"This is reyt bullshit." He grunted around a mouthful, a fleck of apple spitting from his lips. Barely finished with one bite, he was already cutting into the fruit again. He glanced up to the other man, his face twisted into a scowl.
"All o' them fookin' Watchdogs get t' go t' beach like, an' we're 'ere workin' us bollocks off. Not only that, but it's only them that get t' be inside, an'orl! Crock o' shite!" He complained viciously, shaking his blade in the direction of Iver Hall. "But nooooo, we gotta sit art 'ere like untrustworthy youths, lookin' in from artside. This is what am talkin' abart! It's us an' them!"
"You geddit, dun't ya, Dray?" He looked over to Draven, lifting an irritated brow.