Fuck it. I'm hitting those waves. Some crazyass sea monster wants to try to eat me for it, well, [A snort. Ever so sarcastic.] Good luck.

So who's with me, huh? Surf Shack's pretty well stocked.

[Ring, ring, bro.]

[There's an audible wince, but he doesn't linger long on it. Still, the bravado's a little thin around the edges. And judging by the rustle of plastic bags, he's in the S Mart again.]

Well, look who finally picked up.

[After this. Dante's voice is halfway between a whine and a whisper. And he barely even lets her pick up the phone.

And yes, they're in the same house.]

Lady. Lady, get me aspirin. Laaadyyyyyy..

[There's a low whistle to start the feed. An appreciative one.]

Know what? I think I could get to like this place. Got pizza. Got cleaning service. S Mart carries my coat. And Sports Illustrated. Swimsuit Edition. And best of all, this S Mart? No one here to card ya.

[He hefts something, shifting cardboard accompanies the clink of glassware.]And ( Read more... )

You drown yet?

a/s/l?

So, lemme get this straight. First the sun goes out of whack. Then the snow. Now there's too much water.

The fuck is next, lava?

[This is the voice of a young man who's affecting a nonchalance he doesn't feel. There's something lost in it, something fragile. He knows and still he asks.]

Verge?

[A laugh, only a syllable and god he tried to swallow it back down but -- ]

Answer your phone, bro.

[There's something intangible, something without name, but it's not just in his voice. It's in the way he breathes. It's not low or sharp so much as an edge of energy, something that brings to mind snapping jaws and decisive, bloody action. He's a little angry.]

Come on out, you yellow sack o'shit.