As Ryland tosses their last handful of dry branches into BloodClan's broiling bonfire, he revels in the angry crackle and hiss of the burning wood, deriving a certain satisfaction from the sheer size that he's gotten this thing up to. Cradled in the pleasant heat of the flames, the tension in his body relaxes—the bitter bite of this stupid persistent cold front can't touch BloodClan when they've got this fire going. Man, dare he say it? This may just be the life. Reclining with a pleased sigh into his trusty folding chair (which was totally NOT stolen from a garage sale a few days ago), he smiles somewhat softly, gray-blue eyes flickering red and orange in the wavering light of the flames. With everything that they've been going through lately, he has to say it: this has got to be one of his best ideas yet.
The only thing that would complete the whole party would be an ice cold beer in his hand and waves of loud music thumping through his entire body, but unfortunately, beer and music isn't as easy to steal as a simple folding chair. But hey, life's fine even without all the pleasantries. Looking on the bright side, at least the party's kid friendly, right? Maybe he'll see Gaia and Rocco running around, who knows. With a deep inward breath and another relaxed sigh whisking through his teeth, Ryland slumps into the worn-down fabric of his chair, lifting a hand to pull his beanie over his eyes. "Alright, if anyone's got anything else to sacrifice to Satan, do it now," he calls to his fellow Clanmates, a slow grin crawling across his face. "We're all out of sticks. I nominate, uh... Sergei as firewood."
/ human reference that you shouldn't ask questions about + they're just a homeless gang who live out in the abandoned train station!