victory_road | 7 ∅ [Video/Action for Route 39]

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7 ∅ [Video/Action for Route 39]

[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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

i mean
well
i spent some time on it i guess
anyway are you gonna come get it or is it just me and my borrowed pony pal here partying without the party guy

HEADING OVER NOW. HOLD YOUR TEMPORARILY LOANED HOOFBEASTS, FOR FUCK'S SAKE.
<>

[He can't even pretend to be mad anymore. This is ridiculous. Either way, Karkat is indeed making his way over to Dave's tree, his PokéGear quickly stowed so that he can shield his eyes from that blistering sun. Fuck hums for being diurnal anyway. He's been here for four months now and it still makes no sense.]

Hey, Dave.

Hey, birthday boy.

[He holds up the Burger Slowking crown, because he is nothing if not a ridiculous piece of shit, always.]

Get down here and accept your twenty-four hour reign if you want your festive tribute.

[... Why does he like you again. Also, trying really hard not to smile as he reaches Dave's side and tries to give the crown a disdainful look.]

This wasn't part of the agreement, asshole. Can I at least put it on myself? How long do I have to wear it?

[None of these things are things he should be saying out loud if he wants to preserve his dignity, probably, but conveniently enough, Dave appears to have utterly devastated the shit out of that all over the Pokéinternet, so why not. He's an old hand at sabotaging himself anyway.]

All day, sorry, I don't make the birthday rules.

[He does hand the crown over to Karkat to put on himself, though, mostly so Dave can lean to one side of the tree and grab a conveniently located picnic basket. He starts distributing snack packs and sandwiches, and an apple each.]

I didn't pack a cake because I figured it'd get kind of messy to eat way out here, and also because I don't know how to cook cake. Bake cake? One of those things. Probably the one that rhymes. But Tucker said he'd send one.

[Right, Dave doesn't make them, but he'll sure as hell be enforcing them because??? How typical.

(Karkat puts on the crown anyway.)]

Who's Tucker? And, uh. Yeah, that's...

[He trails off, biting his lip as he takes in the goddamned wriggling day lawnmeal that Dave has evidently prepared for him. Really? All of this? And a cake?]

... Thanks, Dave.

[Dave looks up, then jams his hat back on. It's not that his sunburned face gets any redder, but his mouth pinches a little like he's trying not to smile like a chibi anime. You know. Like :>. Basically, stop thanking him, it is ruining all his cool.]

Tucker's one of Carolina's friends from home. He's cool, he's the one who gave birth to an alien son.

[He tosses the second apple juice to Karkat, then puts his hand in the basket to find only one thing left. He hesitates, glances at Karkat sidelong, and then pulls out a small, flat white box, like the kind department stores gift-wrap clothes in, but smaller.]

Ummm...do you want your present now, or after we eat.

Edited (What even was that) 2016-06-23 02:38 (UTC)

[Coordination isn't really Karkat's department, especially when he's being simultaneously hit with gave birth to an alien son, but somehow he manages not to entirely disgrace himself as the juice is lobbed his way. The exact expression on his face is hard to pin down, but it's revulsion, confusion, and, oh yeah, revulsion. Fucking giving birth, like a mammal? Gross. Had Dave even mentioned this to him before? Because it sure as hell isn't ringing any dong shouters. Maybe he'd wiped the whole thing from his think pan in self defense, who knows.

Surprise soon wipes his face clean again, though, because yeah, he hadn't actually expected there to be a present in addition to a ~~romantic~~ lawnmeal, silly rap, and even sillier crown. The size of the box doesn't even register; he's too busy being amazed it's there at all.]

Uh... before? I mean, now. Fuck, Dave, you didn't have to go to all this trouble. It's just—

[He breaks off, looking embarrassed. Yeah, Dave's his moirail, and if anyone was going to comment on a troll's wriggling day, it would be a quadrantmate, but he's... not used to this. Is it always like this for humans?]

... What is it?

[Dave tilts his head up to show he's rolling his eyes and hands the present over to Karkat.]

It's a box. You have to open it, twatstonk, I'm not gonna just tell you what's in it. Would I have bothered with the ribbon if I was just going to give it away.

[It does, indeed, sport a thin grey ribbon tied in a bow.

The present is light, whatever it is, and upon opening, it seems that the box may mostly be filled with sheets of grey tissue paper. Nestled within those sheets, though, is...it's a black bandanna with the traditional paisley pattern in white, but a circle was left clear in the center, and within that...

Someone embroidered Karkat's sign in grey. They even used the satin stitch, making the lines thick and bold, so that the symbol is visible from a distance, and on both sides of the cloth.

