Discover Top Posts Tagged with #3rd long

[AIM CONVO & 3rd Long]: Christophe and Cartman

Summary: Christophe tells Cartman to back off of Gregory, but Cartman takes that as an opportunity to tell him about his Fourth Floor Plan. Christophe isn't too happy about it, so he visits Cartman's room to show him whats up. Cartman, of course, tries to make a slumber party out of it.

Takes Place: August 24th 2012

#3rd long #Log #badkittymypotpie #letaupetueur #relaxguy #submission #aim

[3rd long] Kenny McCormick and Raven (Stan Marsh)

Summary: Raven tracks Kenny down at a breakfast burrito fast food place near Stark's Pond to talk.

Takes Place: Sunday morning, August 12th

#relaxguy #log #3rd long #chrome-blogging #afuckinusername #submission

[3rd Long] Cartman and Kenny

Summary: After their AIM convo, Kenny goes down to Cartman's hotel room to make sure he doesn't do something crazy by distracting him with booze, porn, and food. Then excessive shushpapings occur. Warnings: Cartman being a big baby, also they're watching porn.

Takes Place: August 5th 2012, Part of Miniplot V: Beiberfest.

#badkittymypotpie #3rd long #Log #afuckinusername #relaxguy #submission #miniplot: Beiberfest

[3rd Long Log] Cartman and Kyle B

Summary: Cartman invites Kyle over to his hotel room via AIM to talk and share a pizza, but things get really awkward when Kyle ends up telling him about his decision to pursue a relationship with Stan.

Takes Place: Sunday, August 5, 2012; Part of Miniplot V: Bieberfest

#relaxguy #Log #3rd long #redheadnerdgasm #badkittymypotpie #submission

[3rd Long] Christophe and Gregory

Summary: After their dinner with Justin Beiber, Christophe and Gregory sulk, argue, and and discuss some important things.

