fandomtownies | Strokes of Genius, Wednesday (December 2)

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Strokes of Genius, Wednesday (December 2)

Katchoo deleted no less than four text messages from Lacey on her way to work, all of which were thoroughly transparent attempts at wheedling her into signing up for Facebook because Lacey needed more Farmville neighbors, one of which included an offer of gift garden gnomes if she did. That poor phone came dangerously close to getting thrown into the duck pond at one point, but then Katchoo nearly tripped over the tiny Christmas tree that cropped up in her path.

. . . sigh. The holiday season in Fandom.

By the tme she got to work, she figured if she had to, she'd just throw the phone at Arthur's head.

It'd be a gesture meant out of love. Really.

[OOC: Radio silence as I commute, then OCD-free post is open!]

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Sure, Katchoo. Give yourself even more footing as a Morgana surrogate.

On the upside, Arthur tended to take objects being thrown at his head as a sign of surrender. He pushed open the door to Strokes, shoving his hands ino the pockets of his (still ruthlessly expensive) coat, and raised his eyebrows.

There were trees.

Hey. She was perfectly fine playing that role in his life, thank you very much. (It put her in a good position to be a pain.)

"I didn't put 'em there," Katchoo said immediately, and sorry, Arthur, she wasn't actually going to throw that phone. There were erasers, though. Even some of those gooey grey moldable ones. Those were fun. "Do I look like I do holiday cheer?"

Throwing anything meant that the other person had overpowered you verbally and was hence ~~a big stud~~ ~~awesome~~ victorious, so it wasn't like he discriminated. "I don't know," he said, idly, "I haven't seen you during these holidays before."

Or it could mean that Katchoo just had a hair trigger sometimes. At least she wasn't throwing chairs through windows.

"Put it this way, I'm not gonna be the first one in line to hang the mistletoe." She drummed her fingers against the cash register. "Enjoyed the long weekend, did you?"

He'd slept with Merlin. And that after months of nothing. If he was still a little upbeat in his motions, he really couldn't be faulted. "I can't really complain," he said, finally, which was a rarity. "Mistletoe?"

And she'd noticed the touch of upbeat, thus the inquiry. "You? Not complain? That explains the trees . . . if the end of the world is supposed to happen when we get overwhelmed by tiny firs." Look, from Katchoo that was actually quite the gentle ribbing. "Mistletoe. Part of the whole holiday thing. Hell if I know why you hang a frikkin' parasite plant from a doorway so people are supposed to kiss when they walk under it, but that's how it's supposed to go."

"I would ask what parasites have to do with kisses, but I think I grasp enough not to want to know," Arthur decided, pacing towards his usual post. "I'm also certain that there's nothing about firs in the Bible. If this is the apocalypse, I'd expect a better class of sign."

Good decision, Arthur; Katchoo could have waxed eloquent, in her own foulmouthed way, on half a dozen reasons to connect parasites to kisses. "Oh, sure, assume the Apocalypse is gonna follow the Bible's rules. Fire and brimstone," she went on, affecting a frighteningly accurate vacuous-nasally-socialite tone, "is so three millennia ago."

. . . if she ever started acting like that for real, without the help of gremlin venom, that could also be a sign of the end times. A clear one, in the Bible or not.

Edited 2009-12-02 17:37 (UTC)

Arthur shrugged, leaning onto the counter. "It seemed fairly current back home."

"This is Fandom. The end of the world won't be normal," Katchoo pointed out in a stunning example of sensitivity; she'd been about to point out that he wasn't back home and changed tack. Also her tone of voice, back to normal.

Yeah, that would have helped the recent whizz-bang of his thoughts (momentarily co-opted by other things, but by no means gone) gain critical mass. Or something. He wasn't that sensitive, but thoughts were...

Anyway.

"I'm glad one of us has put some thought into that," he said, rolling his eyes. Fondly. "How was your weekend?"

"Mostly quiet, interrupted by mechanical crying." That narrow-eyed half-snarl was just as much of an affectionate gesture, thank you very much. "Slept better'n I expected I would in that place."

"They actually had decent sheets," Arthur shared. And not just for purposes. "And a decent mattress. Fandom could learn a thing or two." Sure. Make it all about you, Arthur.

