Author’s Note:
Confused by the first chapter? Good! That was the intent.
More information on the subtle queues thrown in will be revealed as time goes
on. Enjoy chapter two, a small reprieve from things to come.
~Introductions II~
“How many times do I have to say it until you respond with
more than ‘mhm’ or ‘right’?” John huffed, evidently feigning being annoyed. The
brunet was practically gushing over Dave, though the enigmatic shade wearing
young man found himself hard-pressed to believe that this guy could be this ridiculous. John leaned further
over the counter toward Dave, further invading his space. “So, did your bro
teach you to make… to uh… to do that?” John raised a hand, spinning an
invisible turntable, making a horrid impression of the sound of a record being
spun.
Dave cringed at the lameness that was John’s imitation of
spinning a record, and shook his head, speaking dejectedly, “you are possibly
the least cool person to have ever existed, John. Don’t do that again.” Dave
rested his chin in the cusp of his right hand, elbow propped up on the table.
John leaned ever closer, grinning widely to such a point his buckteeth were
quite pronounced. “You don’t mean that, can’t I –wicka wicka – my way into your cool books?” The sound of John
spinning an invisible record again actually amused, greatly amused, even, but
he would never dare show it.
Instead, he deftly grabbed John’s wrist, the brunet’s skin
feeling hot under his pale grasp and making the blond decidedly uncomfortable,
and spoke boredly, “John, if you be any more uncool, this place is going to
explode with dork. It’ll be a national tragedy; coolest man alive dies to
uncool San Franciscian dork from his terrible sick-beat-interpretations.
Reporters say the scene of the crime was described by initial onlookers as-“
Dave was abruptly cut off by that same eerily warm hand over his mouth. John
was laughing outrageously loud, the occasional snort slipping through.
“Dave, please!” He continued his outrageous laughter, which
was now beginning to draw attention from the still somewhat sober patronage of
Dirk’s sorry excuse of a club. “You’re rambling! It’s too – oh, god!” John
continued laughing for a good long minute before calming down, whereupon Dave
promptly removed the hand from his mouth. “Get your grubby paw of me, you
dork…” He wiped at his mouth irritably, his words filled with the same
contempt. Though this didn’t seem to hamper John’s mood, who just chuckled a
little shaking his head. Deciding that, with Dirk and Jake likely engrossed in
their own deviant perversions upstairs, it was time for he himself to retire to
his own apartment. Far away from the disturbing love life of his Bro and this
intolerably annoying boy, John.
Though, much to his chagrin, John simply hopped off his own
stool and follow Dave toward the exit, stepping through the collapsed mass of
passed out bodies. “Going home, Dave?” He inquired as the two reached the door.
Dave nodded once, not speaking, though John seemed to fill the void with
endless chatter, a fact that Dave had begun to notice was largely universal,
“that’s too bad. I guess I’ll see ya around, then?” John said, a touch of
hopefulness in his voice, which seemed to strike a rather painful chord with
Dave.
“You’ll come home
soon, right?” The crimson eyed boy looked up at the seemingly massive man
before him, who pulled a pair of aviators over his own blood red eyes. The man
was strong and his toned body proved such, however the often hidden red orbs
seemed to beguile a coldness in his heart that always left the boy rather
unnerved. The large man offered a shrug in response to the boy’s question, and
stepped out the door, leaving the boy alone in the house. The boy simply stood
there for many minutes, staring at the door, a sense of foreign finality
tugging at the corners of his mind.
“U-uh…” Dave stuttered, the slip in ‘coolness’ immediately
attracting a concerned glance from John. “Yeah, sure…” Dave mumbled, his mind
all sorts of confused at that point. Though his answer seemed to placate John
who quite suddenly wrapped his arms around Dave’s neck and midsection, pulling
him into a tight hug for a moment, though Dave simply stood rigidly, the
invasion of his personal space and the enraging kindness of John thoroughly
confusing him. Being freed from John’s oddly strong vice-like hug, Dave nodded
and with a mumbled ‘goodnight’ stepped into the rainy night.
~
As John rummaged in a pile of discarded jackets and
umbrellas for his own rain gear, he heard the sounds of bare feet on the
hardwood stairs behind him. Clad in only a pair of grey sweatpants, Dirk stood
on the third step up from John, sizing him up from behind the sharply angled
sunglasses he perpetually wore. “That wasn’t a smart line to use on Dave, kid”
Dirk said calmly, adjusting a black baseball cap on his head, “it’ll bring back
bad memories for him.” The enigmatic blond explained his reasoning after a
moment, leaving John to ponder what was said.
