singillatim | [closed] they're good dogs eddie

Entry tags:

[closed] they're good dogs eddie

Who: Mike

micycle and Eddie

satanicpanics
What: The Gang Gets Stoned with a Dog
When: Late December
Where: Hideous boy dwelling

Content Warnings: recreational drug use

So I picked the pizza back up, and I was like- [A pause. A breath in - hold, one, two - and a breath out, blowing a controlled puff in the fire's direction. He leans over, offering the joint back out.] I was like, "Hey, I need to run home," and she was like, "Dude you're the Assistant Manager, you can do whatever you want." So I hauled ass back home, and I took the pizza, and I was, like, fully expecting something to have eaten Steve again.

[The dog wriggles in his lap, letting out a brief yap. Mike wonders for a moment if he recognizes the name, or if maybe he just wants more deer jerky from off the table.]

But- [Okay, where was he?] But, so I got home and this dude was just, like, there.

[A bit of an anticlimactic ending to a story that started with Eddie asking where the dog came from, and first proceeded into an explanation of Mike's old pizza job and the mechanics of text messaging. All necessary background information, of course. He was at his pizza job, and Will texted him freaking out.

What part of that isn't a perfectly satisfying answer about where he got Frodo?]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Eddie listen and blinks ,dead-eyed, not really comprehending the trajectory of this story. He’s very high, and the fact that this tiny dog looks like a tribble is incredibly distracting. But he did receive the best gift from the holiday hog and he figured he may as well let Mike in on it. It may have been a mistake. He hasn’t decided yet. ]

You’ve really gotta work on your storytelling, Wheeler.

[ He snatches the joint back, eyebrows knitting together as he zones in on a single portion of that very confusing story. ]

And what do you mean again? How many times has Harrington been eaten?

[Mike fumbles for a moment, running Eddie’s scathing critique back through his head. He’s not quite sure where his story was lacking, though he at least has the self-awareness to understand it probably has something to do with the weed. A couple years of experience don’t make up for shit tolerance.]

Only once! [Oh, well, what a relief.] And it was just Billy, who didn’t even mean to.

[As much as the guy sucks, it’s not like he asked to be turned into a jock-eating sewer monster.]

[ He shakes his head, holding up two fingers and wiggling them like bunny ears for effect—even though he doesn’t even name a second time: ]

Once and a half. Bats. I told you about the bats, right?

[ He hasn’t exactly managed to bond with this Mike Wheeler to a large extent, but he definitely told him about the bats. There’s kind of no real way around the bats, but he’s a little slow right now. That’s why he likes weed—it slows his anxiety to a crawl, even if t unfortunately slows everything else as well. Probably has at least something to do with why he repeated his senior year twice. ]

Wait, wait, wait.

[ He’s struggling here, okay, but he’s doing his best. ]

Not, like, Max’s dead brother, right?

[Yeah, bro, you told him about the bats. Not that he's doing any better a job of remembering that right now. By the time the first question catches up with him, Mike is already blinking in gentle surprise at the second one. Frodo seems to be following the same pattern of thought, right up until he twists on the floor to start licking his junk.]

Do we know anyone else named Billy?

[He shoves his palm out. C'mon man, puff puff pass. Have some decorum.]

And he wasn't, like, possessed or anything, back then. Just gross. [Mike pulls a face, wrinkling his nose as if he can still smell the guy.] Dude couldn't fucking aim for the toilet. And he made me chug whiskey, one time.

Hey, hey!

[ He pauses to point the joint at Mike, only to yank it away for another puff before he finally passes it. His Weed Decorum…not so good… ]

I’m barely caught up on this shit back home, okay? Let alone with whatever the hell was happening in your weird timeline, so give me a goddamn break, dude.

[ Truth be told, he’s still very much in the dark regarding a whole lot of happenings back home. Starcourt has only been vaguely covered for him, and all he’s really gathered is something, something, government involvement. Not a whole lot of time to cover Max’s brother being possessed by a weird flesh monster--or there's just too much to cover and everyone forgot to inform him. He arrived to the party very late, okay. ]

I sold to the guy like, one time. He was not very accommodating with exact change, but that doesn’t always equate to cannibalism and an inability to aim.

[Mike reaches with his good hand, and cheerfully flips Eddie off with the other. There's something that feels almost - but not quite - comforting about hearing him mention Billy from back then, before everything. Yes, he was a complete asshole who never really apologized for his raging bigotry, but he was a normal one who hadn't been turning people into goo. Ah, the good old days.]

It was just me and them, for awhile. They, uh, had their own house and I was basically, like, squatting somewhere by myself. Steve hated it, but I was thirteen and wanted fuck-all to do with him. At least until, like, the worst shit started happening. [His smile loosens even more. For most of the last few months he's been tight-lipped about his time in Maine, like it's something he isn't ready to share. As though speaking it will make it fade, or something.] Then Will showed up.