Dave is blushing, now, sunburn or not, and he unwraps his sandwich to keep those bandaged fingers busy because those Band-aids aren't for lasso-burn at all, the lying fucker.]

Thought I'd start with something small before I ruin any of your pants.

[For the ironies, maybe Dave would have given it away, but Karkat mirrors the eyeroll in lieu of pointing that out, already picking at the delicate ribbon. If he could open the box while still leaving it intact... but would that ruin the ribbon, too? What the fuck, he shouldn't care; it's just a bow. A bow on his first wriggling day gift from his moirail—or birthday present, technically, since it hasn't been a full sweep yet by any means. So it's... his first birthday present. From his moirail.

... Fuck. Maybe he can get the bow retied later? Assuming he can't figure it out himself. Asking Dave to do it is going to invite all kinds of teasing with it, he's pretty sure, but he's officially stopped fucking caring. This is important.

His mind more or less made up, Karkat sneaks a glance at Dave before returning his attention to the box, carefully untying the ribbon, and setting it aside. He's already anticipating some comment from Dave, a careless remark more likely than a pointed barb about how long he's taking (but what if?), and his shoulders hunch before he can stop them, his gaze still fixed on the box. He's a little faster about raising the lid, less so about poking through the tissue paper (and yes, he's noticed the color), and of course because he couldn't do anything right if his life depended on it (as it has), he totally fucking freezes the instant he sees the bandanna itself.

It's his sign. His. The stitching is... he's not sure about the quality, actually, nor does he particularly fucking care, but it's a damn sight better than anything he could have attempted and, more importantly, infinitely superior to the versions he'd scrawled on every article of clothing he'd acquired since coming here. This isn't some cheapass fabric pen; it's literally hand-stitched.

Dave had made this. For him.

Karkat retains enough sense to look out for the sandwich and definitely put the box down somewhere safe (ribbon now tucked securely alongside the bandanna for reasons) before enveloping Dave in a hug, blinking furiously because just sort of fucking because, okay, he doesn't need a reason. He doesn't have a reason. Hahaha, it's not like receiving this give at this time holds any particular meaning for him, what.

He does his best to stifle a small sniffle by burying his face in Dave's neck, painfully aware that his horns would have been digging into his moirail's stupid fragile human skin right now if he still had them. That's not the point.]

Thank you.

[Over seven months getting thanked regularly for things he never thinks to be thanked for, and Dave still hasn't quite found a way to land comfortably on the proper response. He just sinks, warm and surprised, into the hug and tries to find a way to sound cool about his complete uncoolness.]

Yeah. Happy birthday.

[It's kind of public, but he gathers Karkat up anyway and settles against the tree again, comfy.]

I can do it in back or split stitch, too, but my chain stitch is still pretty shit. And don't even ask me about the fancy kinds or knots and shit, I haven't gotten to those yet. But the farm lady let me borrow her thingie hoop and showed me what I was doing wrong when I fucked up the first couple times, so I gotta thank her later.

[He rubs his nose in Karkat's hair, then smiles into it so Karkat can't see.]

Maybe I'll do up a cape for you when the weather's cooler. Just get you dicks and daisies all over it, it'll be great.

[Those sure were a lot of terms for things Karkat knows jack shit about, but he doesn't snap any of his many questions at Dave like he normally would. Instead, he actually laughs.]

Don't you fucking dare. If you put a single human dick on any article of clothing you give me, I will set it and you on fire.

[Only not, and yes this is definitely too public a place to be falling all over his moirail but he can't fucking stop it. It's too soon after he'd been turned back into a human, too soon after he'd lost his gray skin and horns and everything else for the second goddamn time since coming here, and Dave had given him his sign and clearly knows how big a deal that is to him and...

His eyes are damp and mere moments away from soaking Dave's shirt, but he only hugs him tighter, his shoulders shaking with what's hopefully another laugh. He can't fucking tell anymore.]

Thank you. I'm—fuck, sorry, I should—

[He unwraps an arm from Dave, scrubs quickly at his face because no he is not crying, and flings it around him again. That maneuver was supposed to end with him not engaging in flagrant pale PDA in the middle of a fucking farm, but apparently he failed at that, too.

He's also sniffling again. Because.]

Pale for you. No human dicks, though, I wasn't joking about that.

[Who says Dave's joking?]

I'll disguise them tastefully as fancy flowers, and you'll never know. Only me.

[He's not laughing outright--he's still riding the self-satisfaction too much (the actual happiness, the feeling that he did something good) to ruin his seated peacock preening--but the wide grin is in his voice, humor light on his tongue. He bobs his head to the side.]