“I think… he’s a cool guy. Just needs to learn to loosen up
and have a little fun. I hope I didn’t scare him off like-“ John was abruptly
cut off as his thoughts turned morose by a strong hand on his shoulder. Dirk
stared down at John impassively, though the brunet could tell this was about as
kind as any Strider could be. Dirk spoke in that same passive tone, though a
sense of earnestness could be felt in his words, if not the grasp of
reassurance; “don’t think about that, kid. Wallowing in the past only causes
more pain.” With that, Dirk dropped his hand, and turned on his heel, ascending
the wooden stairs once more with the padded thunk of his bare footfalls, leaving
a rather worried John in his wake.
~
Dave flipped up the collar on his coat, trying to combat the
steady downpour of rain. It was cold and damp, and, typical to the fall weather
that he found himself in, the rain cut to the bone as it pierced the thin lining
of his coat. Hand stuffed in his pockets, the narrow fingers of his right hand
played with a ring of keys, while his left sat in the pocket, limp. Shoes
already becoming heavy and cold with water, Dave hurried on, anxious to be rid
of his already soaked garments and in his dry apartment.
Though as he walked, various thoughts combatted him. He knew he had seen John before, but where?
And if he had, why did neither of them seem to recognise one another? It didn’t
seem to add up. Moreover, what would a dorky loser like John want with one of Dirk’s
ironically popular club-night mix-down sessions? Dave’s mouth turned into a
decisive frown as he continued on his way. Nothing in this seemed to add up.
But he might just be seeing something in nothing. “What’s the word for that?”
Dave mused aloud, “anthropomorphism sounds right…” with that conundrum settled,
he continued on his way.
John certainly seemed like a nice guy, even if he was
possibly the dorkiest person in existence and had absolutely zero social dexterity.
Maybe Lalonde would have some tentacle-related therapy for him. Retrieving his
phone from his pocket and opening up the ironically cool PesterchumTM.
- turntechGodhead [TG] has
begun pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]–
TG: lalonde, stop with your wizard nonsense for a moment,
you overgrown 14 year old womanchild
TT: Good evening to you as well, David.
TG: what the fuck are Bro and Jake up to
TT: I haven’t the slightest idea as to what you are
referring to.
TG: real funny, I know you know
TG: is this some kind of horrible smuppet prelude
TG: if so spare me the agony and just kill me lalonde before
the smuppets violate me again
TT: I think Dirk’s puppets are endearing and indicative of
his person. Regardless, I’m afraid I still do not know what you’re talking
about. Please elaborate so that I might dispense some invaluable tentacle
therapy.
TG: that sounded kinda creepy
TG: anyways so I went to Bro’s lame ass mix down to try to
get him to ease up on the smuppet attacks
TT: I don’t really believe that’s why you went, but go on.
TG: quit interrupting
TG: anyways so I meet this guy name John and he is by far
the biggest dork ever to have lived
TT: David, you sound practically smitten.
TG: smitten with the idea of smacking him upside the head
yeah
TG: he wouldn’t leave me alone all night
TG: worse yet, he touched me
TT: Oh my, did you call the police?
TG: not like that lalonde
TG: damn
TT: My apologies. Continue.
TG: hes a touchy kid, makes things weird
Dave looked up for a moment as he continued walking, the
touchscreen of his phone becoming quite difficult to read. He was still a ways
from home, and the rain had already thoroughly soaked him to the bone once
more. However, he pressed on, returning his attention to his conversation with
Rose.
TT: Is that so? And what do you need tentacle therapy for?
TG: no one needs tentacle therapy lalonde
TG: its a historical fact that no one needs tentacle therapy
TG: ancient paleolithic hominids made carvings on cave walls
on how unneeded it is
TG: medieval sorcerers wrote books on why it was evil and
never needed
TG: buddhist monks pray for tentacle therapy to never invade
their minds
TT: Hush, David, you’re rambling. Regardless, it sounds as
though this John fellow has you in quite the tizzy. I suggest you get to know
him better. It’s rare someone can get so quickly under your skin, and I think
it’s worth investigating. Though I’d hazard against confronting Dirk or Jake
about this, lest you wish for a bed full of smut puppets, of which you so
rationally abhor.
