"And that brings you up to speed! Any questions?" Henderson leaned back, hands spread wide in a full ta-da, grinning like he’d nailed a presentation.
"This entire conversation would be a lot better," Eddie said into the hand squishing his mouth up, "If that thing wasn't rolling around in a dog bed behind you."
Where Harrington had even found a dog bed that large was baffling, and that was before one ran through the other questions plaguing Eddie. Like how it drank water with that fucking flower plant head, or why it smelled faintly of dollar store bubble bath.
Henderson sighed, full-bodied and dramatic. "I see we're still stuck on Dart."
Eddie’s glare was immediate and merciless.
"No I wanted to talk about the weather--of course I'm still fucking stuck on it! What does it even eat!?"
Did it shit? If it did, was it housebroken? How did Harrington housebreak it? Did he take it on fucking walkies??
The thing was like seven feet tall on it's hind legs, how the hell had no one seen it yet!?!
"I taught him how to play dead." Harrington interrupted, talking in the same tone he once used to get girls to watch him do keg stands. "Wanna see?"
The worst part?
The worst fucking part?
Of course Eddie wanted to see!
"Is he as dramatic as you are, Mercutio?" Eddie asked, referencing the one and only time Steve had been involved in the mess Hawkins High called it's theater department.
Steve grinned at him.
"Better."
(Given the sheer amount of fake blood Harrington and Hagan had doused the stage with. Eddie seriously doubted that.)
Steve stood, slapping one, meaty ('delicious looking, thick, amazing--dammit, hold it together Munson!') outer thigh.
"Here boy!" He called, his horrorshow rose to all fours, ambling over to him. "Ready..."
He raised a hand in imitation of a gun, the closed, bulbous head on the monster swinging to track it.
"Bang!" Steve yelled, hand bobbing like a toy gun gone rogue.
After a very long pause, in which Eddie wondered briefly if this entire thing was some sort of prank or--divine punishment-- the giant monster crouched on all fours wibbling slightly, before it fully fell sideways, crashing to the floor with a thump.
They all stared at it for a moment, until Steve loudly praised;
"Good boy!"
--and the monster rose back up, ass wiggling in happy mimicry of a dog's tail.
"We've been working on speak, too." Harrington added, as Henderson started making noises about how "There was more important things to talk about guys" at the same time Lucas said; "Show Eddie the speak trick!"
Harrington of course, focused on the latter.
"Dart-- Speak!" Steve bent over, firm ass jiggling a mere foot away Eddie's face. "Come on, speak!"
“Woof." Eddie muttered and-- oh, god, Henderson’s horrified look confirmed he'd spoken aloud.
Whoops!
“Bark.” And it fucking said the word, like some kind of fucked up parrot, each syllable jagged and crunchy.
"Good boy!" Steve practically purred, going over to proudly pet his monster.
The entire show should not have turned him on and yet, because life hated him, Eddie had to quietly adjusted his pants, before his head back in his hands.
(He was so fucked.)
