Grog's head dangled aimlessly as Deprave carried him into the sickest fucking RV he had seen in his entire goddamn life. The Mayan dropped him with minimal caution, as expected, just as he had entered the surprisingly spacious, and fancy, interior. The vandal fell with an audible flop, and his first thought was, obviously, to crawl towards the kitchen immediately after the strange rabbit-demon informed the lot of what was inside. Jesus, though. Rabbit-girls? Why would a demon fall so low? Before dying, Grog always thought that hell was full of those goat-legged, red skinned humanoids with an insatiable appetite for violence, not some reclusive high-schooler's questionable fantasies with oddly clean motor homes. 

 Having finally reached the kitchen after a heroic effort, he somehow climbed onto a chair before slowly sliding across the room at small bursts, grabbing onto every available surface and somewhat messing up the neatly organized kitchen in the meantime, he reached his intended destination. He opened the fridge in one abrupt motion, basking in its' golden light and artificially chill gusts of wind.

 A few moments later, the masked vandal shouted, in hopes of the rabbit chick hearing him.

 "Hey Bugs. If we can somehow unburn my crotch, I could drive this thing like nobody's business."