Zelgadis was not familiar with neon signs, save for what lighting floats around the cities proper (not much, probably), but there's one drawing itself out on Rosch's big forehead: Moron.

...Granted, a tall one, but none the more outright intimidating. Zel's had noisy goons under his employ before, and more and more he's reminded of beastman Dilgear. Or...or perhaps that dumb lug Valgaav had fawning over him -- what's-his-face. Whatever. Look, the point was that all Rosch was missing was being some shade of green.

Also? Say it, don't spray it. Zel blinked and gave his head a little shake to get the hair Rosch yelled into his line of sight out of the way.

Jeez. Best friend? Some weirdo from where Stocke came from? Great. At least he seemed pretty unbearable, so Zel wasn't going to have to give him much thought once he got him out of his face.

"I didn't invite you over here," he pointed out, staring up sourly at him. "You're free to leave any time you want."