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Viewing Single Post From: I'm Looking For a Place to Start, But Everything Feels So Different Now
Pippin
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W A H
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Was there a word that was, like, a combination of ‘pissed-off’, ‘indignant’, and ‘actually-kinda-amused-but-begrudgingly-and-trying-real-fuckin’-hard-not-to-show-it’? If there wasn’t, there really should be, because it pretty accurately described Roy’s facial expression right now, directed, uh, directly at Dan. First off, dude? Low hanging fruit. Oh, a dude with lipstick, that’s pretty gay, yeah, he could have thought of that in his sleep.

Second of all, and this was the big one; Roy wasn’t gay. Probably. Almost definitely, he was pretty much entirely 99% certain. Girls were hot and cute and good, and he’d only stared at another dude’s butt ONCE whilst they were getting changed, and that was just because the guy had a birthmark in the shape of a dick on it. Honest, you could ask anyone else who was there at the time. You couldn't not stare at something like that.

So yeah, Roy wasn’t gay, but he also didn’t have anything against anyone who was. And yeah, that statement usually came with a big ol’ “BUT” afterwards, probably as you were dusting off your fedora collection, but not from him! If you were a guy and you wanted to make out with another guy or whatever, then you just had to tell Roy and he’d be your best damn wingman possible! So long as you told him just what an attractive dude looked like, cause fuck, he didn’t have a clue. Aside from a carbon copy of himself. Heh.

“Yeah? Well, like…” Roy flipped Dan off as he moved towards the kitchen. “Your face is pretty gay, man.”

Nice. That’ll show him.

“They gave me, like, an instruction manual for this thing, and it had the name of the colour written down there, prolly ‘cause they know I don’t know shit about makeup and whatever? Unlike, uh, you and your gay face.”

Wow. Christ. This conversation was dumb, and shit, and probably not the most vital thing to be caring about whilst they were all wearing very fashionable necklaces that could explode if the terrorists decided ‘fuck these three idiots in particular.’

There was a method to Roy’s conversational madness, though. The same method that had convinced him to lie about the lipstick gun. Roy considered himself a pretty smart dude, especially seeing as he spent most of his free time getting smacked in the head. But most other people, his parents and teachers aside, didn’t think of him as much more than just another jock. The sorta guy who struggled to remember that 2+2=4. So maybe… maybe it’d be best if he kept it that way. You underestimated a guy, you put yourself on the back foot from the very start, and there was no better way to underestimate Roy than to consider him someone with more brawn than brain.

I mean, that part was still true, he was ripped as hell, just the brains were still very much there and being put to good use. Unlike some of the other football players adonis he knew.

Roy walked into the kitchen, and expressed his reaction at what he saw succinctly and calmly.

“Jesus fucking dick, the hell happened in here?”

He probably should’ve expected something like this, considering the littered bullet casings and, y’know, completely shattered window dividing the main hall from the kitchen, but still! Christ! It was like they’d walked inside a fuckin’ salt shaker, the amount of holes there were everywhere. Roy wandered over to a rack of pots and pans and grabbed hold of a wok, spinning it by the handle in his good hand.

“No blood, no bodies or anything. Either there was someone here who couldn’t aim for shit, or… I dunno…”

Roy raised the wok up to his face and looked at the other two through the neat bullet hole in the centre.

“Gordon Ramsey finally fuckin’ snapped.”
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