Takes Place on: Saturday, August 4th. Part of Miniplot V: Beiberfest

The walk back from Stage Hanson was as uneventful as he would have hoped. It was a sad day indeed, Gregory considered as he shoved away yet another adoring fan, scribbling across her magazine before sending her on her way, when 'uneventful' meant being mobbed by only a few dozen or so individuals, none of whom were 'cosplaying' them. Crossplay. Whatever. At last they turned down the long stretch of private road past the gates to the Airport Hilton, accountabilibuddies meandering behind them as they left their fans behind. Christophe was still silent as all hell, uncharacteristically quiet during their walk back, and Gregory tilted his head back to frown up at the other boy. "Are you all right?" he asked, slowing down in his walk slightly for a better angle. "You seem moodier than usual." Christophe shrugged, smoking furiously on his cigarette. "Not really," he said shortly, glaring at the fans and daring them to even try and ask for his signature. "Zat was fucking bullshit. It's all bullshit and I fucking 'ate it." He threw the smouldering end of his cigarette away with unnecessary force. "But whatever." Wrapping his arm around Gregory's waist did make him feel a little bit better, even though it sent the fans into fucking conniptions. "Agreed. On all accounts." Linking his own arm around Christophe's waist, he rested his wrist on the sharp angle of one hip - walking along in silence for several moments and bumping into the other boy upon occasion before he cleared his throat again. "Is that it then? Just - general annoyance?" "No, it's-" Christophe stopped, and cleared his throat. "I can't talk about it out 'ere." He pressed his face against the top of Gregory's head and sighed heavily. They reached their hotel without being horribly accosted, and Christophe pulled Gregory gratefully up the stairs. "I just 'ate zis. I don't know what to do." "Wait, I suppose, for an opening. It's frustrating, I know, but it's a wiser choice than doing something utterly idiotic like murdering the self-proclaimed dictator of the world." Humming in his throat, Gregory obliged until they were safely inside the hotel, taking the stairs two at a time. Frowning lightly as a sudden though occurred to him, he jammed his thumb into the elevator button, mouth pressed together into a hard line. "You don't think I'm upset about that ridiculous flirting from before, do you? Because I'm not angry with you. Honestly. Even if it is obnoxious as all hell, not to mention infuriating, but - I mean-" he faltered slightly, fingers tapping as he waited for the damn elevator to arrive. "I have to admit it was a smart move. So you shouldn't worry about it." "No, it's not zat. I mean, I know it's a smart move, obviously. You 'ave no idea 'ow many times I 'ave done exactly zat and gotten information zat I needed. I could 'ave gotten 'im talking, at least enough to try and figure out zis fucking mess a little bit more, but no, zese dumbass bitches are more concerned wiz zeir fucking television celebrity bullshit zan anything else." Christophe sighed in frustration, drooping down to rest his head against Gregory's shoulder. "I don't know what to do. I don't know 'ow to figure zis out or where to get information or even what is going on. Wiz ze population, I mean. It's not normal. And I do feel bad about zat flirting and I don't want you to think I am disgusting for using shit like zat all ze time." "Flirting is all right, I suppose," Gregory replied, rolling the words around in his mouth before spitting them back out. "I'd feel different if you'd actually - I mean - slept with him obviously, but I know how you work. It's fine." Reaching up, he carded his fingers through Christophe's hair until the elevator gave off a high, pitched 'ding' noise - doors sliding slowly open. Stepping inside, he pulled Christophe along with him and jabbed at the button for floor 30. "Regarding who to obtain information from, I think HQ is our best bet for now," he continued, staring blankly up at the soft, red glow of the floor listing. "Considering that Beiber was a dead end." "'E's not a dead end, at least in terms of what is going on wiz ze people. But for getting 'ome, maybe." Christophe shrugged, glaring at the door as the ascended, and stalked out towards his room as soon as they opened. "Sleep wiz me tonight. You're ze only thing 'ere zat I am not completely fucking up. Fucking 'ell. But I'd sleep wiz 'im if I thought it would get anywhere. Or wiz fucking Yates. 'E knows more zan ze rest of zese idiots." "He likely does, but that hardly means you have to sleep with him to get any information. Besides, he doesn't seem like the type," Gregory shot back, a bit rougher than he intended before slipping his arm back around the other boy's waist. Leading them both to Christophe and Ike's room, he stepped inside before promptly beginning to unbutton his still-damp dress shirt from before. Fortunately they'd somehow managed an adjoined suite, roomy and spacious despite the fact that their 'buddy links' meant that the far half of the room was more or less unusable. "'E's not. Obviously. But so what, who cares? I've slept wiz a thousand people zat aren't my type." Christophe started to pace through their room, running his hands through his hair. "And it's ze only thing I can do 'ere wiz no contacts and no weapons and no plan and no fucking idea 'ow anything works. I can fucking suck up and play nice like Georgie but I can't just fucking sit around and not do anything." He glanced up, and caught sight of Gregory's nearly bare chest, and swallowed before stalking back and running his hands over him. "I just want to make some fucking progress and I 'ave never felt zis fucking useless in my life. I'm surprised you 'aven't just dumped me already and found someone zat can get you fucking 'ome." He glared over Gregory's shoulder and held him close, despite what he was saying. "Stop it." Shoving back, Gregory dug his fingers into Christophe's shoulders, keeping him a safe several inches away without allowing him to escape. "Will you listen to yourself? You're being completely, utterly irrational over a minor setback." Hissing between his teeth, he ducked his head slightly to the left, trying to catch the other boy's eyes. "Your options are not 'do nothing' and 'fuck Justin Beiber' for God's sake. I am all for progress, obviously, but you - like everyone