Dirty Dives are a Dime a Dozen
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Smudge shrugged non-committally.
"It works. 'ad some bad times but got through 'em with Byeli's help. Now, I jus' keep me eye open for any bad shit and react accordingly." At this, the Ogre grinned. "Fuggers say prevention is betta than cure? Not in me books, it ain't. Make the fuggers know they've fugged up. They won't do it again. Heh, I think tha's called a paradox."
Under the cold, vice-like grip of her mask, Jezebel's lips pulled into an ugly, lopsided grin.
"Nah, nah, it's not a paradox." She said eagerly. It wasn't often she found someone who shared her appreciation of the simple, direct, and most often brutally violent approach to keeping people on the straight and narrow. People liked to shy away from the truth; that a kick to the head often taught better than all the lectures about right and wrong in the world. "People follow the rules better if you set examples for what happens when they don't, right? So you send a nice, clear message to scare the rest straight. It's like...cure and prevention, all wrapped up neat together."
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Smudge chuckled, cursing mentally as a puff of smog emitted from his mouth. Ordering another two drinks, he passed one to Jezebel before downing his own.
"Ya a good girl, Jez. Ever needa talk again, leave a note at the Seasons." The Ogre stood and gave the Elemental...the Blightbent a nod of the head. "Seeya around."
With that, the Ogre headed for the door and out into the city itself, hoping to get lost in his own world for a while.
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