Striders matched up to their stereotypes quite poorly. They do act cool in many situations - but that's only because they have nothing to worry about. They aren't emotionless, mind you, yet they may come off to be this way. Delving into their personalities, you find that dorkiness in these genes are abound. I mean, puppet porn? Really? Their rich foundations do not entail them to "mad pimping skills" or "infinitely awesome reputations," and neither do their looks. In fact, they're almost the very definition of the title 'douchebag.' This is just some basic things we must get out of the way before one can comprehend the actual feel of this story. If you have this on locks, please proceed.
Dirk sat on his couch, watching the images on the television pass him by just like the day. The program that entertained his eyes today was a pleasant documentary on bay horses and how their familiarity graced the world, their presence emanating for many years. The boy wondered what the last four hours of sunlight had in store for him; realizing that there was easily nothing much to accomplish in this time. He could always talk to people via A.R., but he couldn't get a word in even if he tried. That Caliborn guy kept jamming up his view, popping up over other logs. He was beginning to get so annoying that the only thing Dirk could do was take off his shades and place them elsewhere, letting the shit go crazy while unsupervised. This is what he had done, freeing his orange-tinted eyes to scan the room. There wasn't much to visualize - and it was getting unbearably boring. He rose from the furniture to go through the archway leading to the kitchen. There, the sharply-pointed glasses laid upon the table binging at such a quick pace - as if he were being sent a message from each of his contacts all in one minute. To avoid the boredom that plagued him, he finally brought the accessory to his face, answering with a simple "Yes?"
The conversation went on, and as expected, this little psychopath wanted to play a game. Agreeably, Dirk kept a sarcastic tone throughout; and Caliborn took it seriously, as he always did. Pretending to be fearful and timid of his requests was starting to get fun to the human, especially because his boss felt so falsely dominant. Comparing his comic-like art to Caliborn's scribbles also brought upon a laugh. Dirk threw in a couple of innuendos here and there, making his conversational partner even angrier at his ignorance - though when he mentioned 'fluffy' encounters, Caliborn either stayed quiet or announced his hatred. It became more and more idealistic for Dirk to meet this person in actuality. It was sudden, but he gave away his location to him, in hopes of crafting a new profile. The reaction was as anticipated, an obvious, fake reluctance skimmed over an acceptance of this invitation. Seeing as their distance was clear, it would probably take a day before he could arrive. The day was still young, even after the long dialogues. I suppose it's back to the T.V. with him.
Dirk squinted his eyes with foulness for the morning. He squirmed back under the thin blanket, however the light still beamed through. Nice try. A displeased grunt not of his own was his motivation to sit up, surveying the premises that was his bedroom. "Ugh, put that disgusting human flesh away." the same voice complained; it was scratchy and changing from low octaves to high, depending on the word. It was then Dirk noticed his Internet acquaintance scowling at him. "That sounds so wrong, dude." he laughed in response, reaching over to his nightstand to retrieve his shirt. He put it on without any further teases to even out the comfort level. Now all he has to do is keep the blanket over his legs and all will go smoothly. "How did you get in my house?" Wonderingly, he placed his elbow on his knee and his hand under his chin. "I entered through that window, obviously." Caliborn rolled his eyes, standing awkwardly stiff across the way. As he was trained, the Strider saw right through this cynical behavior and saw the nervousness bellowing in him. It was cute, he guessed - how his very being tensed him into paralyzation.
Finally, this was cut when Caliborn walked up to his bed to flick his head. "Aren't you going to get up?" It wasn't in his favor, though. Dirk was covered only by boxers. "Give me a second." He pointed to the door. With a grotesque look, the boy left him to his business. As soon as the slam was heard, Dirk had gotten up and opened his drawers. Grabbing the denim jeans, he put them on - making sure to take as much time as possible. He even heard the cherub tap his foot outside. He stopped the nonsense to open the door once more.
"Oh, so you're decent now."
"Well, fuck dude. What did you expect?"
"I don't know, I had thought you would keep up your idiotic displays. You seem to do so a lot."
They were already at each other, and for absolutely nothing. It took a while for Dirk to convince Caliborn to sit down and watch T.V., an experience not yet viewed by his species. One of them threw out witty insults while the other responded with sarcastic recoils. Eventually, the conversation grew into a relations-war. Apparently, Dirk just so happened to prod Caliborn enough for him to say that he had not completely hated him, though he did not like him, either. "So it's mutual, then? That's good enough. Especially from someone who brings down so many dislikes onto the world." After this statement, Dirk found Caliborn glaring at him with those piercing red eyes.
The silence started up again. It was more awkward this time around, being as they were basically staring each other down. "What is it?" Dirk questioned. He was the one to always break the barrier, it seemed. "I am going to demand that you hold my hand, you insolent whore." he growled in reply. It was quite funny, actually - seeing him this way. "Are you sure about that, Cali-kun? I don't think I'm ready." Trying to hold back laughs, he gained an aggressive look from the other. "I don't care about your premature hormones." Even if it was Caliborn with the premature hormones, Dirk decided to let it slide. Pretending to be nervous, he held his hand. This entertained Caliborn greatly, as he was laughing triumphantly. "You shall be my personal slave from now on." he went on. "Don't you mean to say something more along the lines of 'boyfriend?'" Dirk inquired, in a sarcastic tone again. "What the hell is a boyfriend?" After thorough explanation, Caliborn agreed to just that.
[A.N.: The following is a very silly alternate ending in which my friend did not want me to exclude. Not meant to be taken seriously.: Dirk bought Caliborn a cat and a box of Cosmic Brownies. His initial reaction being, "What the fuck is this shit?" As it turns out, cherubs are highly allergic to felines and baked goods. Caliborn died. Sorry about that.]