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Route 29: mods ([personal profile] these_balls) wrote2010-04-27 11:40 pm
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Understand the secrets and have some fun

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callbacks: (cross slash)

Dave Strider | Homestuck | Reserved (3/3)

[personal profile] callbacks 2015-11-01 05:42 am (UTC)(link)
Samples
First Person Sample:

[TEXT]

you know
if she were my REAL mom
i bet she wouldnt have kicked me out of the house with just one lunchbox for a THREE DAY FUCKIN SLOG
i mean what the fuck!
how much transdimensional video game relocation bullshit does a guy have to go through to get some partway decent parental supervision in his life???
youd think a franchise literally designed for four year olds would be more kid friendly
come on wheres the endless supply of crustless pb and js that oughta be in my inventory
where are my hard earned vanilla dunkaroos
even my little psychic helmet guy knows this is prime horseshit i can tell by the faint look of pity and abject confusion on the visible sliver of his face every time he looks at me
right little buddy
yeah he gets it
do i look like i know how to forage for edibles in the eight bit rainforest
of course not


[This is text. He doesn't look like anything, except red. Red and text. A lot of it.]

if you threw an apple at my face right now i probably wouldnt even recognize the fresh produce thats how long ive been cooling my heels in fakey realchemized space ration hell
do they have apples here even
omfg if i bled for this shit and even this weird nintendo wet dream nerd bubble lacks the means to provide me a consolatory glass of aj for the travesty thats been my life im gonna
well im gonna just shut up and deal with it like i have for the past three years i guess but youll all know im not happy about the situation
so like
i dunno speaking of you all
i mean im assuming theres a you all im speaking to and im not just wasting my material on the uncaring cybervoid
not that itd be the first time
but i guess if theres someone out there
...
...............
a/s/l?


Third Person Sample:

"Bmm bmbm CHH b-bmm chkka CHH," Dave rattled over the background music, hands busy with clothespins and cloth. It was warm enough out today--barely--to risk the elements in the sleeveless birdkeeper top he'd found in his backpack and give his regular outfit a wash.

Christ, he missed the good old days when his duds were magic and laundered themselves. They probably weren't tailoring themselves to his growth spurts, either. Did this mean he was going to grow out of them eventually? Dave's beatboxing slowed for a moment and he frowned, looking over the shirt in his hands. Somehow, out here in the sunlight (something he never thought he'd see again, god damn) of this strange new world, his god tier rags just looked like damp pajamas. The gear of Time maybe even looked like it was starting to fade.

It made him feel weird. "I didn't ask for all this shitty metonymic symbolism this early in the morning," he muttered, flapping the shirt out once and then hanging it from the clothesline strung from one tree to another. As he bent to retrieve a second clothespin, though, he noticed his partner Ralts out of the corner of his eye.

The little guy was standing almost directly underneath Dave's drying cape. Dave almost warned him to knock it off--the cloth was still wet, and he didn't know if the thing could catch the Pokéflu or something--but he'd hardly yet gotten to see an expression that wasn't nervous confusion from his new partner. The dude actually seemed to be interested in something. So Dave just watched, mindlessly pinning up the other half of his shirt, while his Ralts took the damp corner of his cape in his cartoonish, fingerless hands and looked at it, tilting it this way and that in the light.

Eventually, he just spun in place and pulled it around his shoulders, like a tiny mantle of his own.

Dave snorted--or must have--because Ralts looked at him, startled or offended, and freed himself from the cloth to go trundle off somewhere no one would laugh at him. Dave just made sure he wasn't wandering into the tall grass before stooping to pick up the edge of the cape himself.

It was kind of dorky, wasn't it? Wandering down the road in an actual cape and cowl, that was. Dave smoothed his thumbs back and forth over the fabric and tried to imagine what it was the little dude saw in it, what it looked like from way down there.

Like a banner unfurling in the wind, maybe, silhouetted against the sun. Hero and champion.

Dave snorted again, but with less humor. Maybe he really was outgrowing this shit; the mental picture made his guts twist sickly behind his navel. "It'd make sense," he said to himself, because damn if he didn't find the sound of his own voice inexplicably soothing. "I mean, I'm not that guy anymore. The Knight of Time. It'd make sense if I couldn't stand that anymore, I fucked that shit up imperially. Galactically. Like, I fucked it up so bad they had to port me straight into a safemoded children's franchise just so I couldn't fuck it up any harder. So it's got to be over. I can be over it."

Nobody answered him. That was standard, when a guy was talking to himself; Dave didn't know what else he'd expected.

But he still felt weird. His thumbs stilled on the cloth and he looked off after his Ralts again.

A bit later, a long strip of fabric had been torn from the bottom of his cape, and Dave's Ralts had a ragged, rakish new scarf. A new scarf, and a name.

"I can't believe I'm actively participating in something so unironically corny." Dave sat back on one knee from tying the knot, and Knight lifted both useless hands to his scarf, twirled to feel its weight around his neck in motion. Even the torn strip looked ridiculously large on him. Dave breathed out. "I feel like I oughta have some kind of huge butter knife on me so I can provide you the Queen of England shoulder-dub of honor. Do you even have shoulders, dude, your noodle appendages just kind of gloop right out of you."

Knight ignored Dave's rambling and just--beamed up at him. As much as anything whose eyes were seven-eighths hidden could beam. After a shy pause, he struck what he clearly hoped was a heroic pose, arms akimbo, chin up.

Dave managed not to laugh this time, though his smile was totally crooked. He just put an awkward hand on Knight's raised head and ignored the weirdness curling in his stomach.

"Not bad, little dude."

His insides felt squirmy, like they knew he was kidding himself in some way he couldn't put his finger on. But the squirminess was edged with something...nice. Like it was still all right, maybe, not to put his hero problems away for good--not if it helped earn him his partner's first smile.
callbacks: (love me)

[personal profile] callbacks 2015-11-08 10:02 pm (UTC)(link)
Here's Dave's journal!