Week 22 - January 26th, Monday early morning, Spindle's Room
"Spindle. Spindle." A thick pillow smashes down hard atop his sleeping form. "Wake up, asshole."
Spindle sits ups with a start. "Tripper? Wha- Oy, my head. What's wrong?" He looks to his left to Tipper sitting up in bed besides him, her lips twisted to give the impression of being somewhat irked.
"You were talking in your sleep. Again." She pulls the thick quilt and array of blankets up over her bare breasts. "You could at least dream about something interesting. Something other than that cunt you left behind." While she doesn't sound angry or unhappy, the Goblin's voice definitely carries the tone of one who is annoyed.
He rubs at his face as he tries to wake himself up a bit further. "Freida?"
Tripper clicks her teeth in aggravation, a habit she's picked up from him. "Yes, Freida. The Boggan bitch herself." Flopping back onto the pillows, she rolls slightly onto her right side to get a better look at him. "You still love her, don't you?"
Spindle says nothing, but stares into the darkness.
"I just don't get it." Tripper's voice is calm with hints of bewilderment around the edges. "One minute you're ready to turn the whole of Monadic Theory on it's dick, consequences be fucked, screwed, shit on and then damned, if it's lucky, and woe betide the brain-dead moron who gets in your way... And the next, you're moody as all hell, pining for some girl you only knew a few months." One hand moves to rest on his lower back in a gentle rub. "You've got a fucking portion of Nocker busybody bigwigs afraid of what you might brew up next, not because you've specialized in anything, but because you've cobbled shit together from bits and pieces of unrelated theories. They've given you assistants to scream your bloody head off at and a whore to bang as often as you want and however you want. Yet the moment you've got two nanoseconds to yourself, you're either staring off into nothingness or drooling like a Japanese businessman doing the bukakke to a teenage girl at some dumb-ass photo."
His head twitches to the left. "I'm just not sure who I am anymore, Tripper. I feel like I... could be anything from here. But I have no feaguing clue as to what."
She sighs in exasperation. "Hell, sixteen and you've hit mid-life crisis. Great." Tripper sits up again and wraps her arms around him. "You're damn lucky I like you, Spindle. I would have off'ed anyone else by now." She pulls hims close to her. "Yeah, you can be whoever you want from here. That options always fucking open to any pissant, I suppose. But you have to chose what it's going to be, Spindle. And as much as I want to, I can't tell you what to do."
"And for how long can I trust you, Gloria? I know it's not forever, but I wish to fucking God I at least knew for how long." There's a desolation in Spindle's voice, as if he knows the inevitable will come despite his knowing about it.
The pretty Goblin girl kisses his shoulder, then places her head against it. "For as long as you keep your part of the deal Spindle. You give me what I want and I give you what you want. Long term or short, doesn't matter to me." She sighs.
Leaning back into her arms, they both lie down again, his head pillowed on her breast. He says nothing more, but closes his eyes and relaxes with the person who might one day decide to kill him for fun.
Spindle sits ups with a start. "Tripper? Wha- Oy, my head. What's wrong?" He looks to his left to Tipper sitting up in bed besides him, her lips twisted to give the impression of being somewhat irked.
"You were talking in your sleep. Again." She pulls the thick quilt and array of blankets up over her bare breasts. "You could at least dream about something interesting. Something other than that cunt you left behind." While she doesn't sound angry or unhappy, the Goblin's voice definitely carries the tone of one who is annoyed.
He rubs at his face as he tries to wake himself up a bit further. "Freida?"
Tripper clicks her teeth in aggravation, a habit she's picked up from him. "Yes, Freida. The Boggan bitch herself." Flopping back onto the pillows, she rolls slightly onto her right side to get a better look at him. "You still love her, don't you?"
Spindle says nothing, but stares into the darkness.
"I just don't get it." Tripper's voice is calm with hints of bewilderment around the edges. "One minute you're ready to turn the whole of Monadic Theory on it's dick, consequences be fucked, screwed, shit on and then damned, if it's lucky, and woe betide the brain-dead moron who gets in your way... And the next, you're moody as all hell, pining for some girl you only knew a few months." One hand moves to rest on his lower back in a gentle rub. "You've got a fucking portion of Nocker busybody bigwigs afraid of what you might brew up next, not because you've specialized in anything, but because you've cobbled shit together from bits and pieces of unrelated theories. They've given you assistants to scream your bloody head off at and a whore to bang as often as you want and however you want. Yet the moment you've got two nanoseconds to yourself, you're either staring off into nothingness or drooling like a Japanese businessman doing the bukakke to a teenage girl at some dumb-ass photo."
His head twitches to the left. "I'm just not sure who I am anymore, Tripper. I feel like I... could be anything from here. But I have no feaguing clue as to what."
She sighs in exasperation. "Hell, sixteen and you've hit mid-life crisis. Great." Tripper sits up again and wraps her arms around him. "You're damn lucky I like you, Spindle. I would have off'ed anyone else by now." She pulls hims close to her. "Yeah, you can be whoever you want from here. That options always fucking open to any pissant, I suppose. But you have to chose what it's going to be, Spindle. And as much as I want to, I can't tell you what to do."
"And for how long can I trust you, Gloria? I know it's not forever, but I wish to fucking God I at least knew for how long." There's a desolation in Spindle's voice, as if he knows the inevitable will come despite his knowing about it.
The pretty Goblin girl kisses his shoulder, then places her head against it. "For as long as you keep your part of the deal Spindle. You give me what I want and I give you what you want. Long term or short, doesn't matter to me." She sighs.
Leaning back into her arms, they both lie down again, his head pillowed on her breast. He says nothing more, but closes his eyes and relaxes with the person who might one day decide to kill him for fun.