A/N: I like Dib/Tak. So sue me! All you'll get is nothing because you A. don't know my real name, B. don't know where I live and C...there is no C! So HA!
Zim walked down the hall, pulling his trenchcoat over him. He had decided to take a leaf out of Dib's book in the clothing department, and the coat was pleasant around him on the cold day. It shielded him nicely from the drab, freezing hallways of Nickelodeon Studios and the rainy Orlando day.
He stopped at the door, fiddled with his keys, and swung open the door, barely glancing at Dib and Tak on the couch who were getting a little, um, TOO comfortable. "You do realize clothes are needed on the set, right, Mr. Three-Inch?" Zim said, preferring to get on Dib about it for he was feeling rather cranky that day. "How would you know?" hissed Dib as he made an attempt to cover himself up. Zim was already in the other room.
GIR daintily nibbled on an M&M and Gaz was listening to her headphones. "Hey Gaz! You're a jerk and a loser and I hope you die!" Zim yelled, just for kicks. Gaz gave him a quick thumbs up and went back to her music, leaving Zim to almost die laughing.
"Someday she'll have her volume on low and then she'll really kick your ass," GIR said nonchantly. Zim straightened up and glared at GIR. "I don't care what she does." "But you like her," GIR smirked, happy he had snuck a peek at Zim's journal. "How did you know?" gulped Zim. "I mean..."
The cocky alien was lost for words, but was saved as the director ran in. "Guys! Where's Dib? Where's Tak? Where's-oh, there you are Zim. Where ARE they?! Filming's in five minutes!" The director was a nervous man prone to extreme hyperventilation. "Dib and Tak are in there," Zim said, leaving out one part.
The director cruised his anxious self to the room and-"AGH! You pervert!" "YOU KNOW THE SET ISN'T A STRIP CLUB AND-" "GET OUT OF HERE!" The director shot a look of death at Zim as he dashed back out of the room.
"You know, there are times when you can tell me things, Zim," the man grumped.
"And there are times when you can leave me alone while I'm doing my antennae," snapped Zim.
"For God's sake, you aren't-" the director started, but saw Zim had some glass cleaner and was rubbing his antennae. "AGH!" screamed the director, storming off the set.
Gaz took off her headphones and asked, "What happened?" Zim shrugged. "Dunno." Gaz put her headphones back on and tuned out.
GIR snickered, "You're so blushing! I KNOW you like her!" "I DO NOT! I like...um...er...what's her name...uh..." "Jennifer Lopez?" "Right! Good thinking, GIR!"
"Oooh, you like her. I think Gaz is cool, but JLo's better. She has a nice ass." Zim stopped rubbing his antennae, and threw a suspicious look in GIR's direction. "'Nice ass?' Where'd you hear that?" Jumping off the table, GIR shrugged without a care and said, "I heard it from you. You know, that one time when you got drunk and hit on Dib and-" "Cool it!" yelled Zim, grabbing GIR and tying it up in his trenchcoat.
Zim walked down the hall, pulling his trenchcoat over him. He had decided to take a leaf out of Dib's book in the clothing department, and the coat was pleasant around him on the cold day. It shielded him nicely from the drab, freezing hallways of Nickelodeon Studios and the rainy Orlando day.
He stopped at the door, fiddled with his keys, and swung open the door, barely glancing at Dib and Tak on the couch who were getting a little, um, TOO comfortable. "You do realize clothes are needed on the set, right, Mr. Three-Inch?" Zim said, preferring to get on Dib about it for he was feeling rather cranky that day. "How would you know?" hissed Dib as he made an attempt to cover himself up. Zim was already in the other room.
GIR daintily nibbled on an M&M and Gaz was listening to her headphones. "Hey Gaz! You're a jerk and a loser and I hope you die!" Zim yelled, just for kicks. Gaz gave him a quick thumbs up and went back to her music, leaving Zim to almost die laughing.
"Someday she'll have her volume on low and then she'll really kick your ass," GIR said nonchantly. Zim straightened up and glared at GIR. "I don't care what she does." "But you like her," GIR smirked, happy he had snuck a peek at Zim's journal. "How did you know?" gulped Zim. "I mean..."
The cocky alien was lost for words, but was saved as the director ran in. "Guys! Where's Dib? Where's Tak? Where's-oh, there you are Zim. Where ARE they?! Filming's in five minutes!" The director was a nervous man prone to extreme hyperventilation. "Dib and Tak are in there," Zim said, leaving out one part.
The director cruised his anxious self to the room and-"AGH! You pervert!" "YOU KNOW THE SET ISN'T A STRIP CLUB AND-" "GET OUT OF HERE!" The director shot a look of death at Zim as he dashed back out of the room.
"You know, there are times when you can tell me things, Zim," the man grumped.
"And there are times when you can leave me alone while I'm doing my antennae," snapped Zim.
"For God's sake, you aren't-" the director started, but saw Zim had some glass cleaner and was rubbing his antennae. "AGH!" screamed the director, storming off the set.
Gaz took off her headphones and asked, "What happened?" Zim shrugged. "Dunno." Gaz put her headphones back on and tuned out.
GIR snickered, "You're so blushing! I KNOW you like her!" "I DO NOT! I like...um...er...what's her name...uh..." "Jennifer Lopez?" "Right! Good thinking, GIR!"
"Oooh, you like her. I think Gaz is cool, but JLo's better. She has a nice ass." Zim stopped rubbing his antennae, and threw a suspicious look in GIR's direction. "'Nice ass?' Where'd you hear that?" Jumping off the table, GIR shrugged without a care and said, "I heard it from you. You know, that one time when you got drunk and hit on Dib and-" "Cool it!" yelled Zim, grabbing GIR and tying it up in his trenchcoat.