open.

[tg]

CHARACTERS: Dave Strider and OPEN.
LOCATION: Lifts or kitchens! Feel free to utilize either of the provided starters or to start something up on your own.
WARNINGS: N/A! TBA! Either or both! Will edit as/if necessary
SUMMARY: Dave Strider farts around a spaceship. Go poke him. He's stupid.

NOTES: Events in this log are flexible, so we can backdate or forward-date as your needs may require. Also, I'm cool with both prose and action: feel free to reply with your preference, and I'll match your style. :|b


OPTION A - LIFTS
Maybe your character is heading somewhere specific, or maybe they're just wandering about aimlessly. Regardless of their particular circumstances, they eventually come to one of the lifts and hit the call button, and when it finally arrives, it seems the lift is already occupied. There's a fifteen year old in Ray-Ban aviators and red pajamas, sitting on a green ghost pogo ride that's obviously been uprooted from the backyard of some kid who hadn't hit puberty yet. As a result, the fifteen year old swathed in red currently occupying its plastic saddle might be a tad too tall for the darn thing.

Dave looks up from his compromised vantage point as if he's not the jackass on a yard ornament. "What floor?"


OPTION B - KITCHENS
But maybe your character was headed somewhere specific, and that place happened to be one of the kitchens. In that case, Dave's already there, standing by a counter, green ghost pogo ride occupying the stool beside him. He's stirring some instant coffee powder into hot water and talking to himself.

Or to the pogo ride. It's debatable.

"—can't believe I miss that shitty coffee pod thing. Sure, this stuff touts itself as instant, just add water and bam, insta-stimulant, but it's not goddamn instant enough."

Because having to stir thoroughly is way too much work.

Comments

[tg]

"But you're fully awake now, right?"

Can you hear the amusement in his voice, Murp? It's there: lurking under the coolkid facade that Dave isn't even particularly good at keeping up.

"Mission fucking accomplished."

[yardbird]

What a fucking little...

"If you could call it that..." A mission, that is. Doesn't take much to shock Murphy out of sleepiness, considering what he's used to.

[tg]

Dave will blithely choose to misunderstand what Murphy's saying, because he is a dick.

"I'd call it fully awake, but between the two of us, you're the only one who'd really whether or not you're still suffering lasting effects from last night's hot sexcapade."

He shrugs dismissively.

"Bet your only chance to rejoin the world of the fully lucid is to chug a cup of space Folgers. Or to calm the raging libido that gets you into these morning messes in the first place."

[yardbird]

Goddammit, Dave. It's not like Murphy has had a long track record of health sleeping habits before he started actually sleeping with his girlfriend.

But that's besides the point.

"...Can this lift go any slower?"

[tg]

"'course it can. Want me to slow-mo it? Or I could rewind and we can do the whole song and dance over again."

Consider the offer with care, Murphy.

[yardbird]

There's not even the slightest pause before Murphy snaps his head at Dave and--

"No."

Absofuckinglutely not.

[tg]

"How d'you know I didn't already? What if we're in a timeloop, and you don't even know it?"

'course there's no way Dave would actually do that, but no one needs to know that.

[yardbird]

"Augh, shut up."

He says this in the most non-violent way possible.

[tg]

"But then we'd be trapped in awkward elevator silence, and I will not abide a silent trauma box. We're pretty damn good conversationalists anyway; we can keep it goin'."

He says this in the least convincing way possible.

[yardbird]

"If that's gonna the alternative, I'll gladly accept the 'silent trauma box'."

Seriously, Murphy is used to the awkward. He's had to put up with being around naked men in an open shower room. You don't know awkward silences until you've had an inmate trying to make eye contact with your dick in the prison showers.

[tg]

What if, while conversing with a gay man in space, you've come upon the realization that every luxury provided for you by your older brother-cum-father figure was purchased on tips stuffed down Fozzy Bear's thong or between Gonzo's plush asscheeks? Or if you've walked in on the alternate universe, younger version of aforementioned older brother-cum-father figure trying to squeeze himself into the indentation you leave on your mattress, sniffing your shirts and wearing your pants?

Do you ask for your clothes back, or do you worry about how he got those off of you without you noticing?

"Hey, I got a great way to shut people up."

And so begins the ceremony of tossing the sleep yarn. Dave slides said ball of yarn out of his sylladex, looking quite pleased with the idea he just had.

[yardbird]

If Murphy had even an inkling of Dave's thought process just then, he--

Oh, what the hell. It's not like it'd make much of a difference, and they'd both still be standing here.

He keeps to his corner of the life, casting a fleeting glance at his communicator to check the time, how long it's going to be before they reach the gardens...

