Texts From Gotham
A Word: All texts taken as is and unaltered from the TFLN database. Drabbles may or may not be loosely connected. Just assume they're not as pairings and what not will change to reflect the specific texts used as inspiration.
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(505): I swear you won't find cereal in your washer machine again.
"Didn't Lian like the way her clothes smelled for the rest of the week though?" Dick asks because he does vaguely recall that happening.
"That's besides the point. I'm still trying to figure out how you got it in there in the first place," Roy says, which is fair. Dick doesn't really have an answer to give him other than the fact that it'd seemed like a good idea at the time.
"I think it was Gar," or Vic. Probably both of them, because they have a surprising capacity for being full of bright ideas when they're the only sober people at a party. "And, let's face it, I've done stupider things while drunk than try to fit into a washing machine."
"No, Dick, you don't understand," Roy turns and grabs his shoulder. Shaking him slightly and giving him a hard stare. Trying to impress some seriousness into a conversation that's all about their lack of dignity. "I don't know how you got that cereal in there because we didn't have any cereal in the house."
Huh, well that is a little more understandably strange. "Uh, maybe I-"
"No," Roy cuts him off and it's very clear to Dick that he's been thinking about this since it happened. Over six months ago. "We didn't have any cereal at all. The only things brought into the house were pizza and beer. You didn't leave the house at all. No one left the house. No one stopped by. I don't know how you got that cereal into the washer, Dick."
"Oh," Dick tries to remember, but draws a complete blank. The night is a blur and he remembers a lot about it, but the source of the cereal box he clearly remembers eating from is not one of those things. "I don't remember where I got it. That's a little creepy."
"No shit," Roy shakes his head and backs off. Seemingly able to shake the whole mystery off as well. "So, pizza and beer at my place?"
"Sure," Dick frowns at Roy's back unable to let it go as easily, and he calls himself seven different kinds of paranoid even as he plans the angle of the cameras he's putting up along with the amount of pizza they're going to need. "Sure, Roy, see you Friday."
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