“Hey!” Jack protested.
Oh, God, here it comes. Better settle in.
I found a convenient rock to sit against as Jack launched into his rant.
“I am definitely overprivileged and a douchebro, but my being white has nothing to do with that. It doesn’t even have to do with me being an asshole, which I readily admit. But I don’t see your ass or Whirlwind Lady—”
“Woman,” Melissa corrected.
“—Whatever—putting her ass on the line to save the world from freaking Cthulu and his acid punk bandmates from other dimensions from ripping the earth apart and consuming the souls of all humanity!”
Acid Punk from Other Dimensions would be a cool band name.
“So fucking excuse me if me and Reilly and the rest of us don’t go asking for permission like we’re polite, stiff-assed Brits calling on the fucking queen! We’ve got a job to do, and we’re going to do it because there’s too many goddamned gods, spirits, and whatever-the-fuck they want to identify as in order for us to be polite. Maybe if they lent a fucking hand once in a while we might be inclined to be nice, but if they just sit on their asses all day and get tweaked because we didn’t bend over and take it up the ass like Oliver fucking Twist asking ‘May I please have some more?’ then they can kiss my ass.”
Nat had joined me on the rock, and just covered her eyes with her hand, groaning slightly. “It’s too late to say he’s not with us, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah,” I sighed.