7 ∅ [Video/Action for Route 39]

[callbacks]

[The broadcast begins, but there's an unintended second or two of jostling before Dave gets the camera set up the way he wants. The cause: He's outside, for once, leaning against a tree to get out of the noontime sun. He looks...actually pretty content, if slightly sunburned. It's fading, at least. The straw cowboy hat he's resting on his chest must be doing some good.]

Howdy, y'all--[He breaks character immediately for a snicker.] Christ, okay, never let me say anything like that again. Anyway. For those of you unused to human custom, we got a time-honored tradition of embarrassing people publicly on the day they emerged gross and wailing into existence.

[He shifts so he can dig a folded piece of paper out from his pocket and opens it. A Ponyta nearby wanders over to check out what he's doing, then blows into his hair and walks off again to watch over the Miltank they're rounding up. The corner of Dave's mouth turns up.]

This one goes out to a special dude on his special day. He knows who he is. P.S., it's Karkat.

[One breath in, and then:]

Okay,
D.J. Strider here.

[Oh god he's gonna rap.]

I gotta take the time to make a June declaration
On my sanctioned lunch break from bovine aggregation
Since we've all been re-stationed to make reparations
To this fucked-up earthquaked Pokémon nation:
Congratulations! On the commemoration of your buggy origination
The germination, gestation, and ex-cavern relocation
And the perpetuation of your person-ization
To the tune of eight sweeps of EXP accumulation
By my admittedly shitty estimation, (leave some room for deviation).
So, yeah, in celebration I propose a coronation--

[And he lifts his hat to reveal: A Burger Slowking cardboard crown and a shit-eating grin.]

For my favorite crustacean on his wriggling day,
And if y'all answer to Cancer make sure to say hey.

[...Okay maybe he's done. For now. Dave puts the hat and crown aside and starts braiding little wildflowers together.]

We'll be accepting donations of birthday cake and child-friendly toys at the MooMoo Farm, care of Dave Strider.

Comments

action

[quadrangle]

[Stop saying "all." Ugh, no, he isn't going to say that. Instead, he'll inspect Dave's work with mock severity, his mouth slightly pinched. This has to be the longest he's ever seen Dave with a smile on his face, and while that's good, it's also wreaking havoc on his ability to not flip his shit everywhere and profess his very-definitely-not pale feelings to this complete shitheel.

The fact that he'd been about to ask Dave's help in tying the bandanna to his arm before being preempted is the mucus on the grubloaf at this point. He's not sure how much more of this he can take.]

It'll do.

[He'd sniff haughtily or something to complete the act, but a) he's not a tool, and b) he made the mistake of looking up again and Dave really has no fucking idea at all, does he? Argh.

Hurriedly, Karkat points out the remnants of their abandoned lawnmeal. Food, right. That thing.]

So, uh. Sandwiches, right? [The fuck kind of name for a food is that, anyway?] What's in them?