Riot Vhhhk

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DzMGqVh8G20

Skooma practically oozed from the foundations of the Black Shalk Cornerclub. The place got busted by Ordinators almost every week, but people kept streaming back in, like moths drawn to a self-destructive glampunk sugar candle.

The whole place was one giant mosh pit, a [censored]storm of broken mazte bottles and flailing Dunmer and, very periodically, what appeared to be some kind of Daedric six toy. Vehk had to float to avoid getting trampled, levitating her way from the doors to the bar. Already feeling overwhelmed by the night, she ordered a drink and slumped her face against the bar, hoping for a few moments of peace.

...A hope which was quickly dashed by a low, nasal voice from above her. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Little Miss Middle-Air.”

Vehk slowly, reluctantly lifted her face, glancing at the figure next to her. He was a short, vaguely reptilian figure in a buttondown shirt and cargo shorts, with two horns awkwardly growing out of his cheeks.

“Say “how beautiful you are, that you do not join us,” and I will feed your skull to a durzog.” Vehk spat.

Molag Bal leaned against the bar in what Vehk could only assume supposed to be a seductive fashion. “Hey, it’s not my fault punk girls are so easy. You think there’s any other reason I’d set foot in this kwamahole?”

Vehk’s eyes narrowed. “Eat [censored] and die.

“Playing hard to get, Vehk?” Molag Bal grinned that snotty little smile of his and, before Vehk could realize what he was doing, leaned down and reached right behind her and-

That basic [censored]wad. He always [censored] did this. That little trust-fund cis fratboy know-it-all piece of [censored] rich Daedric Prince. Prancing in like he owned the [censored] place, “oh, look-at-[censored]-me, my sphere is the domination and enslavement of mortals, everyone bow before me.”

It took Vehk less than a second to respond, her fist smashing his right-horn into pieces.

“You [censored] [censored].” He screeched, diving for her. A crowd formed around them as the two rolled back and forth. Molag Bal had raw strength going for him, but he fought like someone who’d just finished twelve kalpas of private school. Vehk, on the other hand, had been doing this since Ald-Cyrod was just Regular-Cyrod.

Eventually, Vehk pinned Bal on his stomach, her elbow wedged into his side as painfully as she could make it.

“Feels like someone’s love is accidentally shaped like a spear.” He grunted. She’d never wanted anything more than to wipe that snide [censored] grin off his face.

“That isn’t my love you’re feeling, n’wah.” She growled. She grabbed Muatra off her back, pointing it at the back of his head. “And it doesn’t [censored] represent anything.”

The ending of the words is [censored] YOUR [censored].