dave strider (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oculusriffs) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
cantown2018-04-13 07:49 pm
oculusriffs) wrote in cantown2018-04-13 07:49 pm
(no subject)
[for once, it hadn't taken him too long to figure out he was dreaming.]
[maybe it's because this particular memory has been, unfortunately, a frequent visitor over the years. a rooftop in the center of a city that doesn't yet know it's on the brink. sirens blare in the distance occasionally, but they'll be burned into silence once the game starts. there won't be anybody to save, nor will there be anybody to do the saving. this is the day the world ends, after all.]
[behind him on the roof is the remnants of a fight that he'd lost — way too many crows, a sword snapped in half, a puppet torn to shreds. a copy of a video game strewn on the ground.]
[Dave hates redreaming this memory. but no matter how many times he tries to bend his dream into another memory, to think himself to another world (he'd rather be catching frostbite on LOFAF. he'd rather be on the meteor. anywhere would be better than here), the city and this rooftop snap back into place like an stubborn intrusive thought.]
[nothing to do but wait it out, until he figures out how to wake up. where's Rose and her magic yarn when you need her? so he's seated himself at the edge of the roof, staring off into the horizon, alone.]
[he thought he'd already acknowledged and accepted and moved on from this bit of history he'd lived through — but the bullshit always demands acknowledgment again, doesn't it.]
[maybe it's because this particular memory has been, unfortunately, a frequent visitor over the years. a rooftop in the center of a city that doesn't yet know it's on the brink. sirens blare in the distance occasionally, but they'll be burned into silence once the game starts. there won't be anybody to save, nor will there be anybody to do the saving. this is the day the world ends, after all.]
[behind him on the roof is the remnants of a fight that he'd lost — way too many crows, a sword snapped in half, a puppet torn to shreds. a copy of a video game strewn on the ground.]
[Dave hates redreaming this memory. but no matter how many times he tries to bend his dream into another memory, to think himself to another world (he'd rather be catching frostbite on LOFAF. he'd rather be on the meteor. anywhere would be better than here), the city and this rooftop snap back into place like an stubborn intrusive thought.]
[nothing to do but wait it out, until he figures out how to wake up. where's Rose and her magic yarn when you need her? so he's seated himself at the edge of the roof, staring off into the horizon, alone.]
[he thought he'd already acknowledged and accepted and moved on from this bit of history he'd lived through — but the bullshit always demands acknowledgment again, doesn't it.]
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His head turns on more instincts from training himself than noise.]
Dave.
[So it's his Texas. Right?
Dirk hasn't noticed the puppet yet.]
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Hey. [not that Dave is exactly thrilled that Dirk found his way here — it's not really a memory he likes broadcasting to whoever happens to be passing by. at the same time, though, if anybody has the right to see it for himself, it would be this version of his bro.]
[or ... some version. he can't tell through the shades whether that's a ghost standing in front of him, or if he's just dreaming, too. Dave defaults to the option that doesn't suck.]
So, you're getting some decent sleep finally? If I had known, I would have cleaned up the place a little.
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[It's the right option. Dirk isn't sure of which Dave he's coming across himself, but the suggestion seems to put it in place. There's always the chance it's a Dave that doesn't know he's dead, or something else... But for now, Dirk'll settle on which splinter it is.
He puts his hands in his pockets as his eyes scan the roof behind his shades, until suddenly they stop. He takes a step forward like he's going to run towards something (a guardian, Dirk's only present one) but then he stops. Makes himself stiffen, stay calm. Look at Dave instead.]
So, do I get the grand tour, or are we going to American Ninja Warrior our way out of this dream bubble and into someone else's?
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[part of him wants to chuck that torn up hellpuppet over the edge of the building, where he thinks it belongs. the entirety of him is convinced it's still incredibly dangerous — he remembers the dreams, the way it whispered in his sleep, the way they happen to be standing smack in the middle of a dream right now. another entirety of him desperately doesn't want to see Dirk upset. or even worse, he doesn't want to be the one who caused it.]
[they should get off the roof. he should shrug off the tension he's feeling. he'll just play it off, that same familiar habit he's worn his entire life.]
I can show you around, if you want. You're in luck, the mess that's in there is about as low-brow as it gets.
[here, he'll lead the way inside.]
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Even if it hurts to see him messed like that. That isn't Dirk's Cal. It's a tool that was used to hurt Dave.
Dirk shakes himself over it, casually making his way over to Dave. He doesn't look at the puppet again.]
I can go low-brow. Show me the way.
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[everything else about it, however, is an utter disaster. there are so many puppets and criss-crossing wires and dangerous weaponry strewn about that it's almost impossible to figure out what to look at first. that one comic is still, unfortunately, taped to the door. the chatbots are as busy as ever. the X-Box is full of glitchy skateboarders, as always.]
[Dave doesn't like it, but he stands by his earlier reasoning, that if Dirk wants to see what's in here, he has the right to. besides, there was something he wanted to grab out of his room.]
[feel free to check out whatever, Dirk.]
