A Small Change [Hollywood Undead]

A Haunting Chill

While George was giving words of comfort, Dylan was giving Aron one of those piercing gazes that everyone else is really good at for some reason. To that, Aron fluttered his eyes. He felt a haunting chill down his spine, but he chose not to show it.

"This motherfucker won't see the end of it, I'll make sure of that." Dylan's sober thoughts mumbled through his half-drunken mouth.

The door busted open, a young and more-than-tipsy Jordon Terrell ambled his way inside. "Hey, guys!" He slurred.

"Not a good time, bro." Dylan spoke in a hush tone.

Jordon took a few steps closer to the guys. "What's going on?" He tilted his head, pouting like a child.

"We're havin' a good ol' fashioned financial crisis." Matthew sneered. "Deucey here wants a bigger share off the royalty check." he stuck his thumb out and pointed it towards Aron.

"Oh," Jordon raised his eyebrows. "That's not good."

"'That's not good'?!" George echoed. "It's fucking awful!"

"Y'all realize I'm in the same room as y'all, right?" Aron spoke in hushed tone.

George jerked his head towards his nasally band member. "Yeah, I'm not done with you, fa-"

"Georgie, just stop." Jordon huffed. "Just sit down."

"Don't 'Georgie' me, Terrell." George hizzed.

Jordon widened his eyes ever so slightly. "Well, don't 'Terrell' me, Ragan" To that, Dylan placed his hand on Jordon's shoulder, shaking his head with his eyes closed. "Oh." Jordon whispered.

Aron widened his eyes. "Oh, okay. We last namin' now."

Matt rolled his eyes. "Aron, please shut up." He asked nicely. "We're all fighting because of you anyway."

"I'm right though, y'know?" Aron mouthed out.

"I heard that." Matthew furrowed his eyebrows. "And hey, I know the only reason you want more money is because you want to buy weed and fuck a buncha hookers with all that cash." He winked, smirking.

Aron slouched forward, an insulted look plastered onto his face. "What the fuck did ya say?"

"I'm right though, y'know?" The older man mocked.

"Ya don't have da right tah say what I do with the money I make." Aron barked.

The other man could only laugh in a mocking tone. "Oh, c'mon, you're lyin' to me and you're lyin' to yourself."

"You shut the fuck up right now." Aron finally stood up, puffing his chest to buff up his skinny, hopeless frame.

Matthew laughed some more, nodding his head up and down. "Oh, are you trying to be threatening?" He asked. "That was a rhetorical question. Nice try, cupcake."

"The fuck did you call me, homie?" Aron yelled, taking a step forward.

"Why do you always put up this fake 'gangsta' act?" Matthew grinned, placing his head on his fist. "That's not even how you actually sound before you decided to put up this fake ass ghetto act." He gestured his hands to Aron's entire body.

Aron's abnormally large nose wrinkled up, a definite indication that he has been pissed off, which seems a bit unnatural since most of the time he's too high to notice his surroundings.

"So you're callin' me fake?" Aron's voice became louder with every syllable.

"I didn't say you're fake, I just said that what you're doing is fake. There's a difference." Matthew tried to reason out.