Mun just finished This Book is full of Spiders

[camelholocaust]

So, now that a we're-not-calling-them-zombies zombie holocaust is pants-shittingly real, let's get one thing straight: I'm not the brains of the operation. I'm the guy with the triple barrel shotgun.

[A pause.]

If you send me to a place with any speck of civilization, I will find a way to blow it up, probably within forty-eight hours. Thirty, if I can't find any liquor.

Fuckin' try me.

[[ooc: potential for spoilers in the comments? \o/]]

Comments

[red_mt_dew_addict]

You know, I still don't know how you got that fucking thing commissioned. As a throw back to an age old question: who's more fundamentally retarded, the one who builds a triple barrel shotgun, or the one who uses it? Answer carefully.

[There's quite a laborious sigh, one that is just silently screaming that this here is a guy who is unfortunately used to dealing with bullshit just like this. Exactly like this. In fact, it's really just this bullshit with different words. It never really changes, does it? Fuck. Why did he wake up this morni--er, afternoon?]

You might not want to go around advertising that, you know. Even if it's true.

daaaaave

[camelholocaust]

[Well, we've got a smartass over here. John hefts aforementioned shotgun to his other shoulder and quirks an eyebrow at the 'answer carefully' part.]

Well, Dave, they wouldn't sell me a shotgun if I was fundamentally retarded, now would they? It'd be against the law.

[Point, set, and match. Because it's totally legal to sell a gun to a high school dropout with no gun license, no job, and a police record the size of a small novel.]

Besides which, my ability to destroy shit can only be listed as an asset. It's a valuable skill!

Joooooohn. The world is officially doomed.

[red_mt_dew_addict]

Yeah, I'm pretty sure they didn't sell it to you in the first place.

[It's muttered under a thick layer of bitter weariness, but one that he's pretty sure John is used to hearing and ignoring by now. Hell, if Dave thinks back on it hard enough, most people are used to ignoring it. And then that thought spirals into "how do I wind up meeting these sorts of people?" and then he remembers that he only has two friends and the love of a good pie, and it's back down into the familiar hallway of self-deprecation. Oh well. He's comfortable there.]

If you're a demolitions expert. And you're not. So, no.

in the best way though

[camelholocaust]

Well, we traded for it. I got the better end of the bargain.

[Not even going to mention what he gave them. Dave can probably surmise.]

What are you doing in here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be... [He tries, and fails to draw a continuation to that sentence.] ...not- here? Not that I don't want you here, but holy shit man, I'm not even sure what here is.

[Squinty eyes.]

If it's supposedly my headspace, I expected a lot more booze.

I would expect nothing less.

[red_mt_dew_addict]

[There's a raised eyebrow, but no words. Sometimes it's so much easier (read: saner) not to ask when it comes to John. But yes, oh yes, he can unfortunately surmise. And he's afraid of what his brain comes up with, if only because it means that the truth is probably ten times worse.

[Dave looks around, a little confused himself. What IS he doing here? And where IS here?]

And girls. [Girls that he could have shamefully had a crush on at one point.] I don't know. I didn't ask for directions on the way here, or anything. [Because he most certainly didn't get lost looking for a pie for his fat ass. Oh, fuck no.]

Did we fall in a portal and didn't know it? Ninja portal stuff now?