"Oh, sure, it's all about you." That was not Katchoo obliging the narrative. Okay, it was, but it was yet another bit of mild-mannered harrassment. "You counted the threads, didn't you?"

Oh, hush. It was a hilarious mental image.

Arthur eyed her straight on back. "I didn't have to," he said, "I know a good mattress when I sleep on one." Alone or otherwise. "The one in my room in the dorms is passable, but..."

...Merlin's was not.

"But?" Katchoo could fill in the blank for herself, if she really wanted to, but why do that when she could take that ellipsis and wave it around like a streamer or a pair of maracas or let's just stop this simile now before it takes over the world in a bizarre Dadaist way?

"Others are not," he filled it, shooting her a smile that read bitch, I am not letting you have this one, and considered her. "You know how to drive a motorcycle, right?"

Nice segue.

"Yeah, I know how to --"

Waaaaaaaaaait.

"Are you out of your frikkin' mind?!?"

Arthur eyed her. "You're the last person on Earth who could be the judge of that," he said, then added, lightly, "I want to learn how to drive. Preferably before Dinah does and accidentally drives herself off a cliff."

"If one of us gets hurt, Francine and Merlin are gonna kill us, you know." But ooo. That was a tempting idea.

Also there could be leather.

"I'm the crown prince of Camelot," he informed her (because he didn't do that often enough), "And Merlin wets himself at the sight of you. We have nothing to worry about."

Who in Fandom needed a pep talk about love more than Katina? Oh, his husky voiced lil' radio friend.

"We're no strangers to love. You know the rules and so do I!" Oh yeah, he was never living this down. Ever.

Husky-voiced lil' -- hey. Hey. Justine Bateman had nothing on this, thank you, but even if Katchoo were in any position to protest the narrative the impulse to do it was pretty soundly squashed by what the hell is Vice-Principal Pajamas doing oh god not that not that anything but that nooooooooo.

". . . shouldn't you be on a Macy's parade float a year and a few days ago?"

...maybe. Shut up.

But Deadpool continued on as one does in a music video in the 80's. Swaying like he was on drugs. "A full commitment's what I'm thinking of. You wouldn't get this from any other guy..."

Snickersnort. A sinus-hurting snickersnort, at that. Any harder and she might've needed reconstructive nasal surgery. Katchoo had been saved from that fate purely by virtue of the fact that OH GOD SHE COULDN'T UNSEE IT.

Oh, god. What if he tried to do somersaults over the cash register counter?

"Or," she interjected, somewhere halfway between hysterical laughter (shut up, Arthur) and the urge to back away quickly, "any guy at all, really . . ."

OH. HE COULD. HE COULD DO SOMERSAULTS OVER EVERYTHING.

"I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling. Gotta make you understand!"

In the struggle between WTFing and just going with it . . . oh, hey, her phone had a camera. If she could remember how to use the damn thing.

"Okay, then." Katchoo found a spot against the wall, out of somersault range (just in case, don't you know), and slid the phone open to fiddle with the menus. Camera, camera, where the hell -- aha. "Enlighten me, Rick."

Crap. Did she just admit she'd paid a little bit of attention to 80s pop?

She so did. And Deadpool was going to see if that phone will blend, damn it.

But first and foremost, he was: "Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you, never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye, never gonna tell a lie and hurt you!"

. . . dammit!

"Sing it, Rick," Katchoo drawled, laughing too hard to get her thumb over the right damn button just yet.

Oh, sure. He cheered one person up.

"We've known each other for so long. Your heart's been aching but you're too shy to say it."

Because she was so, so shy.

Hey. One was better than none, thank you.

"Oh, yeah, I've just been so at a loss for how to break it to you . . ."

Dying here. Dy. Ing.

IT WAS POSSIBLE.

"Inside we both know what's been going on. We know the game and we're gonna play it!"

"By the rules?" Katchoo asked, smirking now. HOW WAS SHE STILL MANAGING WORDS? "'cause that's boring."

OH NO. NOT BY THE RULES.

"And if you ask me how I'm feeling... Don't tell me you're too blind to see..."

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Strokes of Genius, Wednesday (December 2)

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