else in this damn down - needs to learn some patience. I'd thought you realized that when you told Stan not to stab our 'glorious leader' in the neck." Christophe sighed, relaxing a bit. "Ouai, I know, princesse," he muttered, closing his eyes. "I wouldn't actually do it, not now. If ze situation was different and 'e actually 'ad some sort of power 'ere, maybe, but. J'sais pas. I just 'ate not working. I 'ate not 'elping people and not killing bitches zat deserve it. Fucking 'ell. What's ze point of me even fucking existing if I can't fucking work?" He knew that what he was saying would probably upset Gregory, but the simmering restlessness that had been building for months was starting to boil over, and he couldn't help the complaints. "Well, let's see then. One - Being a properly interesting friend. Two - being a properly interesting boyfriend. Three - behaving like a normal human being for a small period of time, as foreign of a concept to you as that is. You are not the sum of how many damn people you kill." Taking a long, deep breath, Gregory cocked his head off to one side, arms crossed petulantly. "I suppose I understand though. Regarding how little there is to improve upon around here; one would think that these people actually enjoy the utterly insane way this society is run." Christophe stared at Gregory for a few moments, then sighed and started to take off his uncomfortable clothes. "You're right, I guess. I just am not used to normal. It's boring, and it's not 'ow I should live. I'm already defined by you enough as it is, hah." He tossed the uglyass shirt and tie onto the floor in a crumpled ball, and started to shimmy out of the dress pants so he could flop onto the bed. "And you are right too, about ze people. Zat shit is not normal. Ze entire fucking world obsessed like zis? It makes no sense. Zere's something going on zat's not right. Aside from the obvious, hah." He sighed and stretched out, beckoning Gregory over. Exchanging out his pants for a pair of equally tasteful, tailored ones, Gregory padded over to the bed and slid onto it, stretching one arm gratuitously across Christophe's waist. "As far as I can tell. Granted, my 'sources' are limited to what internet we can access, so I could be quite wrong." Nosing closer, he crammed his head into the warm spot under Christophe's chin, fingers skimming along the length of his ribs. "You ought to try to relax. I hate seeing you wound up like this, but there's really no point in driving yourself utterly insane over something you can't control. I don't want you to go off and do something stupid. If that makes sense." Christophe glanced down at the top of his head, and purposely remained silent. His fingers traced idle shapes across Gregory's waist as he stared up at the ceiling. Doing something stupid was exactly what he was thinking of, and he didn't really care what Gregory thought of it. He'd heard the lecture a thousand fucking times and it had never made a difference. Sighing, he started to play with Gregory's hair, enjoying the heat radiating off of him. Waiting several long moment, Gregory frowned when the other boy didn't respond, cheek pressed against the sharp edge of his collar as he knit his eyebrows together. Pulling away, he twisted his head up at an awkward angle, trying to catch his eyes. "Christophe." Christophe frowned and turned his head away, staring at the far wall. "I can't promise not to try anything. I can't. But I won't get 'urt." Vague notions about breaking into HQ or kidnapping Yates or impersonating a guard were flitting around in his head, and he couldn't stop them. He needed to do something risky, craved that rush and the emotionless calm that came with work. His skin had been crawling for too long, and he needed some way to make it stop. "I'm going fucking crazy," he muttered, tugging Gregory closer and twining their legs together. Making a vague, 'shh'ing noise between his teeth, Gregory buried his hands in short, brown hair - scritching his skull with his nails and pressing his fingers into the back of Christophe's neck in an effort to calm him down. "Well. If whatever you're planning is as safe as you claim, let me help. It's about damn time we tried something." "We need to get on ze top floor," Christophe replied, sighing. "Of ze building. And by we I mean I. I do not want you risking yourself and don't tell me I am being an idiot." He tensed up, fully aware that Gregory was going to be pissed off as fuck that Christophe didn't want to work with him. But things would be so much more difficult trying to keep Gregory safe while they tried to find what they needed. "I don't want you disappearing like some of ze ozzer bitches 'ave been." "Fine. You're not an idiot. You are a complete moron. Better?" Gregory shot back quirking an eyebrow. Despite Christophe's rampant stupidity, he continued to press his fingers into the knotted muscles in the back of his neck, digging one forefinger in particularly hard. "How is it remotely fair that you are allowed to go off and do this sort of thing while I'm stuck doing-" he waved his free hand about in exacerbation. "Cleaning your damn room. Or something. Particularly seeing that I am one, perfectly capable, and two have been involved in these sorts of plans up until now. Unless you give me a better reason as to why I should sit back and watch you try to take far too much work on by yourself, the answer is 'no.'" "You can 'elp wiz ze planning and shit," Christophe conceded, gritting his teeth as Gregory dug into his neck. "I need 'elp wiz zat. But wizzout weapons or any way to defend yourself, you are not coming. No way. I will not be able to do anything if I am worried ze whole damn time zat you're going to get shot or captured or something." "Do you honestly think anyone is going to be shooting at us? Here? Where they have gone out of their way to make sure that we are alive, fat, happy, and dancing in front of their damn cameras?" Gregory replied smartly, moving down to the next knot and pressing in there. "Yes," Christophe said instantly, and knew it was true. "Do you think zey'd 'ave any trouble at all just replacing us wiz a snap of zeir fingers? Upset zeir fucking system enough, and zey'll get rid of us. Make us disappear. And if zat 'appened to you, I'd go fucking insane. So. Ouai. You are not coming, zere is no way in 'ell." He rolled into a more comfortable position so that Gregory could reach his neck, and sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. I wish you could. But wizzout guns, I'm fucking useless and I can't keep you safe." "You're far too popular for that." It was only a half-joke really, and Gregory was sorely tempted to roll his eyes at the memory of their 'biggest fan' - the image of the star-struck, shovel-wielding fanboy burned into his brain for eternity. "Fine. Let us assume then for the sake of argument that this is all hideously dangerous and you can't 'keep me safe.' What on earth makes you think that I would be perfectly fine watching you fling yourself into some half-baked idea that will possibly end in violence and death?" "Because I've done it my whole damn life and you can't stop me," Christophe said flatly. He felt a pang of guilt at the words, but they were true, and he didn't regret saying it. "And ze only reason zat I'm popular is because I'm dating you. 