Then Dave talks again.

"That's not what I--" Murphy sighs, his eyes rolling to the ceiling. "Alright. What is it?"

[tg]

The ball of yarn sails across the space between coolkid and manchild, ineffectually bouncing off of the latter's forehead.

A long moment—an awkward pause, even—passes, during which nothing happens.

"...'kay, that wasn't. What I'd hoped would happen."

Goddammit.

[yardbird]

Murphy blinks, his head only tilting back when the yarn makes contact. Because let's be real, it's not like the kid just hit him with a sack of rocks or anything.

"Honestly, what did you expect was gonna happen?"

It's a ball of yarn, for Christ's sake...

[tg]

"Maybe it only works on normal people," he mutters under his breath, actually getting off the pogo ride to underhand the ball of yarn to the old man. "Catch."

What did Dave expect to happen? He'll show the Mur-Prude what's supposed to happen.

"'kay, toss it back. Aim for the sweet spot. Hit a strike in one."

Because Dave doesn't know sports, dammit.

[yardbird]

Normal people. Murphy snorts, actually amused that someone like Dave would consider Murphy to be the abnormal one here.

He does catch the yarn this time, looking at it and then back to Dave like he's not sure what to do with it at first. But in a few seconds it becomes clearer...

"I think you've got your baseball lingo all mixed up."

He says as he tosses the ball back at the kid. Hey, he can play this with a six-year-old, he can definitely aim at a teenager.

That is, if he was expecting the teenager to actually catch the ball he just threw back.

[tg]

Dave watches the ball's elegant parabola, the clean curve of its trajectory which, strangely, does not seem to be aimed at his head. He moves to intercept, mouth forming words, "I said, aim at—"

The ball lightly glances against his head.

And suddenly Dave is sprawled out on the floor, out cold, ball of yarn unraveling ever so slightly as it comes to rest beside him.

[yardbird]

Murphy just stares as Dave goes down with all the grace of a ton of bricks.

This is a joke, right? He's just fucking around, isn't he?

After a moment, he just blurts: "I c'mon, it's not like I hit you that ha..." He moves closer. "You alright?"

[tg]

Murphy (unwittingly) used BALL OF SLEEP YARN! It's super effective! And as a result, he gets no response from Dave.

[yardbird]

MURPHY IS CONFUSED.

IT HURT ITSELF IN CONFUSION.



...And then proceeded to drop down to his knee and start poking Dave.

[tg]

DAVE is fast asleep!

And nope nope nope, poking will not wake the Davemeister. He is too thoroughly doused in sleep dander to be roused by a mere gentle finger-probing. In fact, this particular Sleeping Beauty shall not wake without the aid of another tender caress from BALL OF SLEEP YARN.

Let's see how long it takes for Murphy to figure that out.

[yardbird]

No. No, Murphy has not figured it out. Because why the fuck would chucking the same yarn at a sleeping kid make any more sense than, say, fishing a child's rhyme from the ribs of a still-living monster nailed to a gurney?

Someone needs to go back and brush up on his Silent Hill problem solving skills.

Well, at least he's not dead or anything, but that doesn't make Murphy freak out internally any less of a thing that is happening...

In any case, he hasn't even come close to figuring it out by the time the lift makes it to the oxygen gardens. He was actually hoping that Dave would just wake up by then, but to no avail.

He glances over when the lift doors open, grunts, and looks back to Dave. It's during rare moments such as these in which he finds himself faced with the moral decisions that the Tranquility has offered him...

X Be a good angel and help the damn kid.
O Fuck it, leave his ass.

...

Sigh.

"Dave, if you're just messin' with me here, I swear to God..." Murphy mutters under his breath as he scoops Dave up far enough to move him off of the lift for the time being. He looks over and notices the stupid ball of yarn, still on the floor of the lift.

Might as well get Dave's stuff as well, in the event that he winds up taking a longer catnap than expected.

Just as Murphy retrieves the things, the lift doors shut behind him. We'll just call it a convenient stroke of luck that he fumbles and the ball of yarn falls from his giant manhands and (gently?) pummels Dave in the face again. Oops...

[tg]

Dave rises like the waking dead, shooting up into a seated position without skipping a beat. He looks around, processing the old man in front of him and the greenery around him.

Huh.

"What just happened?"

[yardbird]

Oh, good. He's awake.

"Hell if I know. I was hopin' you could tell me."

It was then that the ball of yarn rolls from Dave and returns to Murphy's feet. To which he kicks it back at Dave out of spite.

[tg]

If Dave's face were a goal post, then Murphy would've driven home a slam dunk. He resumes the prone position of the recently deceased.

Dude, he's even got the gall to snore.