[voice]

[fuckingkillthem]

[In view is Hiruma, sitting on his bed, piles of various rifles, handguns, ammo, grenades, etc, on the floor and tables. There's a pile of maybe forty cellphones on one side of him, and his laptop is resting on his knee. He's looking almost unnaturally happy.]

I think the motherfucking spirit of Christmas past was here or some shit.

Comments

[frigginsterling]

Well, somebody's happy.

[fuckingkillthem]

Hey, skinny, see this? This is a fucking laptop. [he holds it up. remember their first thread? D:]

[frigginsterling]

Fuck off, mate! Even if you are from the dim and distant future, there's no. Fucking. Way. That that little inch-thick thingy is a bloody computer!

[fuckingkillthem]

[He gives him a flat look.] ...You're fucking kidding me.

[Sigh] Get your ass over here, I'll show ya.

[frigginsterling]

No, you're fucking kidding me.

[Mad grin] You mean I get to fuck around with sci-fi tech? Friggin' sterling!

[fuckingkillthem]

Fuck no, you don't get to fucking fuck around with anything. You get to carefully handle it under close supervision.

[frigginsterling]

Fuck, you're no bloody fun. Fine, fine, I won't break anything, honest.

[fuckingkillthem]

...Just get over here.

[frigginsterling]

Coming, coming. Rightio.

[He hops off the bed he's sitting on and heads for the door.]

[fuckingkillthem]

[Hiruma immediately turns the laptop on and starts putting up a limited guest account where Woody won't find any information he doesn't need to see. Bubblegum-pop.]

[frigginsterling]

[Despite his attitude, Woody is getting there as fast as he can because WHOAH SPACE-AGE TECH!]

[fuckingkillthem]

[Hiruma of course finishes his fiddling with the laptop in record time. He grins, copying an annoying kid's voice.] Are you here yet, fucking skinny?

[frigginsterling]

No I ain't. Five seconds.

[Ten seconds later, he knocks on Hiruma's door]

[fuckingkillthem]

You're fucking late! [He yells it from where he's sitting, waiting for Woody to let himself in.]

[frigginsterling]

Fuck that, mate, five seconds doesn't count. [He slams through the door and jumps onto a clear patch on the bed.] So. Whatcha got in the way of super-modern shit?

[fuckingkillthem]

[He dumps the laptop in Woody's lap, and starts explaining first the cursor and general workings of it, pointing at the screen and keyboard as he goes. He uses few words and talks quickly, but he's generally good at explaining, I think.]

Get it, skinny? Try it out.