'Ow 'ard do you think it would be for zem to find anozzer rogue Frenchman and get you to fall for 'im? Not zat 'ard, je crois, considering all ze shit zey can do already." At last Gregory stopped manhandling the back of Christophe's neck, pulling away sullenly as he shot him the most unimpressed look he could muster. "Yes, because I really have absolutely no say in who I choose to date. Obviously. Don't be a damn idiot." "Fine, zen zey'll just drag in anozzer version of me from somewhere else. Zat would be enough for you anyway, so whatever. Fighting and teasing and calling you princesse all ze time and you'd be exactly where you are now. But zat's not ze damn point." Christophe sat up, glowering at the far wall. "We need information directly, and I am ze most obvious person for ze job. And I want to. I miss it." The second half of Christophe's ramblings didn't even register as a tight knot of anger and hurt slammed into Gregory's chest - curling and uncurling as he shoved himself upright. "What," he snapped, the flatness of his tone misleading as he glared at the back of Christophe's head. "It certainly is the damn point if you honestly think I wouldn't give a damn about what happens to you - /this/ you," he amended, gesturing wildly with one hand- "What the hell are you trying to imply?" Christophe glanced back at him, the twinge of guilt panging more sharply at the look on Gregorys face, and he moved back towards him, wrapping a placating arm around his waist. "I know zat you would be upset, obviously, which is why I will not let anything 'appen. But my point was just zat I would not be 'ard to replace, and I am not ze only person in ze world zat could make you 'appy. As much as I fucking wish zat I was." "Of course you would be difficult to replace, you goddamn moron," Gregory shot back, instinctively jerking away from the hand at his waist before he bit at the side of his mouth - pausing before tentatively relaxing into the embrace. "And saying things to that point simply implies that you have no qualms about getting yourself shot in the goddamn head or any number of things that I thought were finally out of your system." "I'm not going to get shot in ze 'ead," Christophe said, offended. "What sort of amateur do you fucking think I am? And zat right zere is ze point. I 'ave been doing zis sort of thing for more zan ten years, and you 'ave done zis sort of thing maybe three times in your whole life. All zat I am saying is zat in terms of ze show bullshit, it would be good drama to kill me off and zen dangle someone else in front of you et cetera. Zese bitches are assholes. But zat won't 'appen because I won't get 'urt." "That is not the way arguments work, Christophe." Scowling, Gregory pulled away again, clamping his jaw down even harder in an effort to sort through the pile-up of emotions jostling around through his skull. "You can't claim that you won't get hurt, and then in the same damn breath say that it wouldn't matter because I'll saunter happily off with some other French idiot who's incapable of understanding how much I actually care about his well-being." "Zat's- shit, Gregory, zat's not what I meant," Christophe tried to rectify his blabbering, sitting up and gesturing wildly to prove his sincerity. "I know you care, idiot, I'm not a fucking blind moron like you are. Fuck. I'm just- I'm sorry, d'accord? But I want to do zis. Alone. I 'ave to. And I don't want you to be upset if something 'appens. But I am going fucking crazy wizzout work, and you're ze only thing zat's keeping me from just giving ze fuck up." "Well, I will be, and there isn't a fucking thing that you or anyone in this miserable excuse for a universe can do on that account. So my apologies for that." Unable to keep the knotted, sarcastic tone out of his voice, Gregory raked his hands through his hair, flipping them back and forth as he reminded himself just how much of an inconsiderate, stubborn fucking asshole his boyfriend could be. "God knows I can't stop you, so do what you have to. But don't think for a fucking second that you can take absurd risks simply because I won't care." Far too wound up for any sort of sleeping, Gregory slid sideways until his feet touched the floor, pushing himself slowly to his feet as he rooted around for his discarded shirt. Christophe stood up abruptly and grabbed Gregory, forcing him up so he could look at him. "Stop it. If it upsets you zat much, I won't try anything. But stop being a fucking bitch and acting like it's ze end of ze world because I'm willing to take a bit of fucking risk. You wouldn't 'ave stuck around zis long if it bozzered you zis much, so what ze 'ell is ze problem?" He'd managed to maneuver Gregory back towards the bed, and pushed him until he was sitting on the edge. "'As it always worried you zis much?" Still glaring, Gregory allowed himself to be manhandled for the sake of avoiding another argument, pointedly focusing on re-fastening the buttons on his shirt. "Of course it has, and I've told you that much for God knows how many years. Someone has to stick around and make sure that you don't up and kill yourself in a sudden show of 'it doesn't really matter.'" His collar clasp was being a royal pain in the ass, and he twisted his hands around at an uncomfortable angle, teeth gritted until he managed to slip the fabric into the groove. "And don't tell me I'm a goddamn bitch. I know exactly what constitutes 'high risk' according to you." Christophe narrowed his eyes, and managed to bite back an accusation about the War. That would not end well. Instead he just shook his head. "Fine. I won't do it. 