TG: thats terrible advice and you should feel terrible
lalonde
TT: It is not, you just don’t have a response. You see? This
boy has you all mixed up and confused. I bet he even embraced you.
Dave frowned at that. How the hell did she always know everything? She must have planted a
camera on him when they were little…
TG: thats not even remotely funny
TT: So he did. I’m sure it was adorable.
TG: careful, you sounded like Jade for a second there
TT: Oh hush, David. Don’t be paranoid. Regardless, unlike
certain individuals with which I share a peculiar friendship with, I must
retire for the evening. Sleep beckons, and I shan’t deny her my visitation of
respite.
TG: what
TT: I’m going to bed.
TG: ah
TT: Not the brightest boy, are you?
TG: lalonde I’m twenty, since when have I still been a boy
TT: Since you kept typing like one, dear. Goodnight and good
luck with your boy problems.
TG: that sounded just weird
TG: goodnight
- turntechGodhead [TG] has
ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]-
As he had expected, talking to Rose yielded no desirable
results, only the typical responses she was so famous for. Ever the cryptic
lady, Rose knew something and wasn’t about to openly tell Dave, not until she
had decided it was safe to do so.
Sadly, Dave could not get too mad at her; she was his half-sister, after all.
Though that didn’t dissuade her from never helping him when he could use it.
Dave rounded the corner of the street and saw his apartment
complex beside him. A stout building four stories high, it was rain weathered
and looked decidedly miserable in all weather patterns. Dirty white stucco held
to its outer walls and evenly interspaced windows sat on each floor. On the
main floor, a singular door sat between the two doors to the street level apartments.
Retrieving his keys from his right pocket, Dave slid the key into the locked
doorknob, and with a heave, pulled the door open, its hinges screeching in
resistance. Removing his key quickly, he slipped into the dim, sorry excuse for
a foyer, and quickly ascended the staircase before him. Dim yellow lighting
gave notice to the largely ignored mailboxes and one lonely chair in the
corner. Above the mailboxes, in dirty cheap, shiny plastic was written
‘Sunshine Apartments.’
Dirty and old carpet muffled his steps as he ascended to the
fourth floor, whereupon he opened one more door and stood in the silent hallway
of the top floor. The floors creaked loudly under foot as he strode toward
apartment 41, and slid his key into the deadbolt, which turned with a smooth
glide. Shortly after moving in, Dave had promptly replaced the locks, much to
the anger of the landlord, until of course Dave reluctantly gave up the spare
key after being threatened to be evicted.
Dave slid off his soaked pathetic excuse of a windbreaker
and tossed it onto the floor, along with his poorly maintained converse
hi-tops. Smacking his hand against the wall, he flicked on the lights in the
kitchen and living room area as he walked into the previously darkened room.
The kitchen itself was a sorry sight, and a living testament to Dave’s terrible
eating habits. Uncleaned and often unfinished boxes of takeout food littered
the countertops, and while the microwave looked as though it had seen a million
uses, the stove below was covered in a thick layer of dust, the yellow-white
appliance practically begging to be removed from existence.
Dave turned toward the fridge, opening the lopsided
appliance which lurched forward as he pulled on the door handle. Having grown
used to this defect of the old refrigerator which likely predated the blond by
a decade or two, he caught it with his free hand as he maneuvered his hand
around the jars of preserved bugs and onto the four litre carton of orange
juice. Eagerly removing the fresh jug, he placed the now exposed lip to his
mouth and tipped it back, drinking deeply, before simply replacing it
haphazardly in the fridge, which fell back into its idle wobbly state.
Dave pulled uncomfortably at his soaked sweatshirt, which
displayed the iconic signature of his mixing ‘business,’ a record midspin,
whose centre core was a bright red, much akin to his eyes. Dave pulled at the
collar of the soaked garment over his head, accidentally knocking his
sunglasses off, and tossed the shirt into a direction of his largely ignored TV
and the well-used couch before it, careful to ignore the carefully placed DJ
equipment in the corner, adjacent to the TV.
Deciding he was well enough ready to sleep, Dave wandered
down a short hallway to his right and turned into his room, which was politely
put, a pig sty. Discarded clothing, both clean and dirty, laid strewn about the
room. A double bed whose covers had most likely never been cleaned in well over
a year, let alone folded properly on the bed, sat in a ball on the mattress.