Well, me and Jade, probably, because I bet Jade will know all the flowers that look like peen and can advise me on the goofiest ones to embroider in.

[He removes one hand to gesture grandly. The scope of his nefarious scheme is a wide one, motherfuckers.]

You'll always have to wonder if you're sporting fine menswear slathered in literal hidden image cock. Like one of those optical illusion pieces you've gotta go cross-eyed to make out. The perfect gift. Shit, I should market this pronto.

[And then, with enough bullshit delivered, apparently, Dave returns to birthday snuggles and lowers his voice again, like he does when he means stuff.]

I was thinking. Shirt sleeves, pants pockets? That way you don't have a huge piece of stitching to rub you weird on the inside of your shit.

You literally just fucking told me it would be there, so yeah, Dave, I think I'd know.

[Because operating on the assumption that every embroidered flower is secretly a dick is in no way a paranoid or unhealthy way to live his life? Karkat doesn't care. Why is everything dicks with Dave, anyway? He thinks he can remember Rose slurring something on the subject the last time he'd seen her, but that was perigees ago and he doesn't care enough to remember.

He's slower to shift gears from banter to serious conversation than Dave is but only because he's still so stupidly fucking emotional that it isn't fair. Fuck Dave for being so impossibly sweet and understanding anyway, what kind of asshole does those things? Goddammit.]

S-sleeves, yeah. Or like—

[His gesture is much vaguer, but he seems to be pointing an as yet imaginary breast pocket. Or... huh.]

Maybe on a jacket, I don't fucking know. Human fashion doesn't make any sense.

[Nor does troll fashion. God he misses Kanaya.

He buries his face in Dave's neck again.]

Sorry.

[For being so clingy right now, he doesn't say. Dave seems to be okay with it, but it's always hard to tell.]

Yeah, apologize for recognizing that my present is the bomb and being happy about it, that makes all the sense. I'm agog at this display of eminent reason, here. Watch out, I may genuflect.

[On impulse, and to forestall the stupid back-and-forth bitching that could come of hat, Dave lands a peck in Karkat's hair, as best he can at this angle.]

You're welcome, dude.

[To presents. To cuddles. To anything at all, really. Anything Karkat wants, Dave's here to deliver, if he can. He's happy to. He's happy.

He reaches for and puts his hat back on and then rubs Karkat's back, aware of the wet lashes and sniffles, disinclined to comment on them. Dave did something right for once, he--what was it Ashley had said? Something about being nice to get back at a world trying to make itself shitty? Had that been Ashley? Does it matter?

He can't stop smiling. He rests his chin on Karkat's head like he's perfectly content to just stay here through his whole lunch break before rounding up the cows again.]

Plus now I got something to do with my hands next time you corner me with some Danielle Steelix sappy-ass trash.

[Headkisses, backrubs, and cuddles? Yeah, he's. He's feeling pretty fucking pacified right now. Still emotional in ways he should probably explain beyond those vague apologies, but Dave hasn't asked him to. Maybe he doesn't need to say anything at all.]

It isn't sappy-ass trash.

[Except that, obviously, even if it's muffled by the way Karkat may or may not have a mouthful of Dave's shirt. (Spoilers: he doesn't, but he definitely sounds like he does.) Fuck this ignorant human for not appreciating Danielle Steelix's genius anyway. Does he need to read him even more of her work? Because he can totally do that.

He takes another steadying breath, then finally lifts his head again to peer up at Dave. This angle is stupid, but he's not letting go yet.]

You know you're basically telling me that I have to read to you more often if I want you to finish putting my sign on all my clothes, right? Because that's what it sounds like you're saying.

Well, shit. Dammit, Past Dave, learn how to think things through before locking Future Daves into interminable torment, please and T.Y. Hugs and snugs, you irresistible piece of ass, your broself, Present Dave.

[He loosens his arms from around Karkat for just a moment, and only to clap once behind his back before returning, though he does not attempt to eat Karkat's head with his neck this time. Piously, he remarks:]

High five.

[Did he really--yup, looks like he did just high-five himself to close his salutation. Dave leans back so they can look at each other properly without breaking the hug and fiddles idly with a fold in the back of Karkat's shirt.]

So you like it?

[Not that he hasn't spent the last five comments declaring as much himself, but Dave hasn't heard it from Karkat yet, and he wants to...you know, know. He wants to hear it aloud, make sure he really did right by him.

In other words, validate meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.]

[..................

It's moments like this that make Karkat contemplate the true meaning of pity.]

Did that seriously just fucking happen. Tell me that did not just fucking happen.

