31 July 2012 @ 02:41 pm

All I'm saying is that if I had the option of being a 50s TV star, pretty sure I'd have made it clear I'd be a Dillon, not a Cleaver. I'm calling my agent.
12 February 2012 @ 01:53 pm
freestyle rap-off: first verse  

[Dave wakes from what feels like a particularly refreshing nap, the first one he's had in days... which surprises him, because they're usually filled with horrible monsters his sister would describe as eldrish? eelrelish? Some obscure five-dollar word she's always using in her conversations with him. Whatever the case, it's the first indication that he's not where he's supposed to be, which was on a meteor rocketting through the Furthest Ring at nearly the speed of light. The second is the fact that he's actually on a bed, and a comfy one at that, not a pile of disturbingly decapitated plush dragons. Instinctivelly, he reaches out for his shades... but they're nowhere to be found. That's the last straw, he thinks to himself; paradox space has fucked with me for the last time. He hops out of bed and throws open the curtains, flooding the unfamiliar room with light. Pictures of individuals he's never met line the walls, their poses indicating that they've known each other for quite some time.

Maybe one of his friends is around somewhere, one of the smarter ones that seem to be blessed with knowledge a cool kid like him is insultingly denied almost all the time. He makes his way down the hallway - how does he know his way around the house already? - and finds the phone. Somehow he knows what to do; he guesses it could be some more time shenanigans (isn't it always), but in the back of his mind he's pretty sure it's something worse.]


Uh, hey. Rose, you out there? John? Jade? Karkat? Terezi? Hell, I'll even take the murder troll and the glowy one whose name I can't remember right now, no offense. Um, what the hell happened? Is this the new session already? It doesn't feel like it. Plus I can't find my circus pjs; don't get me wrong, they were goofy as shit, but I'm starting to miss them. It's like they were my captor and I've got Stockholm Syndrome for them: "Oh man I should make fun of you because you look like shitty cosplay but for some reason I want you all over my body like two people getting their grinds on". Except not that graphic 'cuz doing it with clothes is probably illegal here.

Anyway get back to me. Later.