Cheap blinds failed to keep the yellow light of the streetlights outside from
bleeding in. Heedless to the poor quality of his room, Dave collapsed on his
bed and felt his consciousness drift away.
~
John collapsed his umbrella over the matt before the door as
he carefully removed his shoes, placing them next to the hushpuppies his father
seemed to adore so greatly. Placing the umbrella against the wall to dry, he
blinked, and sniffed the air. To his absolute horror, John smelt the sweet
aroma of baked goods. Making his way
to the brightly illuminated kitchen, John found his father, still adorned in
his white shirt and black tie, matching his black slacks and pipe
absentmindedly stirring a pot of cake batter. “Dad…” John whined, “don’t we
already have like… five cakes in the fridge downstairs?” His father looked up,
rather startled from the sudden appearance of his on.
“Oh, goodness son, you scared me. And we have six in the
basement fridge, but none in the regular fridge. You weren’t home and it was
getting late, so I decided I’d bake something for you to snack on during the
week while I waited up for you.” His father explained calmly, placing the bowl
of mix under the mixer and turned on the complex machine, which began to beat
the mixture into a smooth, creamy flow of batter.
John groaned at his father response, “Dad, I’m not a little
kid. You don’t need to wait up for me. It’s not like-“ John was cut off by the
vibrating of his phone, which he fumbled for, and after a moment retrieved from
his pocket and found a text from Jake, indicating that he had found Dave’s
pesterchum address and that John owed him a cake for his efforts. John closed
the messaging app and opened pesterchum, sending the request to
‘turntableGodhead’ and stuffing his phone in his pocket. “… Anyways, I’m beat,
I’m gonna go to bed. G’night dad.”
John’s father nodded and with a cursory ‘goodnight, son’
returned to his endless baking. It was amazing that the man didn’t simply pass
out during the day due to his all hours baking. Ascending the stairs to the
second floor of their row home, John smiled a little. “I can’t believe how
handsome he was… I guess Dirk was right with what he said about Striders and
style…” John mused as he changed into a simple old t-shirt and stripped to his
boxers, blissfully unaware of how much anger his room would bring a man such as
Dave. Nic Cage posters adorned every wall, along with copious other movies and
games.
John turned off his lamp and sighed, his breathing slowing
almost immediately. However, from behind his eyelids, the bright glow of his
phone took the room by storm, and further made its presence known with an
obnoxious vibrating against the wooden surface of his night table. John grabbed
his phone and brought it close to his face, as without his glasses, his sight
was woefully pathetic. Pesterchum blinked in the corner and he clicked it.
John smiled widely as he read the notification: “- turntechGodhead has accepted your request. Pester turntechGodhead now?”
As John went to click on the hyperlink ‘now,’ another notification appeared at
the top of his screen, in his chatlogs. Opening the most recent, he read:
-turntechGodhead has begun
pestering ectoBiologist-
TG: youre totally that guy from Bro’s lame show aren’t you
John found himself blushing brightly at the bluntness of
Dave’s message and quickly typed
EB: Yep! The English buff guy gave it to me, said you and he
were friends.
TG: I wouldnt say were friends
EB: Sooo
TG: Soo
EB: So
TG: S
EB: Haha cute :P
TG: I know I am John
TG: don’t be jealous now, its unbecoming of a fine noble
lady
EB: Your irony knows no boundaries, does it?
TG: nope
John gulped nervously, and deciding that their little
conversation was going well, simply typed more.
EB: So wanna hang out sometime?
A long moment of pause held John in the throes of social
suicide as he realised how awkwardly abrupt his message was, and fervently
wished that he could delete it.
TG: sure but no more Dirk mixdowns
TG: a man can only take a few of those in a lifetime
EB: Great! I know just the place, it’s a little coffeeshop
on Bernard Street :P
John smiled widely, buckteeth absentmindedly nibbling at his
bottom lip. Dave was a cool guy and he was really funny to hang out with.
TG: sounds dandy
TG: listen John I’d love to stay and chat but the bitchmaster
tiredness is taking me
EB: No problem, Davey! Goodnight :D
TG: davey
TG: oh Christ what did I get myself into
TG: goodnight John
EB: Goodnight Dave!
With that, John returned his phone to the nightable and
grinned widedly. This was gonna be fun.
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