[God, his grin is straight up fucking embarrassing. Never give him weed again.]

We lived like- like fucking feral cats, or something. Slept in a blanket pile and ate garbage.

[ Eddie mirrors the action and sticks his tongue out like the grown adult that he is. He would never have outright offered a freshman weed back home—not unless they were trying to purchase it from him like anyone else, but they’re not at home, and circumstances are different. And despite the fact that they don’t actually know one another, this is actually one of the closest moments to normal he’s felt in a long time. ]

Huh. Sounds like me at thirteen. And twenty. And, uh…however old I am now.

[ He hasn’t actually managed to keep track. He’s probably twenty-two, but he also suspects it doesn’t matter if he’s maybe? probably? dead back home? It’s also quite difficult to keep track of the days when it’s nothing but snowy day after snowy day, so his math could very well be off.

Ughhhh, but now Wheeler is grinning like an idiot and Eddie isn’t nearly high enough to suffer the love lives of teenagers, which this so clearly is about. He rolls his eyes and lets his head fall back. ]

Fine, fine, fine. Go on.

[ He waves his hand. It’s not cruel or judgmental, just impatient and a little irritated—typical Eddie, really. ]

Talk about him. I know that’s what you wanna do.

[Mike kicks his leg out towards Eddie in a lazy burst of teen roughhousing. He then hooks it over the back of the couch, twisting himself from slumped, to lying, to partially upside down.]

Hey, man, shut up! [There's definitely a touch off embarrassment in the words; something that, even in his daze, he has the feeling he'll be second-guessing come morning. But only a little bit. If fucking Billy Hargrove didn't give him a hard time, there's no way Eddie will.] It's not- it's-

[Okay, his head is fully off of the seat now, his neck tilted up to look over at Eddie. He talks around the joint for a moment, which seems to remind him that it's there, making him laugh.]

This is a- a Canadian apocalypse exclusive, okay? You don't get this back home! [The weed may slow his words down, looping them into meandering rambles, but that doesn't mean there's any less.] I wasn't about to walk into D&D and go, like, "Oh hey, dude, guess what!" No, man, I had to like... meet all these future people, to get chill with it. So- so appreciate it.

[And now you can have the joint back, with a really annoying grin.]

[ For a moment, Eddie fixes him with a stare, like he could say smoothing incredibly cruel and nasty…but then he begins to laugh as he reaches over to snatch the joint neatly from Mike’s fingers. And he laughs, and laughs…and laughs…]

Dude.

[ He continues laughing, his shoulders shaking so violently that he can’t get the joint in his mouth. He clutches it between he fingers instead and shakes his head, and it’s all just so funny, he cannot handle it. ]

Do you really think anyone in there would have given a shit if you did? Jesus Christ.

[ Well, okay, scratch that, because it is the 80s in small town, small minded Indiana, but still!! ]

Oh, wait, wait, I forgot, you’ve been in goddamn Michigan [ Maine. ] for the past two years, so you can’t think, but c’mere. C’mere, let me let you in on something--

[ He leans in a little closer and drops his voice to a stage whisper, as if the dog is going to listen in and say anything about it. ]

Hellfire is consistently a room full of freaks. And I have heard some bullshit out of the lot of you. I mean, Dustin’s mormon girlfriend who doesn’t exist? Gareth having to go to the ER because he superglued his drumsticks to his hands trying to drum like Stuart Copeland? What you just told me is one of the most normal things I’ve ever heard. Almost boring by comparison, really.

[ Which is his way of saying he does appreciate it! ]

[The laughter is an alarm bell, even through the haze, and for a second Mike's hackles raise. His body still on the couch, preparing to cut through with a defensive response, but finding one is like picking through taffy. When Eddie stops, though...

Correcting the state doesn't even occur to Mike, as he hangs onto the rest of the words. And it's not like the words are comforting, for the most part, but it's the way Eddie's saying them. It's his easy grin, and his loose limbs gesturing, bringing levity to things Mike thought he could only ever hear in derision. It's the awe at knowing that even if he winds up back in Hawkins, there's someone - some place - where he won't have to be afraid.

And by the end, the edge of his mouth has crooked up without him noticing. Just a quiet, earnest little thing - a flash of thanks - and he lets himself escape back into laughter.]

Okay, okay. Jesus. Sorry to bore you. [He makes a good display of rolling his eyes.] You get the picture, then. I'm, like, gay-ish, I have a boyfriend, this is our dog, et cetera.

Okay, but just to be clear, you haven’t superglued drumsticks to your hands? Doused your head in lighter fluid? Needed a finger reattached?

[ He squints, like he’s searching for something a little more interesting in this story, then feigns a yawn when he doesn’t find it. ]

Jesus, just put me to bed now, Wheeler.

