2-D grinned as the cork came off the wine bottle with a loud cartoonish pop. "So Murdoc, you gonna have to piss in a colostomy bag now?"
Murdoc rolled his eyes as he sipped his scotch. "Russ broke my hand, moron."
"I know." He then thrust the bottle in front of Hannibal. "Want some?"
"Should you really be drinking with your migraines?" Noodle asked.
He paused, staring out into space like a deer facing car headlights. "Oh dear. Never thought of that."
"That's cos you never think."
"I don't mean to be rude, but can we not fight?" Hannibal asked.
Murdoc downed the rest of his scotch. "Sorry, Hans, but the little bastard's been agitating me all day."
"Muds," Russell growled, "stop it."
"Well, it's true. Now can you shut up and let me get on with my brother?"
"Oh for Christ's sake, you haven't said a fucking word to me all day." Hannibal sneered.
"But that' all the dullard's fault!"
"Why is it my fault? Just cos I exist? Just cos I actually care about people? Maybe I'm not smart, but I know not to treat my friends like utter shite."
The bassist threw back his head and laughed. "Friend? You thought we were friends?"
"You know what he means." Russell growled through gritted teeth.
He shook his head. "You lot have been at my throat all day when we're supposed to be celebrating my birthday!"
"We're giving you a hard time," Noodle said slowly, "because you haven't been grateful at all." She then turned to Hannibal. "You should go."
Murdoc rose from his chair and marched to the two giant steel doors. "No! No, stop. Don't leave. You fuckers can have your little bloody garden pity party by yourselves."
"And just where the hell are you going at this hour?" Russell asked.
The Satanist shot a bloodthirsty glare at him. "To the pub!" And with the ringing death knell of Kong's doors, Murdoc was gone.
Russell sighed. "You know, sometimes I think I should've done more than break his nose."
Hannibal glanced at his package on the coffee table. "I guess I'll be selling that."
"What is it?" 2-D asked.
He sighed. "It's personal."