[He'll get to the whole validation thing in a moment, really he will, he just needs to accept that this is the loser he's shackled himself to because—because what the fuck, high-fiving himself? Really? It's Dave and therefore not... actually that unexpected, but oh god Karkat needs to focus on something other than how close this asshole's face is to his right now.

(It's very close. Very. Just putting that out there.)

He visibly struggles for a second or two, exclusively over what to say and most definitely not anything else at all ever, then scowls and no seriously why is Dave's face so close. Oh god, he has literally become the cliché, this is unbearable.

... almost as unbearable as the face Dave might make if he's shot down right now. Karkat's pretty sure he'd know it wasn't sincere, but... god. Fucking. Dammit. What is pity? ~~baby don't hurt me~~]

I'll say yes but only if you promise to never do that again.

[Would it really be Dave's hypothetically sad face that would be unbearable, or would it be missing out on the smile that slips across it now, warm and self-consciously delighted and kind of goofy?]

Okay. I guess I can swear on my honor or whatever. No more selfie-fives for Dave, woe and lack-a-day.

[And the smile shifts just a little into a wider grin, all smug around the edges like the Purrloin that caught the Pidgey. Dave leans back on his arms, greatly pleased with himself and everything this endeavor has shaped up to be.]

Ergo, that was a yes, no takebacks. Also you didn't say I couldn't fistpound myself or any other halfway masturbatory self-celebration, hahahaha, you fucked up.

[ B))))))))

Shades and shit-eating for everyone.]

[... Yeah, okay. It's definitely the smile.

Karkat ducks his head and, as an afterthought, knocks it into Dave's shoulder in a half-assed retaliation that has more to do with hiding the irrepressible, matching grin on his face than genuine irritation. He should be irritated. It doesn't seem to be happening.

Fuck.]

Yeah, whatever. Be a smug asshole, like it's any different from your usual behavior anyway.

[He's even talking semi-quietly, that's how stupidly soft Dave makes him. It's a good thing he isn't a troll anymore; he couldn't possibly be more of a failure of one than he is right now.

He shuts his eyes.]

So, how the fuck am I supposed to wear it, anyway? The bandanna.

[It's probably going to look out of place as hell with his usual outfits but yeah he's basically going to take it off exactly never once he works out how best to show it off.]

There's a bunch of different ways. 'S part of the reason I picked it.

[He plucks the bandanna out of the box and flaps it out by the corners so it's fully unfolded, then folds it triangle-ways and wraps it around his own face like a bandit.]

This one's the height of fashion if you ever need to rob a mail car out on the wild frontier. Or you could do like this.

[This time, he puts it on like a headscarf and mimes waving good-bye.]

Dasvidaniya, Ivan, my love, have fun freezing your balls off in Siberia. Or, hmm.

[He opens it flat again, appraises it thoughtfully, and then this time folds it into a wide strip with Karkat's sign in the middle and offers it over to him.]

You could tie it like this around your head, too, to keep your hair out of your face. Sort of like Rose's headband, you know? Or around your arm, or whatever. It's a versatile equip.

[Karkat's expression had grown increasingly dubious throughout Dave's performance, wrought as it was with references to shit he hasn't the faintest inkling about, but the look he sends his moirail for suggesting that he might need something to keep his hair under control could strip paint off the wall. It was bad enough returning to his body and having to deal with the sheer grubfuckery that was what Dirk had done to it, and yes, he's still sore about that weeks later, what of it? Fucking Dirk.]

I guess around my arm? If it doesn't slide around or whatever the fuck, I'd have to keep adjusting it.

[Probably? The alternative, after all, is tying it on so tightly that it cuts off his damn circulation, which would be dumb as hell. Holy fuck, this is why he doesn't accessorize; it's more trouble than it's worth.

Speaking of, Karkat takes a moment to pat awkwardly at his own head, then heave an exasperated sigh.]

And the fucking crown fell off. Do I have to put that back on?

[~~How very strange that he'd forgotten about it until now, ha ha ha, how did that happen.~~]

[Dave considers saying yes, then shakes his head, still smiling a little.]

Nah, it's cool. I'd say yes but now you've been crowned, the birthday king gets to make the decisions, even if they're fuck-all boring decisions, all preserving dignity and shit.

[He loops the bandanna around Karkat's arm and ties it carefully.]

Hmmm. We could pin it to your sleeve later, if it slides. So how's that?

[He sits back again, admiring his handiwork, looking...really content, for once.]

[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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

7 ∅ [Video/Action for Route 39]

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action ^HUMANS I MEANT HUMANS god fuck

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