"Why are you fuckin' sorry? You didn't do this, it wasn't your fault, so don't ever apologise for shit you didn't do. Ever."
Sprout shrugged as if trying to hide his head in a theoretical shell.
"My favourite scarf. I've had that since I was 5 years old. FIVE!"
It was one thing to support someone going through physical anguish, but this was more than that. His mother had wounded Lilith's heart more than her face. Looking at her now, it was clear she was trying her best to keep it together. No doubt she was more upset at Pixie's actions for Pixie sake than she was for her own.
She tried to make sense of Pixie's actions and failed. The fact that she'd done what she'd done for such a stupid reason is what likely hurt the most. In a sense, Sprout knew exactly how Lilith felt for he was feeling it too. Seeing his mother in pain was one thing, but when she brought that same pain down upon others... well, she wasn't any better than the people who hurt her.
Again, Sprout grabbed Lilith wrist and squeezed. He had no clue what to say, however. He just sat there trembling, trying to imagine his mother wasn't the monster she appeared to be.
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Cranston sat at the table next to where Pixie would sit, waiting for her arrival. Once most the crew had arrived the food started making it's way around. Steak! Actual steak! There was a lot of it in the haul they'd just brought in, so why not indulge? Tonight was just as much a celebration as it was an official briefing.
The room was roaring as everyone fought over booze and salt, that was until Pixie appeared. The room went dead silent the moment she stepped into the dining hall. Cranston watched her approach. With everything that had happened today... what would she bring to the dinner table tonight? A few seconds later, when he noticed the grin on her face, he let out a sigh of relief. He'd forgotten one important thing about the woman: she could be whatever her maidens needed her to be.
"CAN YOU FUCKERS BELIEVE THIS SHIT? FUCKN' STEAK?! FER REAL!?" Pixie shouted, laughing all the while. The Maidens jeered in response, cooked blood sloshing in every direction as her men ripped into their meals. Pixie sat down at the head of the largest table in the room, taking a swig of her beer before speaking. "I reckon y'all'r tired a' here'n me praise you fer yesterday's haul, so I won' bore ya' ta' tears doin' it again!"
Another wave of chanting washed over the room before she continued, "Yesterday we made a' few mistakes, most a' which can be traced back ta' one important thing. Intelligence." Pixie glanced at Cranston who nodded in return. "Now, I know what y'all'r think'n, but it ain't ol' Chromy's fault. There's a leak in'r support network hat needs pluggn' an' if we don' do it before ar' next major score we're gonna have a lot more than a few banditos crawln' up ar' asses! So here's what's gonna happen: I'm assemble'n two teams to head over ta' Boomhower to find the piggy who's squeel'n and stick a cork n' his dick!"
After a few savage bites of her steak, she washed it down with her beer and continued, "Fenrir Squad's gonna be comprised of: Smiles, Aesop, Silo, Cameron, Barrot and Ruffles." She grinned and continued. "Sleipnir Squad includes Remmington Thunderknife, Omaha Nightblade, Havercamp Shatterdome, Gabe Haliburton, and Rodriguo Bloodharvist." Cranston rolled his eyes at what she believed to be some creative renaming. The rest of the crew must have thought it was funny too, because the whole room erupted with laughter. Cranston just hoped those she named knew she was talking about them.
"As fer our special guests... Sprout n' Casino'r gonna bring Bart to Feroxi to sell him off ta' his 'loving' family. The other two er' stay'n with us fer now. I'm sure y'all have heard by now, but one of 'em is ta' be Dio Basilio's bride! Well ya' know what?! I say fuck that!"
Her men laughed and cheered in response, "We're gonna hang on ta' her a bit just to spite the sonuvabitch! An' we're gonna keep er' friend too, considern' she was his weddn' guest when we took er' it's gonna make him look mighty stupid when the rest'a the nobles catch on! An' y'all know where my priorities lie!"
Her men shouted several different versions of the phrase, "FUCK THE NOBLEPIGS!" in response. Cranston laughed along with them.
"As fer me an' the rest of the crew," She looked to the Gentleman seated across the room. "We're gonna work with Gents over there on a new score. I won' lie to y'all, it's a BIG score, but I reckon we're gonna go a more subtle route. Anyway, see'n as how we're all on the same page now. Any questions?"
Cranston watched her as she began devouring her meal once more. For a "celebration" like this she wasn't eating her meal with nearly enough barbaric ferocity. Her heart wasn't in it at all. It didn't even look like she was enjoying her meal.
Cranston whipped his mouth with a napkin and left the table, dirty dishes in-hand.