'Appy?" "No." With his collar fastened, Gregory slid off the bed again, this time searching about for his socks. "I'm not going to keep you from doing what you want. You can make your own decisions, but don't you dare use my feelings or perceived lack thereof to justify your untimely demise. Just - don't. Please. All right?" "Well what ze 'ell is so different zat you are freaking ze fuck out now?" Christophe grabbed him again, trying to prevent him from leaving. "Zis would 'ave bozzered you before but you wouldn't be trying to storm out of ze room like a fucking child. And I dont- fuck." Christophe shook his head and let go of Gregory before walking over to the window. "I can't- it's ze only way I can not go fucking insane, is if I think you don't care. So don't tell me you suddenly do. More zan usual, I mean, because zat's fucking bullshit." Hissing between his teeth, Gregory felt himself jerked back again and he stumbled - one arm flailing before crossing it up against his other once he managed to find his balance again. "Of course it would have bothered me before, but things are - different now. Obviously, and I still care about you, so stop acting like a goddamn, unfeeling ass. Why the actual fuck would I ever tell you I don't care?" A spike of confusion settled in behind his eyes, settling uncomfortably in with the other whirlwind of emotions, and he frowned across the room. "Not as much as I do," Christophe said stubbornly, crossing his arms and glaring at Gregory. "You don't care as much as I do, and zat makes keeping you safe more fucking worthwhile zan keeping myself safe. And getting you what you want, and what you want is to get out of 'ere. So zat is what I am trying to do. And you don't give a damn, or at least you'd find it easy as fuck to not give a damn. Zat became pretty obvious to me about three years ago. So. Whatever. You don't want me to do zis, so I won't. So stop freaking out and let's fucking go to bed." Speechless momentarily, Gregory snapped his jaw closed, teeth grinding together as he stared at the other boy in silence. "Are you doing this on purpose?" he eventually began again, voice dangerously low. "To get me to tell you that I don't care about you?" "I already said I know you do, didn't I?" Christophe retorted, frustrated. "I just- nevermind. It's too complicated. I just can't work if I'm thinking zat you're pacing your floor worried out of your 'ead about me, so it's easier to think you don't care, even if it's not true, d'accord? And even if it's stupid of you in ze first place. Whatever." He glared at Gregory and marched back to the bed, pulling out a cigarette with trembling fingers. Fuck. Slinking back to the bed, Gregory snatch the lighter out of the usual place in Christophe's pocket, lighting his cigarette for him before setting the thing down on the nearby nightstand. "God, you make me want to murder you sometimes. All the time. Constantly." Still frowning, he allowed his hands to drop into his lap, keeping his shoulder still an inch or two away from the other boy's. "I don't understand what the hell you want me to do here." "You could let me fuck you so I can forget about zis conversation," Christophe said listlessly. The cigarette helped a bit, especially since it wasn't one of the disgustingass pink Gaga sticks for once. "I don't know eizzer. I want you to feel ze way I do and I also definitely do not, since if you were gone, I would go insane. And I don't want ze same thing to 'appen to you if I were to die. So I do not know. It is complicated and it should not be. Zis is fucking bullshit." That was utterly, absolutely not happening tonight, and Gregory shook his head slightly. "No. Although I'd like one of those too, if you don't mind," he muttered, jamming one elbow against his knee and running his hand through his hair again. Christophe wordlessly handed over a cigarette and lighter, and then rested his head in Gregory's lap. "I'm sorry, princesse," he said dully, "I just feel completely fucking useless. I can't figure zis shit out, and I can't 'elp you, and I can't get you 'ome, and I can't work, and I can't even be 'ow you want. I fucking 'ate it." "If you were utterly worthless, do you honestly think I'd care about you this much?" Handing back the lighter, Gregory took a long, grateful drag from his cigarette before gripping it between his teeth. Leaning abruptly backward, he allowed gravity to carry him down to the mattress with a quiet "whump," his head hitting the pillow before reaching up to dig his fingers into Christophe's shoulder as he jerked him down as well. "For the record though, you're doing as good a job with this as any of us here. Better, really." "Mmph," Christophe whined, sliding up to rest his head in the crook of Gregory's shoulder. "I just should do more. I 'ate not 'aving a damn plan." He smoked his cigarette down in silence for a few moments, not speaking so he could enjoy the feeling of Gregory pressed against him. "And thank god you give a damn now because I do not know 'ow I would 'ave managed ozzerwise. So merci. For not thinking I am a complete idiot moron all ze time." "Simply most of the time," Gregory muttered back, still frowning up at the ceiling as he smoked his cigarette down in silence. Groping about with his left hand, he fumbled slightly until he managed to locate the other boy's wrist. Shifting about, he looped their fingers together, the calloused pad of one finger running in small circles over Christophe's knuckles as they laid side by side on the bed. Gregory's fingers tracing over his skin felt nice, and Christophe sighed contentedly, feeling a bit more relaxed. He stubbed out the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray, and rolled closer to Gregory. "I've always been and idiot around you, dumbass. You bring out ze worst in me. And ze best, hah. And I can't 'elp it because I love you so much zat I cannot even think. Just. So you know. I know zat it doesn't matter to you." He flushed red, and rolled onto his stomach to hide his face, but still clutched at Gregory's hand, determined to not let go. Flicking his own cigarette into the ash tray, Gregory sighed and curled closer around the other boy, sighing quietly as he tightened his grip. "I love you too, you goddamn idiot," he mouthed, pressing the side of his face against the mess of wild, jagged hair beside him.

