asgardeventide | ▶▶▮ t w o

alright
ok so
coinsidre this your s o s
f y i that stands for save our shit
because f y i our shit needs to be saved
our shit
needs to be saved
someone call the fuckign papers
and get a pictuer of our shit on every gogdam milk carton in asgard
its a duckin emerg ency
check it
hey
asshole who decided to fill every last boltte of aj here with
apple fuckng funtinis
im gonna piss on all the thigns you lo

-- oh fuck.

[--the text suddenly vanishes as the video function toggles on. A pair of dark aviators takes up roughly 54% of the feed, while the rest of it is taken up by pale blonde hair and flushed cheeks; for a moment, it almost looks like someone trying for the perfect setup for some terrible MySpace selfies.

Dave's brows furrow tightly behind the shades as he hiccups and leans back to prop his chin on his hand. It reveals a little of the background behind him; he's leaning against a wall. While the shades hide how heavy his eyes are, there's a tell-tale sway to the way he's holding himself.

Dave Strider, at the current moment, is drunk as a skunk.]

Featherbro. S'medical emergency. Don't drink the aj.

[[Asgardians and Fourth-Wallers welcome! Poor Dave's been cursed with hard-ciderfied apple juice so that all the aj he drinks is settling like fancy tequila. Threadjacking is probable and encouraged.]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

[Would falling count as sitting?

No, it's cool. He follows Davesprite's tug so that he's no longer in danger of making the pavement's acquaintance, and actually does try to make some sort of attempt to start moving in the direction of their apartment on his own.]

And those desperate measures drive you to be like a small dog? [He steps in to Dave's side and hoists his arm over his shoulder, straightening him out. To feather Dave he says.] Let's get our drunk brother home before he embarrasses himself further.

[Davesprite would be willing to count falling as sitting in this case. But he scoffs a little, trying to even out Dave's pace so it's easier to stay synced with Dirk.]

He's embarrassed himself so fucking thoroughly at this point, there's nothing we can do to keep it from snowballing. Not when we're trapped at the bottom of the SkiFree hill between an avalanche and the abominable snowman, and the abominable snowman is probably just another incarnation of his idiotic drunk shenanigans. Seriously, can you retroactively lock shit on the network?

They wouldn't be desperate measures if they didn't.

[Oh, now he's standing straight again. Good.]

Man, what does the abonimable [Yes. abonimable.] Snowman have against us? Seriously. [And then a pause.] It's a shit network.

[While it sounds like he's going to continue his thought, he just leaves it be and lets his weight fall between Davesprite and Dirk. Holy shit, this is way easier than hobbling beneath the wing of a feathery asshole.]

The snowman is you. [He grunts when he's suddenly dealing with the full weight of his sixteen year old brother. Only half of it mind you.]

If I could lock things on the network, his post would have been locked before it got awkward on top of embarrassing. I don't think you can even delete shit.

Come to think of it, why the hell did you even—

[Oh, goddammit. Davesprite tilts a little and grips the back of Dave's shirt to even out the weight.]

—post? You can't tell me we have that little self-control. [He pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and glances at Dirk.]

Christ, don't tell me he made it even worse.

It was either that, or wait it out under the street lamp like a two-dollar hooker waiting for tiny the truck driver's greasy ass.

[Okay. We've got this. We're good. Bona fide fucking teamwork right here.]

And fuck the alarm button. SOS shit. Whatever. The last thing I need is a bunch of crazy Norse gods... I don't fucking know, deciding I also need a pair of choice tits on top of turning me into some sort of walking distillery for busting up their little bullshit shindig.

[Dirk uses his free hand to ruffle the hell out of the drunk's hair as he says in a low voice that only the three of them can hear.] Bro. I didn't know you wanted to be a keg that bad.

Relax.

[He looks to bird bro and sighs.] More like he had a private fight, publicly. But the reasoning behind it, I get.

I'd have done it too. [He had done it once. It's written in the way he looks off and shakes his head.] Nothing important.

I want the three of us to start coming together to hone our skills. It's mission critical we stay in top form.

[Davesprite's eyebrows raise over his shades. It's approximately 75% mock affront and 25% really, dude?]

Did you just seriously just call me a greasy truck driver?

[If Dirk weren't already ruffling Dave's hair and thwapping the back of his head didn't run the risk of making him vomit, Davesprite would consider it. Instead, he just rolls a shoulder in exasperation.]

But yeah, alright, I don't even wanna know what I missed while I was looking for his cheap wasted ass. [He'll find out later.] But you might want to wait before springing any training plans on him, bro. I don't think he has enough functioning brain cells for that right now.

What? Man, no that means I'd be calling myself a two-dollar hooker and we both know that's basically wrong.

[No, seriously dude, just let it go. Let it spread its wings and fly away.]

Current predicament notwithstanding, since when are we not in top form? [Dave, no. Dave, shut up.] Anyway, if it involves puppets, I'm out.

[He looks Davesprite's way with a sigh as if to say, 'it's really embarrassing and you're the sanest of the three of us'. He holds feather bro in high esteem. Despite their mutual self-esteem issues. Dirk breaks eye contact to roll his eyes at Dave and shift his grip just a fraction.]

Believe me, I have no plans to put this presently intoxicated Strider into the ring. He'd just spew all over the roof and that would be nasty. Anyway strife wise, I can't do puppetkind. I don't have cal.

I guess I could sew one but it wouldn't be the same. [He sounds a lot like a little kid that lost their teddy bear if it were said in dead pan and with a little despair.]

Not to mention some conflicting information I keep getting about what he is.

You've basically proven you're less trustworthy than a two-year-old with a clean wall and a fresh pile of shit in your current state, so it's something we've got to put on record.

[Especially with the look Dirk is giving him. That is like the opposite of reassuring, bro. But Davesprite is totally fine with the absent puppet, although he does tilt his head a little skeptically at the last bit.]

Is there anything for Cal to be besides a puppet with a permanent rictus grin?

By extension, that means I'd also be calling myself a greasy truck driver and you a two-dollar hooker and you know what, fuck it, this is starting to reach a level of weird that our ectofamilial relations can't even touch.

[Wow, good job, dudes.]

This is exactly opposite of what I was aiming for when I said I'm out if there were puppets.

[He ignores the hooker talk to make sure the topic stays dead. Dirk continues despite Dave's protest.] Apparently he's some form of alien 'cursed juju'. Anyone who holds him is said to have their life turn into a nightmare.

Seeing as our lives are already a nightmare, I think it doesn't matter if the C man is around or not. I miss him. [It's his best friend of all friends. He wilts a little, like as if the thought is depressing and it is. But then he straightens and keeps walking.]

Anyway, from my little experience with drunks, you're going to be feeling this in the morning. Roxy once described it as 'this is what dying has to feel like'.

[Davesprite isn't sure if he's more put out by the memory of Cal or amused by Dirk's fondness for him. It's funny and kind of...bizarre? Disturbing? Whatever, he'll refrain from judging too much since he was stupid enough to prototype the thing.

He lets out a short heh, looking down at Dave.]

You are so fucked tomorrow, dude. But I'm gonna have to agree I'm not risking the cursed alien horseshit, whether we're already dealing with nightmares or not. Sorry, bro.

[He lifts his free shoulder in a half-assed shrug. He isn't actually that sorry, especially since Cal isn't here and will hopefully never make an appearance. God, the last fucking thing he needs is for a god to enlist Calsprite.]

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