Raymond looked up from the pile of bottle caps he was counting to grin at his partner, who everyone called “Whiskey.” Unfortunately, he was too busy living up to his namesake to do anything more than look blearily over and belch, before draining the last few droplets. Raymond rolled his eyes - not like Whiskey would notice the difference if their next meal was a fresh Brahmin Wellington straight out of the Ultra-Luxe or a half-cooked Radroach fished out of the garbage. His mouth was probably so thoroughly marinated in booze and vomit at this point all food likely tasted the same.
Raymond sighed, and scooped up their ill-gotten gains into his satchel. He scratched at the rat bite on his ankle and wiped his sweaty brow with his crusty yellow bandana, lamenting how the heat of the desert sun only seemed to intensify in the sewers beneath