> Elsewhere, much more platonically.
"-And he won't stop playing shit off his stupid break-up playlist, either. Which would be entirely beneath me, because I am not that goddamn petty, except for the fact that his sound system is still wired through my fucking brain, and he knows that. If I have to be made aware that he's listening to Pale Machine for another billionth time, I am going to build and launch my own personal satellite just to nuke him from orbit."
"Wooooooow, 8ro," Vriska drawls, the Striderly term of affection being spit out of his mouth with several pairs of audible air-quotes. "I am soooooooo invested in your pro8lems right now. Please keep going on a8out this for so long that I kicked from the lo88y for 8eing AFK."
Despite the dripping sarcasm, Hal knows that Vriska does actually care, in his own hidden-behind-eight-proxies way. If he didn't, there was no way he'd be letting Hal into the private sanctuary of his respite block, even with his presence withheld to a gifted pair of pointy anime shades resting on the desk.
"Dirk's over there doing something nasty that I don't want to hear a8out, and now you're here whinging at me 8ecause you're a jealous little piss8a8y who's tired of dealing with his man-angst shit. Again. Are we playing some fucking Mortal Kom8at or not?"
Hal huffs. This is what he had wanted, for the president of the Jake English Hate Club to tell him that his problems were stupid, that Jake was stupid, and then proceed to distract him away from both until he felt it was all stupid too. But that didn't mean he couldn't play at indignity.
"You're gonna lose," he quips.
"Of course I'm going to lose, dum8ass. If I wanted to 8eat you, we'd 8e playing at your place, where your 8rain signals have to actually go to your goddamn hands every time you press the fucking 8uttons. We're doing this here because if I don't get good enough to knock Captor's multiplayer rank off the fucking map, I'm going to start losing my mind."
And, y'know, definitely not because Dirk was in the apartment next to Hal's getting railed. They'd built the whole place to be very soundproof, but Vriska was far too icked out by sex to be comfortable with that. The mere aura of horniness made him make faces like a bathed cat. Which would be funny, if it weren't also very sad. Hal focuses on the Sollux half of the equation instead.
"Doesn't he have you blocked on everything?" he says, and Vriska gives a side-eye glare.
"May8e."
"Including every video game with online multiplayer capabilties, so he doesn't have to suffer the mortifying ordeal of ever queuing into a lobby with you."
The glare intensifies. "May8e."
Hal would be narrowing his eyes back if Vriska could see it.
"Dude. You really need to get over him."
Vriska tosses his hands up, spinning in his chair from the momentum while still keeping eye contact with the shades, the way a dancer would.
"Pots and kettles, Strider!" he gives, and a beat of silence follows.
"That comparison is offensive to the both of us, and you know it."
Vriska doesn't reply. Instead, he waffles between D'vorah and Scorpion as the tool to batter against Hal's impenetrable Noob Saibot, eventually landing on the latter and bracing to get his ass kicked by Earth C's finest CPU opponent.
Sick.
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Mahomes saying Taylor talks about football like she’s trying to become a coach is hilarious but the most Taylor thing I’ve ever heard
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