[It's only been a few days since that bet was made, and everything was signed. He only had to last a week, yet here he was in the Diner sitting at the counter.
FUCK YEAHHHH 1/4windmillMarch 27 2010, 05:18:13 UTC
[Still hasn't slept since the bet started. Oh, sure, he was knocked unconscious a few times, but that barely counts. So, looking basically like he's been hit by a bus, shaking, trembling, paranoid-looking-- Netherlands makes his way into the diner.
He has to eat at some point, right? And the lack of sleep was making the kitchen... not... look like a kitchen. Every time he opens the fridge, things stare back at him.]
You can't! You have to do whatever I say for 24 hours! [LOOK AT THIS SMUG BASTARD.] And I'm starting with 'you can't hit back'. You wrote the damn contract yourself.
He has to eat at some point, right? And the lack of sleep was making the kitchen... not... look like a kitchen. Every time he opens the fridge, things stare back at him.]
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And he.
Looks.]
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Is he imagining things? Why does that smell and look like coffee.]
...you...
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[Just
this
face.]
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[He looks
defeated
and mad at the same time.
and he still looks like crap]
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[Plants his hands on the edge of the table and leans in.]
I win.
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and throw the cup as hard as he can at that face. Luckily it's plastic.]
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Does it taste good, Norge? Does losing taste good? Are you craving more? Drink it up.
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brb grabbing the salt shaker and opening it to throw the salt at his bleeding face]
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You still lost! [LAUGHING. LAUGHING SO HARD.]
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Let go, asshole!
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WRAPPING HIS ARMS AROUND NORWAY IN A BONE-CRUSHING STRANGLEHOLD]
I fucking won! [more bizarre laughter] Tastes better than any joint-!
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[STILL NOT LETTING GO--BUT HEY, HE'LL KICK BACK AT HIM.]
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[goes ragdoll]
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[sense of sweet victory is wearing off. urge for weed rising.
twitch.]
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