“You did what now,” Matt hisses, and the tentacle – no, two tentacles now – snap viciously.
“Dude, you’ve been ‘out sick’ for two days. We’ve been ‘out sick’ for two days. The hell was I supposed to tell her?”
Matt’s on his stomach, which is the only thing currently preventing him from shooting a particularly withering look somewhere in the ballpark of the left side of Foggy’s jaw. “Hmm, I dunno. Let me take a wild guess: ‘Hey, Karen, we think we’ve both come down with a crippling case of strep and we might just cause the next New York Crisis if we step outside, maybe take the week off while we shovel down antibacterials’?”
There’s a long silence.
“Fuck,” Foggy sighs.
“Yeah, ‘fuck’ seems about the appropriate response,” and Matt kicks Foggy’s leg. The tentacles swat Foggy’s thigh irritably.
“I think I’m gonna name this one Matthew Junior, since it’s the original and best,” Foggy announces, letting the first one curl around his thumb affectionately. “Also because it likes me the best.”
“Franklin Nelson you are not naming my tentacles,” Matt groans, his head back underneath a pillow.
“Aw, so you admit they're tentacles? That's wonderful. Acceptance is the first step to recovery, y'know. This other one’ll be called Morrissey, since it’s an unnecessarily hateful little shit.”
Lobbing another pillow at Foggy’s head, Matt grumbles, “I hate you.”
what about them? i'm all about them (2/?)
“Dude, you’ve been ‘out sick’ for two days. We’ve been ‘out sick’ for two days. The hell was I supposed to tell her?”
Matt’s on his stomach, which is the only thing currently preventing him from shooting a particularly withering look somewhere in the ballpark of the left side of Foggy’s jaw. “Hmm, I dunno. Let me take a wild guess: ‘Hey, Karen, we think we’ve both come down with a crippling case of strep and we might just cause the next New York Crisis if we step outside, maybe take the week off while we shovel down antibacterials’?”
There’s a long silence.
“Fuck,” Foggy sighs.
“Yeah, ‘fuck’ seems about the appropriate response,” and Matt kicks Foggy’s leg. The tentacles swat Foggy’s thigh irritably.
“I think I’m gonna name this one Matthew Junior, since it’s the original and best,” Foggy announces, letting the first one curl around his thumb affectionately. “Also because it likes me the best.”
“Franklin Nelson you are not naming my tentacles,” Matt groans, his head back underneath a pillow.
“Aw, so you admit they're tentacles? That's wonderful. Acceptance is the first step to recovery, y'know. This other one’ll be called Morrissey, since it’s an unnecessarily hateful little shit.”
Lobbing another pillow at Foggy’s head, Matt grumbles, “I hate you.”