Text.

[crowsicle]

[Though usually talkative, Davesprite only has two lines to post today.]

break me out of pediatric ward
will pay with body

break me out of pediatric ward
will pay with body

[[OOC: Permissions post here for those who want to opt into his typing quirk. Otherwise I reply with plain Courier.]]

Comments

[crowsicle]

[God, why did he ask him to sit, the dude totally has better things to do than put up with a sick bird kid he doesn't even want to hang out with. Davesprite doesn't want to know how pathetic he has to look to get Dirk to actually humor him.

He glances down at his hands for a second but looks back at Dirk quickly enough. It's so weird, looking at this version of Bro. Fewer lines, for sure. And the lines that are there are different. Different lives.

...Huh. He blinks slowly.]

You...like Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff?

[roboshades]

[If he thought you looked totally pathetic, he wouldn't have been holding it against you. And he'd likely be showing it in stranger ways, for a Strider. Like pointedly asking him if he needs anything. So far though, having a brother alive and talking, even if he's ill, isn't alarming.

Not when he's had to deal with worse. He doesn't twitch a muscle at the scrutiny, but he does raise his hand over his arm, fingers brushing skin and mentally berates himself.

He'd grabbed the tank and not the t-shirt in his haste, in his distraction. That wasn't a conversation he was looking to have. How was he even supposed to encompass everything it meant?]

...It's kind of a big deal.

[crowsicle]

Well. Yeah, I know.

[The haughty act is severely undercut by pure, unexpected awe. That's a tattoo. Those don't come off when you don't like something anymore. Dirk's going to have Hella Jeff's face staring out of his deltoid when he's an old man pushing ninety-three.

He knew Bro followed SBaHJ, just like he followed all of Bro's projects, but he wasn't prepared for this from Dirk, who apparently didn't even know him.

He shifts a little onto his side to face him more squarely, closing his eyes and letting out a breath when the nausea that comes from any movement passes.]

You have--you know. A favorite arc?

[roboshades]

You don't.

[It's a soft chiding statement. But if he's lucky, Davesprite won't remember that he has the tattoo. That he said something honest, and that begs more questions than he's willing to answer. Than he's sure he can control, out of the others.

He's not sure what to make of the awe'd reaction. He turns to regard him properly, when even moving such a small amount seems to pain him, but he bites down drawing attention to it. He just makes that mental note to steal the chart for a look, on the definite]

Yeah, of course. Don't you?

[crowsicle]

[Davesprite cracks a weak smile.]

You asking a guy to play favorites with the offspring of his heart and soul? [A beat.] Hell yeah, I do.

[He clears his throat--he doesn't have the awful hacking coughs that hit some of his friends and his congestion's lessened since the first couple days; it's the fever that's bad, that's burning through him like tissue paper in a bonfire. He takes a breath and starts:]

In my dream, I am the star. It's me. [Another breath.] And then the big man comes...