game on, mfs

Buzzing. Practically fucking buzzing. Davey can feel himself getting taller, stronger, more dangerous by the day. Everything in him is becoming everything he'll be someday, and that's so fucking rad. Frankly, he's feeling rad as hell and more than rad as hell, as he arrives on the battlefield. This time, he'd left Wake in the dust. He's doing this his way, no supervision required.

Methodical. Processional. Tipping his head back and calling for an opponent, pacing excitedly. Everything about the boy is alight. On fire. Fucking ready. Yeah, he's ready to go. Gunning for something bigger and brighter and better, and for a new opponent. Game on, mother fuckers. There's no time like the present, after all.

"speech"