I Hate *Everyone*

Jack could only lower his head as he realized that, of course, Gaston was extremely racist. As he sunk further into his bottle that look of wisdom in his eyes slowly dulled away and the hunter regressed back into the drunk bigot that Jack had thought he was. He felt he probably should have said something that was at least remotely un-racist to try and dilute the toxic air that was building in the coach, and growing thicker by the minute with every slanderous expletive that left Gaston's mouth. He felt a pang of guilt as he could practically feel the Goblyn recoil at the hate he was receiving.

"Hey I might be a Goblyn but at least I'm not some crazed drunk. Seriously dude, you think I wanted to be a Goblyn? Hell no, and for the record, I don't steal."

The Goblyn's retort fell on deaf ears, as Gaston had already fallen too far into his stupor to offer an intelligible reply. After a moment of awkward silence, Gaston finally regained consciousness, "Baaah! Beast, I'll kill you!" Gaston screamed, waking from his sleep.

This was terrible. Jack was ready to offer an, I'm sorry, he's not always like this, (which would be a lie). But as he mustered up the courage to speak, the Goblyn beat him to the punch.

"You got a problem with me? If you do say it, drunken McGee over here was fine with speaking his mind."

Jack froze, thoughts literally screeching to a halt as his face flashed an expression of utterly transparent offense. Oh, my bad, sorry for the lack of transparency, the rouge spitefully thought, I suppose you'd prefer it if I'd spat in your face instead of trying to spare your dignity?

The bastard was trying to call him spineless! Like he was too much of a push-over to speak his own mind! The truth was that the last non-human thing he had ever encountered wanted to grind his bones for bread, so yeah, his close proximity to this Goblyn was something that honestly distressed him. He didn't like it. And if he didn't want to speak, that was okay!

But no need for excuses, Jack thought, his mind going a mile a minute, fueled on steadily growing anger. That's right, he wasn't here to make friends. He could feel the situation baring down on him, the combination of the drunk's splashing of wine and the gnarled Goblyn serving to reduce his mood to the apathy he had felt when he first got here.

"Great to know the first few people I meet are a bunch of racist drunken idiots," The Goblyn quipped as the coach came to a lurching stop. Not able to manage the morphing snarl on his face, Jack fired back, "I don't owe pleasantries to anyone, Goblyn."

The Goblyn turned, possibly surprised that Jack had managed to speak at all, or possibly at the raw emotion in his voice, or perhaps he hadn't noticed anything significant at all. Jack stood, slouching like a rebellious delinquent with his hands in his pockets and his gaze a million miles away.

"And for the record, I'm not racist. Nah, I hate everyone. You'd best remember that, and stay out of my way."

Jack left the coach in a brisk and brooding manner, he felt Gaston's hot alcohol-leaden breath on his back and jerked away from the man as if offended that he was being spoken to, before walking ahead of the others, boots crunching on the snow.

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