"How is this a safehouse?" Seb's girlfriend hissed into his ear, one arm protectively around his waist with one hand in his front pocket. She was tapping her fingers against his inner thigh through the pocket of his jeans restlessly, her eyes wide as she nervously followed him deeper into the shack.
"It's safe, trust me," he whispered back reassuringly, following Mark to the kitchen. He had never seen his friend this scared...well, duh. Jen was dead. Mark's only pride and joy...gone. "We built it, you know," he said with a grin. "These two hands...and well, you know what these two hands can do..." He nibbled her earlobe, a smirk curling across his lip.
"Will you cut it out?" Mark cried, exasperated. "Or are ya just gonna rub it in my face that you can get with any shagbag ya want with just too much hooch?" He was snarling, his eyes blazing red. He reeked of alcohol, and he never used language like that unless he was drunk. Naturally, then...
"He's drunk," Seb told his girl plainly, waiting for his friend to fall over. "He gets in quite the damn mard when drunk."
Smirking and taking another chug from the bottle on the counter, Mark nodded. "Slam dwunk," he grunted in agreement. "So, Jennydear's dead...to be honest, man, I'm happy to be rid of the minger..."
Then, suddenly, a loud SMACK was heard. The next thing they knew, Mark was on the ground, Seb was standing like a boxer with his fists at his chin from just having hit him, and his girlfriend was trying not to freak out.
"Alright, sweetheart, I think it's high time you know what we do for jobs..." Seb didn't look too happy.