It's startling enough for the ever high strung Lars, and he fumbles with the bottle, nearly dropping it. He gathers himself tensely, eyes wide and angry as he stares accusatorily at the man who just appeared out of thin air to take a shot at his already fiber thin masculinity. These stupid fucking magic men. Rude as hell.
But... Lars doesn't want to possessively cling onto the scotch in defiance. It's gross, and he doesn't want to have to posture by drinking more, so he irritably shoves it in Childermass's direction.
"...I haven't drunk nothin' before," he mutters. He wanted to lie and say he's just used to better stuff, but he's. Tired. Totally deflated and without bravado.
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It's startling enough for the ever high strung Lars, and he fumbles with the bottle, nearly dropping it. He gathers himself tensely, eyes wide and angry as he stares accusatorily at the man who just appeared out of thin air to take a shot at his already fiber thin masculinity. These stupid fucking magic men. Rude as hell.
But... Lars doesn't want to possessively cling onto the scotch in defiance. It's gross, and he doesn't want to have to posture by drinking more, so he irritably shoves it in Childermass's direction.
"...I haven't drunk nothin' before," he mutters. He wanted to lie and say he's just used to better stuff, but he's. Tired. Totally deflated and without bravado.