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It's a weird thing to register: this isn't the kind of home he would make for himself. It isn't the home he made for himself. Yeah, he left his robots tossed across the apartment, because he worked on them everywhere. Is that why the smuppets are all around? Did this splinter of his constantly try to fuck with them? And what about the weapons? Dirk never even HAD that many weapons. He kept the Sord set aside and left his katana in his strife deck or with Cal. He never just left them scattered around. And that's living alone. So why would this other iteration of him act like this? Was he just too self-involved to give a shit how this would affect a child, or was it deliberate, an attempt to 'toughen him up' or something?
Jesus fuck, that comic is classic undyingUmbrage. It's disturbing as fuck to see that their taste in memes would align like this.
Somehow, even though in one sense this space could be called 'his' more than Dave's, it doesn't feel right to touch it. He follows after Dave instead, something akin to a lost baby duckling.]
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["are you all right?" "do you want to leave? there are other places in Houston worth visiting, probably." would he be assuming too much by asking? Dave remembers how Dirk insisted on taking responsibility for all of his splinters — if they did go down that road on that subject, would the monster on the roof be able to hear them? he wants to follow Dirk's lead here, but it seems like the both of them are trying to follow each other.]
[when he does find something to say, his tone is slightly softer, what he hopes is at least sort of reassuring. it's an offer of a way out, and fast, if Dirk wants it.]
I'm just gonna check on something really quick. ["sorry for making your dreams so shitty."]
[Dave peeks around the corner and down the hallway cautiously (the bathroom is visible from here. the puppets have a way of rendering even basic utilities useless), then crosses the way into his bedroom. safe probably isn't the right word to describe it — is anything in this apartment actually safe? — but it is distinctly Dave's.]
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[It barely comes out of his mouth before he just kind of stands awkwardly still, in the hallway. But he watches where Dave goes. A gnawing, uneasy worry bites at the back of his throat.]
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[if Dirk doesn't move immediately, Dave will even take hold of his arm and lead him in, and shut the door behind them pointedly. he can't lock it, but he can stand at the door, between Dirk and what he must think is the worst of himself. they both can fly, they can leave through the window if it'd be easier. and maybe the piles of Dave's crap in here will serve as a distraction in the meantime.]
[if he weren't so focused on other things right now, he might wonder a bit at how naturally being protective over a brother comes to him. maybe later, when he's awake, he'll also wonder if the adult version of himself felt the same, setting up an apartment for a brother he'd never meet.]
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He isn't sure of the door, or Dave's position to put himself there. He thinks maybe he should be the one between Dave and the outside, not the other way around. After all, isn't he the one that's a threat?]
What the fuck, is that Squarewave and Sawtooth?
[(DISTACTION).]
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[Dave exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding, a bit relieved. he's made the right move here, maybe.]
You've heard of them, then?
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[And now they are on Dave's wall.]
This seems like one of those stupid things that never makes any sense but P. Space just keeps insisting on it being a thing that's a thing.
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[that is, in fact, the reason why they are on his wall. Dave appreciates any man, woman or bot who has good flow.]
Maybe that just makes them universal constants, like cotton candy and shitty romcoms.
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[Huh. Contemplating that, Dirk adds,]
Yeah, they were rapbots. Sawtooth was undefeated, and Squarewave was unvictoried.
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See, when you say "undefeated," all I hear is "challenge." I'd be willing to wager that the two of us together could ruin that winning streak.
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I don't know, Dave. Sawtooth is pretty damn sharp with a rhyme. You really think we could take him out?
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Yeah, I'll bet he's sharp, but he ain't a pair of Striders.
Is he the kind of robot you can take out with a paradox? That shouldn't be too hard to put into rhyme.
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[there's a brief pause, before he manages to pry himself away from the door and cross the room. he's headed for his sampler.]
Here, I'll show you some of the other shit I have. And — sorry. About earlier.
[he feels like he owes Dirk at least that much.]
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[He isn't totally sure what Dave's referring to, even. He wants to be encouraging, so he makes a point to add,]
I'd love to look at your things. Maybe I can show you the things in my apartment another time.
[You know, since Lord Jack's exploding head kind of wrecked things previously.]
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[he hesitates, wanting to make that first argument he just had in his head, but only briefly.]
I'd really like that.
[he means it sincerely. aside from being in the middle of the ocean, and then being blown up by said Lord Jack's head, Dirk's apartment must be a million times cooler than this one.]
You can mess with whatever, I don't mind. [why, for instance, does he have so much weird dead shit on those shelves? does the darkroom in the closet actually work all that well? Dave, for his part, is going to pull up to his trusty AKAI MPC-1000 SAMPLER and prepare to get sicknasty.]
SURPRISE IT'S ME
How did you manage not to be a goth kid like your sister? Between this and the crows, I think only the Strider ability to intrinsically avoid labelling saved you from black lipstick and mesh shirts.
[He's gonna poke the dead thing jar. Poke!]
OH SHIT IT'S YOU
Rose is like a black hole that pulls in everything that has just a vague whiff of that gothic "fuck the system" scent. I never stood a chance, even if I wanted to wear the mesh shirts like a total goober.
[Dave, of course, is a total goober. maybe if Kanaya designed something for him, he'd rock it. maybe.]
You can't tell me the dead things aren't kinda cool, though.
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[He glances over at Dave and says,] Show me what those turntables have got.