HE LETS IT GO. short part of the something is right, be it straw or stick or
fuckin’ stegosaurus; a hefty five-hundred ( he knows, his eyes had counted )
that he doesn’t even glance at twice because he’s too wrapped up in a tale
of MUTANTS & THEIR MAKERS. clint got the short part of an s-word,
alright, because he’s left wanting more.
‘ y’know, the earliest game i ever played was pokemon pearl.
kinda fucked up, yeah? we were the slim pickin’s of the last
generation to have these thick ol’ gameboys and i didn’t get
a DS til i was fifteen. i think my brother had one–i had a
brother–and i think he had this little gameboy, it was purple,
or maybe red, i dunno, but it was the one thing he didn’t like
sharin’ ‘cuz he knew that it’d get in the wrong hands if i wasn’t
careful and we’d both lose it. which was kinda pointless in the
end ‘cuz we lost it anyway, i guess.
there’s a hazy flash in the back of his head of the console in question
obliterating into a hundred and one tiny pieces under the heavy boot of the
so-called man of the house, followed by a flying FIST that knocked the rest
of the memory straight out of him. ( dad wasn’t a fan of games. )
clint spends the rest of that statement staring off into the smoky swirls embed-
ded into the wood of the table. the butt of his fork taps rhythmically against the
surface; he’s neither nervous nor comfortable, but rather stuck in some sort of
odd middleground of the two , like the feeling you get when you’ve dozed off
heavily in a daydream and you really need to snap yourself out of it. something
inaudible slips out in the mumble of chapped lips–a personal thought, quietly
reminiscing how his brother had only gotten four badges by the end of it all,
before he drags his gaze back up to nearly meet mo’s.
‘ … hey, SPARKPLUG. you got any plans later?
MOTOSHOCK, slayer of all things electronic, righteous heir to zeus’ throne, probably,
and genius technopath extraordinaire, has himself never finished a pokémon game. he
was super good at starting them, he was super good at catching them, but he could
never wholly finish a game. he didn’t know what to blame it on. his commitment
issues? his inability to allow a story to truly end? or maybe it was the way actually
beating the elite four was set up? either way, he knows he has a stash of unfinished
pokémon games and nintendo consoles back at his motel room, and he’s more than
a little bit frustrated about it.
“you can borrow my gameboy if you want. --your brother can too.
i don’t mind.” he offers clint what he thinks is a supporting grin,
but it probably just came off as a stitch-grimace. the other seemed
... ... ... saddened by the story. which, in turn, made him feel sad.
they should get cotton candy, or something. that usually makes
him feel a lot better.
at the question, mo cocks his head to the side. any plans? he never really had plans.
he just sort of ... wings it, all the time. “nope. i just sort of wing it. all the time.” he
states, a direct quote from his mind palace.
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