Harold & Scotty Go To White Castle
The crisp, cool air seeped into the quiet car, as it sat in utter darkness. There was a distinctive scent in the air that didn't quite make it past the old traces of fast-food, weed and likely a number of things that shouldn't be named. And outside, in the clear night sky, stars sparkled above, unhindered by a moon yet unrisen.
And then something fucking 'MOOOOOO'd', right next to the passenger's side window.
Harold started at the sound and scrambled back to the corner of the back seat, clutching his knees to his chest and instinctively attempting to make himself small. His head was still spinning, the desperate agony of his last moments of consciousness replaced with a penetrating dull ache. He whimpered and groaned as it settled in his head.
Scotty Jesus Christ what happened is he okay oh shit oh shit--
Still too terrified to come quite out of his curl, he reached out toward the form slumped in the seat beside him.
The form didn't move, though it made some sort of quiet noise that could only be described as owwwww, signifying that it was still alive. That is, until the very loud thumping of a cow's tail, whacking off the window, startled it up to scramble back and practically into Harold's lap.
And after a long moment, voice ragged and cracked, Scotty asked, "...far...?"
Well, fuck. He had Scotty in his lap, and he couldn't even fucking enjoy it. Tilting his head to the side and screwing up his face, Harold made a sharp, quick, high-pitched sound of frustration. Shutting his eyes, he spoke with deceptive calm. "Is that. A fucking. Cow?"
"That it is, gentlemen," Neil Patrick Harris said smoothly, sidling up to the front door and leaning one-armed into it. With his other hand, he tossed his filthy shovel into the foot well of the front seat and then reached out to pat the cow affectionately. "I call her Deliverance."
There was a rather long moment of silence where Scotty stared, and Harold stared. Just stared. The cow whipped its tail against the window again, making them both jump. The smell that filled the car went well beyond description. And after that long moment, apparently more than a little dazed, Scotty edged off of Harold a little and asked, slowly, "...what th' Hell?"
Harold gestured with one hand, pointing at NPH, then the cow, and then to his own temple. Some more gibberish, before... "Neil-- Patrick-- but you fucking died, I saw you, how the hell--" Nope. That was about all the English Harold could manage for the immediate moment.
Neil shrugged. "You were a present from the gods," he provided helpfully. "You're my good luck charms." He reached into his leather jacket and slung out his small bag of what Harold could only assume, upon a squinting examination, were freshly-harvested shrooms. "Here, hold these." He tossed them unceremoniously at Harold's face, the bag slapping him in the forehead. Neil hopped gleefully into the driver's seat, putting on his sunglasses once again - it's night time what the fuck - and whooping delightedly as he started the car.
Scotty watched all of this, incredulously. And then he scrambled out of the door, pretty much slapping 'Deliverance' in the ass and sending the cow to made a really creepy fucking noise before he came to a halt a few feet away, chest heaving and eyes wide (and a bit glazed). Deliverance galloped about a dozen feet away before stopping, again placidly, leaving a screwed up Scotsman to dart a look between the cow and the car. "...present from... what th' Hell... where th' Hell are we?!"
Well, fucked up as his head was right then, Harold could piece it together. "Home," he answered miserably, crossing his arms dejectedly.
"Get in, boys," came a teasing call from Neil as he revved the engine. He looked back at Harold, disturbing grin plastered to his face. "Gary, wasn't it? Where's your friend?" Snapping his fingers as if trying to remember, he mouthed a word a coulple of times before shouting it excitedly. "Kumar!" He jerked a thumb in the direction of Scotty. "Kumar Two over there had better move his fuckin' ass, because we're going to a strip club. Now or never."
Wide eyed and sputtering various obscenities, Harold gestured frantically for Scotty to get back in.
When it became quite clear that there would be no grace period to debate on it, given the car already rolling slowly on the muddy ground, Scotty finally threw himself back over Harold to crash into the back seat. And his voice had taken on a distinctly flat note, a quiet statement as he went to pick himself back up. "What th' fuck."
And then something fucking 'MOOOOOO'd', right next to the passenger's side window.
Harold started at the sound and scrambled back to the corner of the back seat, clutching his knees to his chest and instinctively attempting to make himself small. His head was still spinning, the desperate agony of his last moments of consciousness replaced with a penetrating dull ache. He whimpered and groaned as it settled in his head.
Scotty Jesus Christ what happened is he okay oh shit oh shit--
Still too terrified to come quite out of his curl, he reached out toward the form slumped in the seat beside him.
The form didn't move, though it made some sort of quiet noise that could only be described as owwwww, signifying that it was still alive. That is, until the very loud thumping of a cow's tail, whacking off the window, startled it up to scramble back and practically into Harold's lap.
And after a long moment, voice ragged and cracked, Scotty asked, "...far...?"
Well, fuck. He had Scotty in his lap, and he couldn't even fucking enjoy it. Tilting his head to the side and screwing up his face, Harold made a sharp, quick, high-pitched sound of frustration. Shutting his eyes, he spoke with deceptive calm. "Is that. A fucking. Cow?"
"That it is, gentlemen," Neil Patrick Harris said smoothly, sidling up to the front door and leaning one-armed into it. With his other hand, he tossed his filthy shovel into the foot well of the front seat and then reached out to pat the cow affectionately. "I call her Deliverance."
There was a rather long moment of silence where Scotty stared, and Harold stared. Just stared. The cow whipped its tail against the window again, making them both jump. The smell that filled the car went well beyond description. And after that long moment, apparently more than a little dazed, Scotty edged off of Harold a little and asked, slowly, "...what th' Hell?"
Harold gestured with one hand, pointing at NPH, then the cow, and then to his own temple. Some more gibberish, before... "Neil-- Patrick-- but you fucking died, I saw you, how the hell--" Nope. That was about all the English Harold could manage for the immediate moment.
Neil shrugged. "You were a present from the gods," he provided helpfully. "You're my good luck charms." He reached into his leather jacket and slung out his small bag of what Harold could only assume, upon a squinting examination, were freshly-harvested shrooms. "Here, hold these." He tossed them unceremoniously at Harold's face, the bag slapping him in the forehead. Neil hopped gleefully into the driver's seat, putting on his sunglasses once again - it's night time what the fuck - and whooping delightedly as he started the car.
Scotty watched all of this, incredulously. And then he scrambled out of the door, pretty much slapping 'Deliverance' in the ass and sending the cow to made a really creepy fucking noise before he came to a halt a few feet away, chest heaving and eyes wide (and a bit glazed). Deliverance galloped about a dozen feet away before stopping, again placidly, leaving a screwed up Scotsman to dart a look between the cow and the car. "...present from... what th' Hell... where th' Hell are we?!"
Well, fucked up as his head was right then, Harold could piece it together. "Home," he answered miserably, crossing his arms dejectedly.
"Get in, boys," came a teasing call from Neil as he revved the engine. He looked back at Harold, disturbing grin plastered to his face. "Gary, wasn't it? Where's your friend?" Snapping his fingers as if trying to remember, he mouthed a word a coulple of times before shouting it excitedly. "Kumar!" He jerked a thumb in the direction of Scotty. "Kumar Two over there had better move his fuckin' ass, because we're going to a strip club. Now or never."
Wide eyed and sputtering various obscenities, Harold gestured frantically for Scotty to get back in.
When it became quite clear that there would be no grace period to debate on it, given the car already rolling slowly on the muddy ground, Scotty finally threw himself back over Harold to crash into the back seat. And his voice had taken on a distinctly flat note, a quiet statement as he went to pick himself back up. "What th' fuck."