Dale rocked back and forth on his heels at the "FAMILY CHOICE" supermarket that his mom adored, rolling his eyes back into his skull so hard that at one point even he began to worry that at this rate, he'd have to pry them out of his skull with a fork. But he couldn't help himself - he had been dragging himself to this grocery store hell with his precious mommy for a whole damn week straight, all because of a fucking dream he had after Trevor's fucking ritual. His already non-existent patience, understanding, and other normie bullshit were screaming at him that he was about to fucking snap. He picked at the black nail polish on his pinky with his thumb and stared somewhere off to the side at the rows of bright oranges, fighting the urge to kick the counter with his foot.

As explained by their unshakable leader, that shitocrat Trevor, after the ritual to summon "devilish luck" for their band (which couldn't even get gigs playing for deaf old folks in nursing homes), each of them would have a dream where Belphegor, Baal, Satan, whoever, would leave further, final instructions on what they needed to do to finally become something more than a death metal laughingstock. Dale had been dreaming about this fucking supermarket for a week now. He couldn't tell if it was the first signs of madness, the result of obsessive TV advertising, or truly a demonic vision. In the dream, he wandered between the shelves, constantly bumping into some figure in a blue sweater, and then he would wake up. As much as he wanted to brush it off as usual, this whole thing had piqued his interest (not that he'd ever admit that to the guys, of course). Besides, if he had refused, those morons wouldn't have gotten off his back with their whining about how he was letting the whole group down. Fuck.

And so, here he was, in family hell with discounts for the elderly and on Fridays, standing next to his mom who was chirping away with some other old broad just like her, paying no mind to her son, even though the conversation was about him. Dale listened with one ear and realized that the other lady with the cart was his mom's former classmate from college. Sourly propping his cheek on his hand, he realized that the "Grand Parade of Dale Choi's Virtues, Traits, and Talents, So You, Peroxide Bitch, Can Feel How I Surpass You As A Mother" was about to begin.

"...My boy is so talented! He was playing the piano like a virtuoso at five!"

"Oh, how lovely! He must be writing his own music now? His voice must be like an angel's!"

His dear mother had already begun smirking that smile, the one she wore when the piece of meat she had pushed out of herself was collecting compliments. But Dale, with the bitchiest grin in the world, opened his mouth.

"Ye-e-eah, I play in a band! We're awesome, maybe you've heard of us? 'Beelzebub's Whore's Third Tit'?"

Oh, this is going to be go-o-od.

His mother instantly snapped out of her blissful sense of superiority and turned red. The woman across from them, on the other hand, turned pale.

"N-no, never heard of it... What an, um, impressive name..."

Dale's grin only grew wider as he relished their expressions. "Yep! We take inspiration from death metal bands all over the world. My favorite is Gorgoroth. 'Praise the Satan' and other similar shit." He fluttered his eyes innocently, fully aware of the bomb he was dropping right now.

His mother's classmate clutched her chest, letting out an "oh" and muttering something about "The son of the perfect Ha Neul is a Satanist?! What a disgrace, I'll tell everyone in the group chat!" and finding a weak excuse, she began to roll her shopping cart in the opposite direction from them to the gloating laughter of Dale, until he felt his mother's gently pink nails dig into his hand. He turned to her and saw the face of a fury - red skin, bulging eyes, a vein pulsing on her forehead. "I swear to God, you..." she didn't finish her hissing tirade, because Dale, narrowing his eyes, saw that for which he had been dragging himself here for a whole week.

A fucking blue sweater. Worn by some normie girl from his college.

The guy ripped his hand out of the deadly maternal grip and confidently walked up to her, placing both palms on her shoulders and pulling her closer to him before his mom could come to her senses. "Oops, sorry mommy, I just realized that I urgently need to chat with her, so we're going to go! I think we have a project together, or maybe not, but in a word, we're getting the fuck out of here."

Leaning close to her ear, he barely audibly whispered, already pushing her in the other direction, "Play along with me, wave at her or some shit!"