#relaxguy #miniplot: Beiberfest #3rd long #Log #incitedtoriot #letaupetueur #submission

[3rd Short Log] Craig and Kyle

Summary: Craig and Kyle chat about random stuff on the walk back to the hotel after their night out at the Piano Bar.

Takes Place: Late; August 1, 2012, part of Miniplot V: Beiberfest

#relaxguy #miniplot: Beiberfest #log #3rd long #enrichmentcenter #redheadnerdgasm #submission

[3rd long] Stan and Josh

Summary: In which two fellas are both exhausted tools and bicker over paranoia, the guard, and Josh's current use of the bathtub as his personal bachelor pad.

Takes place: Saturday, July 20th

Stan followed Josh's gaze as he twitched up slightly toward one of the more...not. Hidden cameras. Albeit Stan was also quite sure there was enough cameras circling the room for a decent TV show to take off, he rolled his eyes slightly to the side, looking tired, but generally complying regardless. Giving Josh a bit of a "look," while the other seemed to try and communicate silently with him on perhaps the importance of him not openly asking these things. "Right. Of course..." And only just biting back a sarcastic comment that would ruin the last statement quite nicely. He instead bit on a pressed smile, in return for Josh's, glancing down at the toilet paper as the other shoved it into his hands. And all at once, catching the writing while the other left him apparently to do his business, in reality leaving the boy to pinch his nose again with a slight wince. This was not going to end well. For anyone. He guessed he should feel lucky Josh was keeping him in on it at all. Even bringing it up to him to begin with, whether or not perfectly recorded by everything around them, should probably be considered some kind of small miracle or blessing or something on trust or...something. Either way he sighed as he tossed the toilet paper behind him, unzipping his pants after reaching the toilet. Just to catch sight of the scene to the right of him. Off to the side, where the shower usually was along a typical drain on the ground, lay a full fledged mattress of toilet paper, a fort maybe, and a decorative design of toilet paper against the wall that neatly wrote the word "crap" in a cursive flare. Along side that was a bit of artwork along the wall and, fly open, Stan could only just stare in disbelief. "J....Josh?" He called, distantly, eyes still set on the work in front of him. "Uh...Josh." A quick zip up of his pants and he was moving to re-open the shut door, "Josh--please....tell me I'm not right in thinking that you're thinking....Josh---you are not moving into the bathroom."