Dave Strider sits at small easel in his room, a half sketched portrait hanging ignored in front of him. It's unreasonably hot for March and he blames his lack of focus on this fact. It has nothing to do with the arrival of his best friend this afternoon for a sorely needed break from college assignments and the lackluster grind of class to class migration coming to an end for the semester. Nothing ado at all. Eventually, Dave admits defeat and drops his charcoal on his desk before logging into pesterchum.
TG: hey egbert, you almost here?
EB: yeah! Missed the first bus to your side of town earlier but I'll be there soon
TG: cool. you ready for a week of ironic pajama party movie marathons?
EB: fuck yeah man. Been looking forward to this all month :B
TG: sweet
EB: i'm so sick of trying to direct acting students who think they're the shit because they've been in commercials since they were mouth breathing tykes.
EB: sometimes I question my choice in major
TG: just remember that when you're a big shot director that you won't have to deal with shitty actors. you can just be all "sorry but you suck ass, next".
EB: hahaha right. ugh I so needed this break.
TG: me too man, if I had to listen to one more lecture on how I need to feel my fucking art before I give birth to it via pencil and watercolour I would have snapped and shoved a fistfull of sharpened drafting pencils into the hippie train wreck of a professors neck.
EB: boy, you probably need this more than I do
TG: that's a possibility. but speaking of homicidal arts and crafts, Bro's gonna be here.
TG: I can't promise you won't be buried up to your neck in puppet ass sometime this week, but he's been pretty chill lately. If I didn't think he'd be somewhat tame I wouldn't have subjected you to over exposure.
EB: awh so kind of you to think of my well being, but he really can't be all that bad, especially now that you're older?
TG: the man's mind is a bag of cats, cats only get more crotchety as they age until it is almost impossible to keep said cats in the bag. not that he'd strive to do so in the first place.
TG: we can only hope he has a bottle of catnip for them so the furry little fuckers keep to themselves strung out in a corner somewhere.
EB: hahaha we can only hope.
EB: well I"m almost there, so go find your pajamas and pop some corn.
TG: please Egbert, I am already in said pj's and so ass deep in salty buttered corn kernels that the movie industry wants to make me the poster boy of Netflix.
EB: Well then mister one step ahead, I will see you soon.
TG: Word.
Dave walked out to the kitchen to make a few bags of popcorn, expertly dodging an avalanche of shurikens to dig out a large bowl. He was dumping the third bag hot popcorn into the bowl when he heard Bro speak from behind him. "When's bucktooth wonder gonna be here?" Shrugging, Dave put the last bag in the microwave, punching in numbers, "Whenever he gets here." His bro hummed and plopped back down on the futon in the living room. "Well you know the drill, don't let him touch my stuff and I won't touch him." Dave was about to make a smart remark when he turned around to see him pulling up a bong onto his lap.
"Bro, really?" he frowned as the microwave hummed behind him. "It's my fucking house, I pay the bills." Bro took a hit, and after a moment exhaled saying, "And you tell me how I"m going to survive your weak long unironic pajama party butt-touching hoe down without some kind of assistance from my girl Mary Jane." He spluttered, "I help pay for food you ungrateful cow fucker, besides you have a room to do that in." Bro just raised an eyebrow over his shades, "Cow fucker? Really? Oh and I'm ungrateful? I only ask you to chip in for food while you go and draw penises at your really fucking expensive art school, which I'm helping you pay for, letting your dorky little friend have total reign over the living room for a fucking week and I"m ungrateful?" Sighing Dave pulled the last bag of popcorn out of the microwave gingerly dropping it on the counter before it blistered his fingers. "Jesus don't over react, I just don't want John to freak out, okay? He's at an art college but he's yet to be broken in to somethings," he turned back to his older brother, a very slightly pleading look on his face because Striders don't beg. Sighing, like it was a huge ordeal, Bro picked up his paraphernalia and headed toward the hallway. "Fine lil bro, I won't desensitize him right away." Dave let out a low groan when he heard Bro's door click shut. This was going to be fun, he reminded himself, Bro can't ruin this, he won't.