singillatim | [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

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!

[closed] they're good dogs eddie

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