[ Eddie’s only initial response is a pained groan. He holds up a finger, gesturing for Michael to hold that thought for just a moment as he begins to frantically search nearby cooking stations for a flask of water. He’s lucky to find one, which he steals without even asking. He takes a great gulp, swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing.

It doesn’t help much, but it helps take the edge off a little. His eyes are still watering, his face is still bright red, and his mouth may as well be on fire, but it’s tolerable enough. ]

Shit—okay.

[ He takes a moment to shake his hands out and let out a couple more swears, but he tries his best to continue the conversation from there. ]

I guess that makes sense. No awkward run-ins with the guy that sold you weed in high school. I don’t think Jesus would like to hear about that.

[ Granted, he’s never been a religious guy. He doesn’t know what Jesus gets his jollies over. All he knows is that his love of D&D and metal music has earned him a whole lot of “you’re going to Hell, Munson”s in his life. Speaking of… ]

What about Hell? Like…if I go there, is it personal? Am I gonna be tortured with easy listening for all eternity?