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Ninth Eight8all [Video/action OtherFather's House]
[The video feed clicks on and you can see the hall outside one of the rooms in Other Father's house.]
You guys have to see this. [It's Vriska's voice, in a hushed whisper.]
You all know Mr.Cool-Mc-Strider. But do you know what he does when he's not being a 'chill-as-fuck-dude', his words.
[Her hand reaches out and pushes the door open. Inside, nestled on the bottom bunk, looks like a pile of Pokémon. There are multiple Ninetails, though it's hard to tell how many because you can hardly see where one begins and another ends. There looks to be three heads though. There's a Flareon snuggled in there, giving the whole ensemble a splash of color. Not to mention the boy underneath, fast asleep, mouth open, glasses slightly askew, a light snoring sound coming from him. The bit of sweater you can see past all the fluffy fire-types resembles a Vulpix. This boy, of course being the aforementioned Mr.Cool-Mc-Strider, chill-as-fuck-dude, Dave Strider.
Resting atop his head is a little Torchic, watching Vriska and the 'gear. It makes a little peeping sound and Vriska shushes it.
She moves the gear in, trying to get a close-up on his face.]
Ha ha! Look how fucking cute he is. [She's snickering quietly now. Another angled shot of the sleeping Poké-pile. Unfortunately for Vriska the Torchic is a little too excited and keeps making noises at her, now starting to bounce, on top of the blonde's head.]
Hey! No-- stop that!
[Too late.] hhngh... Vriska... ?
Shit!
[Dave fixes his shades and looks at her, before he notices the red light on the gear, meaning "record".] Oh fuck no.
[He reaches for the the 'gear, hand covering the feed, and a struggle is briefly heard in the background before the video is shut off entirely.]
[[ooc: Replies will come from both parties.]]
You guys have to see this. [It's Vriska's voice, in a hushed whisper.]
You all know Mr.Cool-Mc-Strider. But do you know what he does when he's not being a 'chill-as-fuck-dude', his words.
[Her hand reaches out and pushes the door open. Inside, nestled on the bottom bunk, looks like a pile of Pokémon. There are multiple Ninetails, though it's hard to tell how many because you can hardly see where one begins and another ends. There looks to be three heads though. There's a Flareon snuggled in there, giving the whole ensemble a splash of color. Not to mention the boy underneath, fast asleep, mouth open, glasses slightly askew, a light snoring sound coming from him. The bit of sweater you can see past all the fluffy fire-types resembles a Vulpix. This boy, of course being the aforementioned Mr.Cool-Mc-Strider, chill-as-fuck-dude, Dave Strider.
Resting atop his head is a little Torchic, watching Vriska and the 'gear. It makes a little peeping sound and Vriska shushes it.
She moves the gear in, trying to get a close-up on his face.]
Ha ha! Look how fucking cute he is. [She's snickering quietly now. Another angled shot of the sleeping Poké-pile. Unfortunately for Vriska the Torchic is a little too excited and keeps making noises at her, now starting to bounce, on top of the blonde's head.]
Hey! No-- stop that!
[Too late.] hhngh... Vriska... ?
Shit!
[Dave fixes his shades and looks at her, before he notices the red light on the gear, meaning "record".] Oh fuck no.
[He reaches for the the 'gear, hand covering the feed, and a struggle is briefly heard in the background before the video is shut off entirely.]
[[ooc: Replies will come from both parties.]]
[video]
[Maybe it's a cheap victory, or feeling of victory on his part, but fuck that, he'll take it!]
Oh how fuckin' adorable, who knew such a fuckin' cool kid needed to hawe all his little pokebeasts to cuddle with like some insecure grub. I can honestly say good job, Wris, but don't get too fuckin' used to such praise, eweryone can do somethin' right ewery ONCE in a while.
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[He's just gonna keep grinning, yep.]
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Either which fuckin' way, what's your beef with Dawe anyway?
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Son't get carried away, Captain. I know you like to make yourself feel better, but not everyone can do something right. Some people are just born fuck-ups, and that's okay, too. I'm pretty sure Hallmark makes cards with 'sorry I suck' messages.
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[Yep, just gonna turn your burn back around at ya bro.]
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Yeah, you sent me one like every week while we were dating. I was gonna keep them, you know, just for sentimental reasons and shit, but then I ran out of papers for my baby Eevee to do his business on.
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