. "Well then, you've made yerself pretty damn comfortable."
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He beckoned to Draco, laying back on the bed.
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