[ But as he drops his head back against the tattered couch, he laughs again. ]

It’s cool, dude. I don’t give a shit. Doubt anyone else with a working brain would either. Which, uh, isn't a lot of Hawkins, but I can name a few people.

[ That’s all, and he means it. He doesn’t really care one way or another, and it’s not like he would have room to judge one way or another. Have you ever seen this man in any kind of relationship? No, because he’s too busy with his music and his D&D campaigns.

He pauses to stare at the little puffball of a dog, though. ]

I’m very concerned that you think that’s a dog, though.

Okay, okay- first of all- [Mike jostles himself into an even less acceptable posture, twisting to sit up with his legs still over the back of the couch, and then holds his left hand up into the air. He waggles the remaining half.] I have totally needed fingers reattached. Except I couldn't, 'cause they were fucking eaten.

[Way to rub that in his face, man! Any annoyance behind the complaint is for show, however, as he's saying it all through laughter.]

And second- [He puts down his thumb, leaving only the two remaining fingers.] -it's as much of a dog as I want. It can't, like, eat the rest of my fingers. Or rip anyone's faces off in front of me. I'm fucking done with big dogs, dude.

[Would you want a pet bat, Eddie???]

Okay, so then they weren’t reattached. What part of this aren’t you getting?

[ Proving his entire roundabout point that Mike’s entire situation is not as exciting as it could have been! In their intoxicated state, it should be more than clear that he’s joking, but he’s still supportive none the less… ]

And, even worse? You don’t even know who Tony Iommi is which, to be quite frank, fucking sucks because I could make you feel way better about missing fingers if you did.

[ He watches the little dog for a moment. It really isn’t particularly dog-like, just a ball of fluff that seems interested in not much more than licking itself and sniffing Eddie’s guitar— ]

Hey! Hey!

[ He snaps his fingers in Frodo’s direction. ]

Lift a leg. See what happens.

[ Okay, to be honest Mike has kind of forgotten what the finger conversation is about, and he certainly cares less about winning it than he did a minute ago. But he's also not one to give in, even when he doesn't quite know what he's refusing to give in to. ]

The part where a dog actually eating my fingers is less boring than actually getting the fingers back? [ He lays back again, now dangling his ridiculous hair fully upside down off of the cushions. ] Like, mine got turned into hellhound shit.

[ Check and mate. At least, until he's distracted by Eddie chastising his small, fluffy, perfect son. ]

Hey. Here, bud.

[ Frodo cocks his head, then prances over on his tiny little feet, stopping to snuffle at Eddie's leg on the way. ]

Exactly. Like, it would be one thing if you lost them and retrieved them from the hellhound shit. But no, you just lost them.

[ They’ve kind of lost the plot here, haven’t they? Eddie is at the point where he’s talking complete nonsense—though, isn’t that Eddie at his very best as well? ]

Hey, uh…

[ He points to Frodo, pulling his leg away from the snuffling little nose with a grimace. ]

That’s not a hellhound, is it?

[ That earns him a deeply dramatic eyebrow raise, very clearly stating, Really, dude? ]

No, he's a Pomeranian. [ The word comes out a bit clumsy and slurred, like he's started saying it before he's mind has fully summoned up the syllables. ] He showed up in a basket on me and Will's porch. [ A correction: ] Me and Will and Steve and Billy's.

And who or what would have left a dog in a basket on your porch?

[ He narrow his eyes, daring Mike to fight him on this. ]

Have you seen any proof he’s not a Hellhound left by the Prince of Darkness himself?

[ If it's a fight he's angling for, then he's not going to get much of one. Mike just gives the best approximation of a shrug that he can manage, given his completely ridiculous posture. ]

Like, some kind of magic dream deer gods, I guess. [ Oh, right. The magic dream deer gods. We've all seen them. ] They just did shit like that sometimes. Like [ say "like" again ] once they gave me this flashlight that could blind monsters.

[ Eddie fixes him with another one of those looks; dead-eyed and just a little judgmental. He doesn’t not believe him—how could he not believe him at this point? But sometimes it’s still a lot, okay. ]

And you didn’t bring it with you?

[ He glances to the little dog once more, then shifts his gaze back to Mike, incredulous. ]

You could ask the pig for anything and you asked for that instead of the flashlight that blinds monsters?

And could have asked it for a fucking, like, magic machine gun or something, but you asked it for weed.

[ Two can play at this game. ]

Hey! Hey! You see these arms?

[ Oh, you’re getting him riled up now, Michael. He actually risks rolling up the sleeves on his stolen sweater just to show off his lack of muscle. Yep, those look weak and stringy alright. ]

Yeah, these couldn’t even wield a machine gun, you little shit, magic or not. I know my limits, and I’ve been sober for way too long. Of course I was gonna ask for something that I could actually handle!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[closed] they're good dogs eddie

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject