#i mean i feel Slightly less bad about running out of steam spectacularly but what the fuck

[possiblytracker]

been dead for a few days what the fuck happened with artfight

#EMBEZZLEMENT ?????? #i mean i feel Slightly less bad about running out of steam spectacularly but what the fuck #im not in the discord i dont know things

[brooklynislandgirl]

{you know the meme}

The ficus stares him in the face with a thousand years of dread judgment.

It knows.

“I said I wasn’t gonna,” he mutters in its general direction.

Had been a thought, but once it was assured that this was, in fact, a real plant…well, it’s just immensely thoughtless to go pissing on plants. Probably worse if they’re potted, even if he can’t say why that would be, it’s not like unpotted {is that even a term…} ones are capable of getting up and moving either. No, it’s just a bad thing all together, pissing on plants.

But it’s also a bad thing to have to explain to Beth when she gets out of the shower that the police are at the hotel because there may or may not have been an incident involving indecent exposure and-his train of thought temporarily stalls on the tracks at wondering what sort of exposure was decent. Legally. If there’s indecent, that implies there is the opposite, decent.

“Prob'ly strippers.”

He’s muttered this to the plant again, with a noncommittal shrug, as though the plant may have a better idea it can suggest. If it does, it does not share it with him. But then, he wouldn’t share it either if he knew the plant had been intending to pee on him, so it’s acceptable.

He also might be slightly more drunk than usual. Not that things like conversing with plants and wondering about decent vs indecent exposures is irregular for him. Particularly not when alone, and that he is. Save for the plant.

Technically, Beth is here too, but the suite really is rather large, and she’s in the bathroom. That makes it feel like being in a house when someone else is in another room. He’s functionally alone.

Well, no…no, there is another very active presence, and though it indeed be haunting, it isn’t that sort of Presence. It’s the immense mistake of not realizing he had to pee before Beth left, then making it worse by trying not to fixate on this mistake after she had. He is rather horrible at doing the opposite of fixating on literally anything while trying not to do exactly that, it’s a bit of a promise that he is going to fail spectacularly…and he is.

Additionally, he is intoxicated enough to officially be on Drunk Time, and Drunk Time is like no other expanse of time. It might have been five minutes or two hours or yesterday that she left. He is only certain that this span of time has included having a cigarette, contemplating the plant, contemplating hitting unfortunate human targets below the balcony, talking to the plant, and continuing to drink. Just a little bit. It was obviously necessary, to…pass the time.

It hasn’t helped to pass the time, only to make the issue more present, and with the plant giving no new ideas, there truly is only one.

So, he’s at the bathroom door, and wondering why the fuck it is that he isn’t alright with simply going on a stealth mission here. Really, it’s extremely possible, in his mind and only his mind, that he’d get away with it. And…he…just can’t. At least this sort of ridiculous behavior, and the combined honesty and respect for her that tends to drive it, means that he isn’t at all lying when he comes tentatively creeping through the steam. Eyes closed, mouth open and going.

“Sorry, Beth, swear I ain’t lookin’ an not even like, listenin’ close. Just really, serious'ly gonna die if I don’t piss ‘mediately, an not inna plant, talked to the plant, it agrees that’s not cool.”

~*~

Squeaky Clean || -

Presenting a paper to the medical community, and in particular members of the CDC, on infectious diseases suffered by indigent people especially in areas where hurricanes decimate resources, fresh water, and shelter… is a rewarding and somewhat terrifying prospect. Beth knows very well how to speak properly in social circles the likes of which she might compare to a feeding frenzy of various shark slews, and academically she has a reputation for being a thoughtful and respected voice for the less fortunate. It is one of the things she takes pride in, actually making a difference where the Admiral only pretends to. He practices a very different kind of medicine, and belongs to a world that Beth has never been comfortable in, doesn’t want to be a part of, and refuses at every opportunity. The old man would be utterly appalled that not only had she taken in a 'young wastrel’ which is the politest thing he would say about Anakin, but gave him a job, a stable roof, was determined to see him be better off than his current situation would allow. Or that she’d drag him along on this trip, booking a single suite for them both. But truth be told, there’s more to it than appearances would suggest.

She doesn’t even know if Anakin himself really understands. Beth hates flying. She had never done very well with heights, something she’d learned as a kid when she tried practising cliff-diving. The air plane ride to the mainland when she was sixteen had been a nightmare and she’d been sick the entire ten hour, non-stop flight from O'ahu to JFK airport, in New York. He tried books, he tried singing to her, he’d tried music and in flight movies, he tried medicating her with drinks. Eventually he could do nothing but hold back her hair as she continuously expelled all of her stomach contents, rubbed her back when it was nothing but dry-heaving. Eventually, she simply curled up in her seat and leaned into him, too exhausted to be okay, too terrified to sleep. He rubbed small circles against her back and promised she never had to fly again. And then he ran off to join the Air Force, and jumped out of planes for a living. That was something about her brother that Beth could never understand even if he could have explained it to her.  She had sat on the lanai, trying to decide if she was brave enough to chance the Louis Armstrong airport ~ ~ “MSY.” Anakin’s grin had sprawled slowly across his lips and his head had dipped down, though she had been certain it was to watch Bug nap in a sunbeam.

Or to take a chance on one of the family’s private planes over at Metairie~

~"Metry...on the Big Ass Lake.” She hadn’t been sure if that was Anakin’s specific drawl or if she’d simply been mispronouncing that word the entire time she’s been here {which, honestly was more likely} because it looked like Met-prairie to her.

But even on the sofa, even with him reading his book ~a dog-eared and margin-notation copy of Ovid’s Metamorphosis~ on the opposite side of it, feet buried under her leg, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to book the flight.

Instead, she’d looked over, a little green around the gills, and in a surprisingly tremulous voice, she’d asked him if he’d be okay going on a road trip with her. After all, it was only a seven to eight hour drive, including stops to stretch, use the facilities, and food. She added to that the fact that she’d feel safer driving through that bit of Mississippi and almost diagonally across Alabama just to get there, if he would be willing to escort her.

There’d been discussion about what to do with Bug, and what not to do, which largely consisted of Anakin not really wanting to leave him on his lonesome and Beth arranging for the nurses to take turns {and hazard pay} to ensure meal times were kept to their schedule, and their housekeeper to ensure companionship and play time. And of course the discussion he had with Bug which she was politely not privy too, but she would have given anything to actually have heard even snippets of conversation.

And now, a few days later, here they are.

The humidity and heat in Atlanta is very different from that of New Orleans, which in Beth’s mind is more like home, where here it’s...sticky. A thin film of sweat has been clinging to her since their arrival in the wee hours when by all rights it should have been cooler at the very least. Because of the conference, she’d had to book them a single suite and though she’d apologise profusely, she didn’t think Anakin was very heart-broken about it. The air conditioner in the room had been running and it wasn’t so bad when they’d finally set their bags down.

Beth ordered breakfast from room service, had given Anakin that look, and like the rumoured pirates in her ancestry {sea-wooves, she called them not recognising her mispronunciation} had plundered the full bar. Miniatures were things one gave away to adults come Halloween, and full-size bottles were specifically requested. So it was drinks on the balcony and pastries, fluffy omelettes, and a very sudden urge to sleep.

She’d pressed a strawberry and Merlot kiss to his forehead and had only enough grace to fall onto her side of of the king bed, clothes and all. Which didn’t really help the situation. She also didn’t know how long Anakin had stayed up and what he’d consumed during that time. The moral of the story being she needs this shower. And there’s enough trust and enough love between them that she doesn’t think twice about leaving the door slightly ajar in case he needs the facilities. And maybe she stays in a little too long, letting the near volcanic temperature of the water ease away at her muscles in a haze of tropical scented soap, shampoo, conditioner.

She didn’t know that the ficus was a traitor. Or a victim. Or that it would eventually be going home with them.

She finds herself grinning when he makes his apologies and his platitudes.  “...’S’fine, really. I trus’ you an’ besides...I promise no have any kine ya nevah seen before. Because we’re ‘way from home, an’ sleepers...all ovah da place here. Worse dan haole summers back home, worse dan deer tick. An’ maybe ya plant wiser dan all of dem put togeddah.”  She hates that she’s suddenly become an Awakened psa, a reminder that they have to be on their best behaviour and any magick has to be disguised under the auspices of coincidence.

“Still got an eternity of hot waddah if ya wanna come in an’ grab a shower f’ yaself. But I’ll knife fight ya ovah dis loofah.”

#Mahalo!Shady <333 #Like A Sad Hallucination|Anakin Skywalker #Like a Memory in Motion|Anibeth #The Trunk You Kept Your Life In|Mage the Ascension #Georgia on my Mind|Atlanta

[tubular-ihateit]

The Great Prank War

{Credit to @emovirgil-sanders for the idea}

In which Virgil and Roman start a prank war and chaos ensues.

/ / / / / / / / / / / /

The whole thing had started out as an accident honestly.

It was early in the morning. Too early for either Roman or Virgil to be awake in their opinions. But never the less they were both stumbling around the kitchen in a sleepy daze, each going about making their own hot beverage they hoped would help them feel less like death.

Virgil had groaned out a quiet 'pass the sugar' to which Roman lazily lifted the container down from the self and slid it over to his roommate and childhood friend as he stared down at the steaping cup of herbal tea in front of him.

The sound of a spoon clinking against the side of a ceramic mug was soon followed by the sound of Virgil spitting put his coffee in surprise and shock. The sudden noise caused the more theatrical of the two to snap his head up in concern.

"The fuck?" Virgil muttered, now mostly shaken out of his tired state. First he checked the coffee jar to make sure it was still in date, which it was.

Roman watched him with confusion and looked down at the same time as Virgil to the container Roman had handed him. Instead of seeing the usual sugar shaker that appeared at least twice each morning, sitting beside the mug was the shaker of salt.

The two friends realised three things in this moment.

1) putting the salt and sugar on the same shelf had in fact been a bad idea as Virgil had stated when they first set it all up.

2) salt really did not work in coffee.

3) vengeance will have to be had.

Roman spent the next few days constantly on his toes, looking over his shoulder and jumping at every unfamiliar noise. He felt he was acting rather like his anxious friend, who in all earnest was basically a brother to him. He would constantly keep an eye on him when they were in their home together.

Then, one day when he was getting up to get ready for work he couldn't find any of his shoes (which was odd considering he had so many pairs). He started to panic, wondering what on earth the emo nightmare could have done with them.

He tabled out his room, sliding down the hall with his socks and practically leaping down the stairs to a smirking Virgil on the kitchen doorway, holding a steaming cup of coffee between the sleeves of his oversized hoodie.

"Mornin'." Roman looked around before turing his gaze back to the slightly shorter male.

"Where are they?" He demanded. Virgil gave a small shrug and a sip of his coffee.

"Whatever do you mean Roman?" Safe to say he was not amused by this.

"The shoes. All of them. Where?"

"How would I know?" Virgil turned his gaze to the window on their front door. "Lovely day for tree climbing isn't it?"

Roman's eyes widened in quick realisation and he sprinted to the door, throwing it open then taking a step back in shock as he saw the tree at the bottom of their lawn that was now littered with shoes. HIS shoes.

Virgil slowly made his way to beside Roman.

"Huh, I guess shoes do grow on trees. Weird." He patted Romans shoulder and turned away, heading back into the kitchen to finish off his coffee. "Have fun with that sir sing-a-lot." Roman grumbled but made his way down the garden to start retrieving his shoes.

It was only a few days later the Virgil awoke to his entire floor covered in brightly coloured legos and his walls plastered with neon post-it notes. Then a harsh knock on his already open door.

"Good morning! Dear me, seems you have a bit of a situation there."

"Roman..." Virgil hissed lowly, sitting up in his bed and sending a glare towards his roommate.

"Oh well, good luck with that." And just like that he was casually making his way out to work.

"Roman!" Virgil tried calling after him, tired and agitated. After no response he groaned and mumbled curses to himself as he tried to navigate the death trap of legos.

It was a day later, when Roman was getting back from a shopping run that the next prank hit.

A failed sense of security had settled over him, expect it to have taken a couple of days for something to happen. Virgil took full advantage of this.

At first nothing really seemed off, but then Roman noticed an odd hissing. Being the 'brave' one out of him and Virgil he decided it was his duty to investigate. When he followed the sound he realised it was coming from the bathroom.

He cautiously opened the door and almost feel, letting out a high pitched screem, when he was greeted with a bowa constrictor slithering around his bathroom floor and over the towel rack.

"Begone, you nave! Foul tresspassor! This is not your land!" Roman yelled while waving around a towel in the direction of the snake.

After a few moments of watching him flailing around Virgil emerged from his room laughing and picked up the snake calmly.

"Glad to see you an Ethan are well acquainted now." He hummed before heading back to his room a shutting the door, leaving a flustered Roman behind.

Romans next prank didn't exactly go to plan. The idea was to post up pictures of himself on every possible surface that Virgil would see for long periods of time. He had done this successfully, until Virgil had countered by putting the world's worst collection of moustaches on every single one. He might have been less offended had Virgil of not put in the extra effort to make his moustache art look spectacularly like it was done by a five year old high on sugar and juice.

This war went on, back a fourth between the two for months, driving everyone one around them insane. At one point Roman managed to get a group of his co-workers to dress up like him and he brought them home. Virgil was sufficiently freaked out when he walked in to find six different versions of his roommate scattered around his home, but easily turned the tables by getting them all to pie Roman in the face the next day at work during different times (which led to four total outfit changes for the princely man that day). After that, everyone unofficially agreed to not get involved.

Neither man seemed to ever run put of new ideas for a good hearted prank they could play, although ocassionaly they would take an old one and do it in a different way. Like when Roman plastered sheets of the lyrics to every disney song ever around every single iteam Virgil owned. Then a few pranks down the line did the same thing but with sickeningly over-positive motivational quotes.

It was a battle hard fought on both sides. There was balloons, cream, lamp shades, plants and yes, even syrup. Oh the syrup. Days of scrubbing and it still lingered in remnants everywhere.

It was only after Logan and Patton stepped in that the war between the two stopped. They now had a common enemy. And thus started the "Great Prank War: the sequel".

#virgil sanders #creativity #princey #patton sanders #morality #logan sanders #logic #pranks #prank war #platonic #prinxiety #roman sanders #i tried #sanderssides #thomas sanders #did i do ok? #idk if it satisfies yall or no