notafuckingnut | [014] We'll be putting down our roots right in the center of the storm

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[014] We'll be putting down our roots right in the center of the storm

[Accidental Visual]

[Viewers can't see much; the communicator's on the floor after he abandoned it there earlier, meaning it's mostly ceiling and the side of the bed. There's an arm and a leg draped over the side towards the camera, fingers tapping against the fabric rhythmically as if to some song in his head while the leg just dangles. There's a frustrated groan and a comic book comes sliding over the edge to land somewhere out of sight, and the visible limbs shift around as he tries to find a more comfortable position.

He mutters under his breath.]

...I'd give my left nut for some decent porn.

[Bored Richie is inexplicably bored. Which he prefers over recent events, but still. Bored.]

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Whats porn?

[Headddtiillltt]

[...Where is that noise...OH. Shift shift, and over he rolls, and now he's looking at the screen and...whut. Talking.horse.]

Depends. If it's a video it's people fucking in front of a camera. If it's a magazine it's just pictures of naked girls.

[He would ask how the hell s/he doesn't know that, but. Talking horse.]

You're a horse.

[Lead with the obvious, why don't you.]

..What's a horse?

[She's a pony bro. A pony.]

[What's the differenceeeee.]

...You are. I mean...they're usually bigger, but. Pretty much.

...Oh.

[Ponies are pink and sprinkly. Duh.]

...Are you okayy?

...Yeah, why?

cau-se. :D

That's not an answer.

Why not?

Because it's not.

It doesn't explain anything.

[Pinkie tilts her head to the side, then her hair straightens like magic.]

Listen you two timing little shit. Sometimes sunshine and fucking rainbows is the best goddamn answer that you're going to get.

Jesus Christ I am sick of all of you whining all the time. You bitch, bitch, bitch trapped in your own little psychosis about your own little wussy problems. I am bringing you joy and laughter and simplicity and you would rather seek out a complicated answer to assauge your own fucking feelings of inadequacy. How many times, do I have to preach the message to the rest of you hairless wonders. Enjoy the fucking ride. I'm a pony. I'm magic. I'm special. I am here to bring you happiness and joy and make you feel better about being alive and if you don't like it-then you can take the nearest sharp utensil and-

[hysterical laugh] jam it into your eyeball!

[cackle cackle cackle]

[Whatttt. Richie isn't amused in the least; you can tell by the blank look; he thought he was being perfectly behaved and then....that. What even.

He smirks. And it's...not very pleasant.]

Hey. I'm happy. And I like being alive - sort of - so fuck you, okay? You're...a fucking tiny horse, what do you know? You asked if I was okay, I said I was, you don't have to go all psychoshit on me 'cause I didn't get all starry-eyed about it. How 'bout I jam the fucking thing in your eyeball, huh? See how you like it.

You're not even the right color. Horses aren't pink.

[CACKLE CACKLE CACKLE]

I like you, I like you a lot. You're the wrong color. I like you red. I'm going to flay the skin off of every inch of your body and make you beg me to cut off the offending limbs.

[she likes flaying things.]

What type of pornography would you like?

[Have a strange look, small fluffy thing.]

Um. I don't have a TV or anything, so a magazine's fine. And...I dunno. Any. As long as there's girls.

[Preferably young attractive ones, but. He'll take any, really, he's not super-picky.]

...Why? And what the fuck are you?

[ Its mouth never moves. The words are spoken directly into his mind. ] My name is Kyubey. I can grant you anything you ask for, if you make a contract with me.

[Worlds of skeptical]

...What kind of contract?

Become a Puella Magi and I'll grant your wish. Though do you have something you want even more?

...A what? Speak english.

[almost hysterical female giggling]

[Um. Okay then.]

...Hello?

Um...hi!

Are you sick?

[teeny little breathy voice.]

I hope not. But if you're feeling bad I could, um...

...actually I don't know how to make my TV stop broadcasting this channel.

[Shifting to get a little closer to the screen, and she may have a puzzled face. Okay, so that's where that was coming from. That makes sense.

Evidently he's not aware she might have heard anything before the greeting. He doesn't backtrack or get embarrassed over the possibility, anyway.]

Why would I be...? No, I'm not sick. Just bored. ...Why would you think I'm sick?

[Pause, thinking.]

And what would making your TV stop broadcasting do?

You're in bed in the afternoon.

I guess I wouldn't be able to talk to you anymore. [One-shouldered shrug as she smiles awkwardly.]

I'm...not a great talker but I don't usually get people on my television. Well. Not real people anyway. [She bites her lip and smiles.]

I spent over a week in a bed. Maybe I'm starting to grow roots.

Or maybe I'm sick of the rest of the ship.

Nobody gets real people on TV; it's TV. Nobody wants to watch real people, they're boring. [A smile for a smile, and it's mostly harmless but he's watching her too intently for that to be entirely the case.]

Oooo. That doesn't sound very good. You're on a ship? Where are you sailing to? I have never been on a ship before.

[Her fingers pluck nervously at the purple fabric on her lap, and she takes up her scissors again, cutting patches off its edge.]

Well, I don't think you're boring.

[A shrug; like he knows these things.]

Dunno, they didn't say. I didn't even ask to be here, I just am.

[...Huh. Well that's not what he was expecting. He flips around and leaves the bed to sit in front of the screen properly instead of being at a weird angle. He watches her for a few moments, gaze not always lingering on what she's doing but at least having the decency to pretend. Mostly.]

You don't know me. I could be. [More amused than anything else.]

Whatcha doing?

I don't think so. If you were one of the boring people I would have freaked you out by now.

I'm making a dress. I make all my own clothes. And dolls. It's what I do.

Freaked out how? [And now he's very much interested. You can tell by how he's actually looking instead of just staring.]

You look a little old for dolls.

I don't talk normal very well. [Another almost birdish shrug.] I'll be talking along fine and then people get this look on their faces and I know I'll have gone too far. Like when I talk about my job.

I make them, I don't play with them. You're silly. [Giggle giggle.]

Well that's just 'cause a lot of people are fucking assholes and don't get it. That happens to me sometimes too. What do you do?

...Well what else would you do with dolls? [So unamused.]

I'm a veterinary assistant, but the doctor also has me help with surgeries because I stitch a good hand and never flinch. I can stitch people too.

I display them, silly. [ She bends toward the camera and laboriously turns her television set so that he can see the shelf running around the room with a row of handmade dolls on it.]

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