…he cried out in frustration on one particularly sweltering day. We were lounging around the Mad Gear station when Doc picked up some funky signals from nearby somewhereabouts in the Zone and decided to send a few of us to investigate. So Party, Jet, and I all suited up — jammed on our boots, grabbed our bandanas, loaded our blasters and set out to do what we did best.
Out of the six of us, I don’t think anyone took as long to get ready as Party. It wasn’t so much an ego thing or a glamour issue; Poison just wanted to make sure he looked his best. And he was definitely not one to complain about lack of mirrors and these sorts of things; I mean the guy hasn’t been exactly living the posh and pampered life since the start of this whole war — none of us have. But it seemed like today, the sun just vehemently hated each of us individually and decided to crank up the temperature a few degrees — just enough to make our skin crawl with a thin layer of sweat, enough to cause our hairdye to run and make us all a little more than uncomfortable.
So of course, Poison was throwing a hissy fit over not being able to see his goddamn reflection. “I’ve got too many faces and not enough mirrors.”