Characters: Belong to Andrew Hussie.
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Your name is Dave Strider and you are being mercilessly PESTERED by your best bro, John Egbert.
Dave: Open an ear and find out what he wants
You guess you will. He is your best bro and all. And his voice in person is a lot harder to ignore than the caterwauling of an untended pesterchum window.
"Daaave, come oooon. You know you want to!"
John flops onto the bed beside you and you bounce a bit but otherwise don't twitch.
"John, that's obviously one of those baseless accusation things that Rose is always accusing me of accusing her with baselessly. The only thing I want to do at this particular moment in time is lie here quietly in the wholesome sanctuary that is your Domain of Derp."
"Oh, really? Wow. The fact that you ninja-ed into my bed last night and put your cold toes on my leg didn't tip me off at all." John rolls his blue eyes behind his dorky square glasses. "Why don't you just tell your brother the smuppets freak you out to the point of nightmares and get it over with?"
Dave: Pap your best bro in the face with his own pillow
Excellent suggestion. However, it is impossible with your head on the aforementioned pillow and you would really rather not move right at this moment.
Dave: Pap your best bro in the face with the PROP BUNNY
That you can handle. You commence with the bunny papping easily, as you might possibly have been already holding said bunny to your chest a moment ago. "Shoosh, John. Only bunnies now." The ratty rabbit of much renown is as close as you want to get to anything even remotely resembling a puppet today.
"Come on, Dave, you can't lay there all day! That is so not cool! Get up and dance with me!"
"Number one, Egbert: you know not of what you speak. Striders exude cool, unlike the rest of the general populace that wouldn't know cool if it latched onto their cheek like a lamprey and started to suck. Number two: you have borderline unhealthy levels of energy pulsing through your twitchy body that need to be burned off in even unhealthier ways involving tire swings and pogo rides and giant rainbow-colored no-homo hammers. I do not. Obviously you should let me and my fragile emotional state rest until Jade and Rose get here."
"But they won't be here for a looooong time. I'm bored."
Dave: Tune John out
Abjure. This is not possible. When John gets his cute-whine on it's like Christmas all up in here. Or rather it's like Christmas Eve when the brats are all crawling around under the tree like army ants, shaking presents and clinging to the feet of their elders, begging until they're one small step from an aneurism to get at those scrumptious goodies.
"I guess I'm just going to have to show you how much fun it is. Your overwhelming jealousy of all the fun I'm having will entice you off your plush rump to dance with me."
John ignores the glare you shoot him at the mention of plush rumps. Even if he can't see your glare through your ironic shades this is no excuse, because he is your BEST BRO and he knows when you are glaring, damn it. But he gets up off the bed anyway and fires up the music player on his computer.
Dave: Cover your ears in fear
Gladly. Some of the tunes Egderp has stored in the bowels of that poor machine are sick in the totally opposite than good way. You are ironically terrified of what might rear its archaic head first. Once the Backstreet Boys surfaced and you absconded so fast you tripped over a fake arm on your way out.
"Whatever, Dave, my music does not suck!"
It seems John has seen your IRONIC COWER. Perhaps he is slightly offended by the pillow over your face. Before you can entertain the thought of feeling bad, however, the dulcet tones of Lady Gaga confirm your fears.
"Lies, Egbert, all lies."
"You know you like Gaga. Un-ironically. Deal with it."
Dave: Admit you like Gaga un-ironically and dance with John
Who are you, Karkat? Of course you will not admit to liking Gaga un-ironically. Nor will you dance with John. Even if he actually does look like he is having fun. Even if he looks like he's about to—oh, God. He is.
"Just dance!" John sings, taking his own advice remarkably well. "It's gonna be okay! Da-da da-doo!"
"Egbert," you warn.
"—spin that record, Dave!" he sings gleefully, completely drowning out your warning. "It's gonna be okay—!"
He did not just insert your name into Gaga in an actually pretty cool and fitting way. You peek over the edge of the pillow. John is grinning at you like an idiot as he dances, like he's done something really clever. Cheeky derp. You valiantly try to keep that pesky little smile off your poker face.
Damn it. Now your brain is even throwing out Gaga references behind your back.
John is out in the middle of his bedroom busting moves you haven't seen in months, not since the two of you spent thirty dollars on glow necklaces and hosted a trans-dimensional interspecies rave in the Egbert domicile.
That was the night Mr. Egbert came home from his business trip unexpectedly to find four kids and twelve trolls burning the place down with sick fires (metaphorical of course). And what had he done? Been so proud of his son for having a party that didn't include even a hint of sex or drugs or booze that he spent the rest of the night baking enough cupcakes for the guests that everyone went back to home or hive with leftovers. Dad Egbert can be a real trip.
Dave: Bow to the inevitable
Oh, alright. If you must. You would hate to break John's fragile heart and you've left him hanging long enough. As the track changes you slip off the bed and flash-step out to meet him.
"I knew you couldn't resist!" he laughs, grabbing your wrists to pull you in. "Oh, hey, I love this song! It's been a really really messed up week—!"
You get no other warning when your feet leave the floor and the two of you are suddenly floating in the vicinity of the high ceiling. Good thing you know to expect this sort of thing by now. Striders adapt quickly and you are fully aware that a happy Heir of Breath often involves someone or something being buffeted around whichever home you all happen to be in by a playful breeze.
"Shall we dance?" you quip with an IRONIC MID-AIR BOW.
"Oh, Dave, I'm swooning! I thought you'd never ask!"
Then you and your best bro are dancing on the ceiling like a cheesy music video right out of the 1980's but without the goofy camera angles and primitive special effects. It's not quite dancing on the edge of the Hollywood sign but John laughs delightedly all the same and you smile because sometimes it is just okay to go with the flow and do crazy (un?)ironic things with your best friend.
Dave: Be interrupted
You grab John and tip him backwards in a beautifully executed TANGO DIP that practically drips with ironic overtones. He giggles like a lunatic and bends back over your arm, stretching his arm over his head and pointing his toes like a trained dancing girl from Buenos Aires. He is probably pretending he has a rose clenched in his teeth and that is just the derpiest, funniest image you could—
"That's so cute!" Jade squeals from the floor.
John cries out in shock and loses his grip on the windy thing. You let out an undignified DAVESPRITE SQUAWK as the two of you plummet like runty eaglets kicked out of their nest. The bed breaks your fall with a screaming of box springs and bounces you up in the air again at least two good feet before dumping you both on the floor in a pile of uncool. John is sitting on the small of your back.
"Hi guys!" Jade says brightly.
Rose raises a delicate, flaxen brow at your state of discomfiture. "Oh, dear. I do hope we're not interrupting anything?" The tiniest of smirks plays about her lips.
You purse your own lips the smallest bit and give your dear ecto-sister the most miniscule of annoyed frowns. Sometimes girls just cannot grasp the intricacies of being a best bro. But, as the song still playing in the background says…
La la la—whatever. La la la—it doesn't matter. La la la—oh well. La la la.
You are Dave Strider, and you will still dance with John Egbert anytime he asks.
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AN: Just a small note. The music up there on the page is of course "Just Dance" by Lady Gaga and "Tonight, Tonight" by Hot Chelle Rae. Oh, and if anyone has any ideas for further shenanigans to keep the boys occupied, feel free to suggest them.
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