KEYSMASH OF EMOTIONS JFOIEWHFOEIJSMOIFJCEOIFJ Tw: Stan Pines.

Stanley Pines.

It's hard to describe the emotions connected with that name. For Stanford Pines, the name meant everything, and it meant nothing. He had to wonder why he ignored the issue his brother posed for so long. Anger? Probably. Fear? Definitely. Yet there was something else, something that ate away at him, that had been eating at him since that terrible night.

He wished he knew what it was. It was all so...needlessly complicated, this 'emotions' lark.

Fiddleford on the other hand, his emotions over the name were clear and simple. Excitement. Stanley Pines was a new person- a doppelganger of his very own best friend. Admittedly, he knew they wouldn't be much alike, personality wise, but still! There was someone out there who was just waiting to be befriended and reunited with his family.

Ah, Fiddleford. The man with the heart of gold. AEhfewoicjawoecmjapejcap {No, I will not stop, I love all three of my weird boys. Let me keysmash my emotions away, darn it!}

Now, one feels like that would be the end of this bit, but it isn't. There are many people who experience feeling at the name "Stanley Pines". Including- wait for it- Stanley Pines himself.

He gripped the wheel tighter, trying to keep his eyes open as he trailed the truck in front of him. He had been sleeping when the roar of the truck in question had violently ripped him from rest's sweet arms. He had hit his head on the roof of his car as he jerked awake, spotting a man running after a car.

There was only one reason someone chased after a car in this part of town. And his name is Charlie Chopper. Sound like a stupid name? That's because it is. Thanks for noticing.

Charlie owned a chop shop, simply disguised right under everyone's eyes as a simple garage. The only way you knew Charlie Chopper was if you worked for him. Unfortunately, Stanley was one of those people. Under normal circumstances, Stan wouldn't mind hotwiring a few cars, but Charlie had a very blurred line on what was right and wrong. He would make his 'employees' stalk cars all over the neighborhood, picking and choosing the ones he wanted. Then, they would forcibly take the car at the first opportunity. If it could be taken without force, fine. But Charlie wasn't going to stop for a woman getting out of her car. He and his cronies would just- knock the person out of the way.

It disgusted Stan. He had seen a permit driver, just a kid, thrown onto the concrete. The kid's head hit the ground, bleeding out. Despite his co-worker's warnings, Stan called for an ambulance as soon as he could.

Aaaaand that's how you get on Charlie Chopper's bad side. Stanley left quickly after that.

I suppose that's enough elucidation on that. You can see why Stanley decided to help a stranger now, don't you? It wasn't just out of the goodness of his heart. There's no room for sentimentality on the streets.

His foot pressed harder on the gas at the thought of his old boss. It was infuriating! Stan wasn't the greatest guy- but he had to draw the line somewhere, didn't he?

The car was about speeding up, getting uncomfortably close to the truck in front of him. What was his name again? Fiddscrumble? Now that was someone Stan could just- enjoy being around. You just had to look at the guy and see how honest he was.

It was something Stanley missed. Being upfront and honest. There isn't room for much of that on the streets either.

He ran the scene over in his mind.

Trust me, he doesn't want to see me.

Wha's wrong? Yer Stanley, aren't ya?

Hearing his name again had been a shock. He favored 'Stan' with people he never intended to see again. Using his nickname, it kept him feeling more...centered. Otherwise, it was all pseudonyms and fake ID's.

He was still trying to decide if it was a good shock or not. It was hard. On one end, Stanley Pines was someone he'd abandoned long ago, someone he considered too much of a failure to be of any importance. On the other...Hal Forrester wasn't much better on the I'm-doing-well-and-do-not-have-to-resort-to-crime, scale.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as the Fiddlemeddle's truck swung into a parking lot.

The Beaver's Bed and Breakfast? Stan parked the car, placing his keys into his coat pocket. Leave it to his brother to find the least desirable hotel in all of Oregon. He gave the shady building a grim glare.

I'm gonna die here, I just know it.

Awe, I know. Ya'll love my chapters of pure exposition that barely further the plot. MM YES, I AM CATGIRL THIS IS AMAZING.

Everyone else, ya'll lovely long-time readers and reviewer's THANKS. I would separately PM ya'll saying that but I'm being really...anti-social at the moment. Including just...typing directly at people who can actually 'hear' me and respond. ANYWAY THANKS FOR EXISTING SORRY THIS IS JUST EXPOSITION. Have a skit I just thought of.

Ford: Stanley...STANLEY!

Stan *running into the room*: WHAT! WHAT'S WRONG!?

Ford *Sullen*: We ran out of bread.

Stan: ...What.

Ford: WE RAN out of BREAD. *Gestures to the cupboard, completely bare of any bread.*

Stan *narrows eyes*: Who are you and where's my brother.

Fiddleford: Ah, there you both are. Fiddleford, what did you do with experiment 78? *adjusts tiny glasses* I know you like reaching the top shelf- but I can't handle everything looming over me. You must despise being short.

Stan *hasn't been around long enough to know what experiment they're talking about*: ?! ? WHAT IS HAPPENING.

Fiddleford in Stanford's body, sulking. : We ran out of bread and I'm going to be short again.