A Sunset of Rage

Chapter 16

Ah, Dairy Queen. The line stretched out the door. The agents pushed their way through. Since they were entasked with the holy task of solving the nation's vast crimes, they deserved anything they wanted.
"Don't think I like those foolish creatures, but I must ask a question. Do capybaras have hooves or webbed feet?" Damien growled, plagued with curiosity.
"Why, they have webbed feet. Here's a picture," Frederic smiled, taking out a photograph of Woollen's foot that he kept with him for some reason.
"B-But there are hooves on the end!" Damien yelled.
"Those are the nails, Dami."
"Oh, really? Thanks SO much for pointing that out! I TOTALLY couldn't tell on my own! You're SO helpful, Fredsh*t!" Damien said, very sarcastic.
"You're welcome! Intelligence runs in my family!" Frederic beamed.
"Frederic, your great grandpa tried to join the elite nazi party and got kicked out because he forgot he was Jewish."
"Ew, Jews," Arnoldo scoffed.
"Ew, a child prodigy who's obsessed with Hitler," Damien retorted.
Arnoldo was getting extremely frustrated. "I'm not obsessed with Hitler. I AM Hitler," he corrected, flexing his small fingers.
"Yeah, that's what they call obsessed."
"Can we tone down the Hitler?" a corrective employee growled, glaring.
"NEIN!" Arnoldo screeched, clutching his skull. No one understood him.
"Wow, you're turning into me, gripping your head in excruciating pain. Good luck being a middle aged emo, fool," Damien chuckled.
"As an agekin, I will always be 10," Arnoldo corrected.
"Chocolate shake," Frederic told the cashier. It dully typed the order in.
Cristobal rolled out of the bathroom, a sheet of toilet paper hanging out of his pants. "Well, if it isn't the b*tch brigade! Nice seeing you here, a**hats!" he greeted, cursing kindly. His passive aggressive cussing was soothing to the ears.
"Yay, it's Cristo," Frederic smiled, sipping his shake.
Cristobal gave Frederic an approving pat on the head, stretching his large torso to reach him. Then he whirled around, his flab moving at alarming speed. He opened his large, circular mouth to holler at Damien: "WHERE'S MY FOOD?!"
"Go buy it yourself. Jeesh, I'm not your slave," Damien grumbled, unhappily sipping a mountain dew. He wiped away a tear. The mere smell of the lemon lime goodness reminded him greatly of the Great Demon Queen, Jadelyn.
Cristo was furious. Just because this petty emo was off work didn't mean he was above his command. He gave the small man a large punch in to stomach with his big fist, sending him flying against the bulletproof windows. "I WANT A CHILI DOG! NOW! NOW!" he hollered, pounding his fists like a disgruntled baby.
"Dami, you look like Chris Farley," Frederic commented. It was a futile attempt at a compliment.
"Oh, so I'm FAT and FUNNY?!" Damien yelled. His phone beeped. He burst into tears. It was his daily reminder he'd installed: Carl died. He'd programmed his phone to remind him every hour that his beloved teen had passed away, February 25, 2018. Carl was not to be forgotten, ever.
"HAHAHAHAHAAHA!" Cristobal laughed, seeing him cry.
Frederic swaved through his phone, passing through his Negan wallpaper. He got out his beloved Walking Dead mini calendar, bought just for this amazing year of 2018. "Dami, look! March is Carl!" he exclaimed, openly bragging that his birthday month was blessed with the picture of the edgy teen.
Damien clenched his small fists. "Who. Am. I?" he demanded. He prayed for Lord Glenn.
The picture for April was none other than the Great Daryl. Damien was extremely disappointed. "I BETTER BE DARYL!" Cristobal hollered.
August was Carl too. Cristobal teared up. "W-What?" he sputtered, wiping away tears with his big hands. "I-I didn't get my hero, Daryl?" He then turned to Damien, his face swollen with envy. "HEY A**HOLE! WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO GET MY DARYL?!"
"Cristobal, I didn't make the calendar," Damien grumbled.
"WELL GUESS WHAT! IT'S STILL YOUR FAULT!" Cristobal yelled, kicking the small emo into the trash can. He rolled away with a chili dog, chuckling.
"Cristo, you very much resemble Daryl," Frederic complimented.
"Well, butter my buns and call me a b*tch! How sweet!" Cristobal said approvingly, rubbing his bald head embarrassedly.
"Frederic, they literally look nothing alike," Damien corrected.
I'm ending the chapter because I have no ideas.