parodeity | subnautica ic inbox 2.0;

Huh. [ he did not think to point out the bedsheets, but makes a face. damn.

also if dirk ever wanders over to the computer dave actually names his folders unlike some people. ]

Yeah, maybe. We're kinda swamped with other shit, so it's not a huge rush; I do have a perfectly serviceable camera.

Something when we get out of this amazing combo of terrible months.

[Dirk does glance at the computer.]

Also our browsers being our Denizens. Nice naming patterns as always.

[Dirk may not name his folders but he loves how Dave names things, so.]

[ dave is liable to forget about the darkroom thing by then BUT MAYBE SOMEDAY ]

I think the browser thing was a rule across the board.

[ because. paradox space. ]

For, like, whatever inane reason. I guess because foreshadowing? Not that our lives are narratives, because that's ridiculous, but because I'm p sure p space likes to just, like, make in-jokes with itself that we all notice years later and go "why the fuck even" because p space is that dude at a party who just ain't that funny. Makes a joke and cracks himself the fuck up, but look around, dude, no one else is laughin' with you.

In other words, Paradox Space is the author of the narratives of our life, and killed off every plot thread that didn't fit the story it was trying to tell.

[Is what Dave appears to be saying. He gently puts the pictures back and then checks out Dave's mixing equipment? He glanced at the closet, specifically the aj, but doesn't try to go over to it.]

[ thanks for leaving the closet alone dirk no one needs to go into dave's closet where he like. stashes his food and drink and other shit. why was his life this way. the mixing equipment is all well cared for, CORDS ASIDE. ]

I'm not sure about that. Some of the dead-end plot threads kinda stuck around permanently.

I didn't say Paradox Space was a good author. I was referring to the dead timelines.

[Or, those times Paradox Space clearly wrote itself into a very stupid corner.]

These kinds of cords are a fire hazard. Which didn't stop being a thing that was true in your tower.

[Differences between Bro and Dirk: DIRK WANTS DAVE TO HAVE NEAT WIRES INSTEAD OF DEATH TRAPS]

Oh, I guess?

[ an unconcerned glance around. he literally. has never worried about fire hazards? HE HAD TO FIGURE OUT LAUNDRY and lived for a good chunk of time assuming all appliances were just meant to have weaponry. he clearly never was schooled on fire hazards. ]

I never really thought about it.

I did. [For some reason? Seriously why is Dirk so much better about like, SAFETY! than Bro, we may never know. And that's a dude who likes to get himself decapitated.]

It's also better for your equipment.

Yeah, I know you did, you kept all my electronic shit organized at the base.

[ OR RATHER, DIRK...INSTALLED ALL OF IT...AND DAVE NEVER FUCKED IT UP? so he hid his sins for this long. ]

Because of your weird OCD thing.

It isn't a weird OCD thing. It is wanting to treat your equipment well, and not die in an electrical fire.

If I were ever gonna die it wasn't gonna be in a fire.

[ A SHRUG. ]

Any more room-related questions?

Your stuff could.

[He stops, takes one last look around.]

It's bizarre we both use cinder blocks as a key component in our furnishings. [He has come to think this is really weird.]

I think with that I'm done. Thank you for showing me.

I never used to think it was weird. Bro wasn't really an Ikea guy - but. Sure.

[ to showing him. dave's still standing near his closet, arms crossed. ]

Do you...want the feelings that came with livin' here, or are you good?

[There's a pause, because that's never something Dirk expected Dave to offer.

Breathe in, breathe out.]

If you trust me with them.

[Yes, he wants those feelings. But those feelings are important. They matter. And Dave shouldn't have to give them to someone he doesn't trust.]

Yours helped me understand better.

[ understand dirk, or his view of their situation, or both. ]

I...would like you to understand. [ a frown. ] If you want. It's a lot.

[ he echoes dirk's warning, shifting uncomfortably. ]

I want to understand too. I'll do it.

[He knows it will be a lot. He is sure it is more than anyone should have to bear. But he wants to understand Dave, so he waits.]

Okay.

[ ...

...

.................. ]

Can you unimagine Squarewave first, though.

[ HE CAN'T THINK SERIOUS THOUGHTS WITH SQUAREWAVE ASKING FOR RAP BATTLES AND CALLING THEM STUPID NAMES, I AM SO SORRY DIRK ]

[And there goes the tension. RIGHT. SQUAREWAVE. STILL THERE. BEING SUCH A GODDAMN DOG.]

I. Let me try that.

[Dirk tries to focus? He tries very hard. Squarewave is there, rapping; then it's Sawtooth, rapping much better; it switches fast to Brobot—and Dirk manages to get rid of it. It's always easier killing a splinter.]

Sorry about that, dude. He's always been pretty much an overenthusiastic puppy.

[Which Dirk finds charming, but.]

[ LOOK...look. he liked squarewave but he cannot do this will the guy is talking about D-STRIZZLE and DAVE-DIGGITY in the background. he is willing to have serious conversations in terrible christmas sweaters but they have to draw a line somewhere, maybe, and squarewave is maybe the line in the sand???

he sighs. ]

Thanks. And, uh, no, it's fine, he was pretty cool. Just kind of. Distracting? [ he does not ask about brobot because he does not think he needs to know right now. ]

Um. Ready?

That is pretty much his number one skill. [Like. His number one skill definitely isn't rapping there.

Dirk nods.]

Ready.

[Whenever Dave can do it.]

Right.

[ he'd tapdanced out of the way of "if you trust me" because it's still something he's on uncertain ground with. some things he trusts dirk with; some he's still uneasy about. but maybe wanting not to be misunderstood should count for something, also. and he doesn't think dirk could ever have described what he'd simply shown dave. not well enough.

dave's pretty sure every description he's ever given was unequal to simply showing dirk a memory of bro. but he'd been so very careful to keep all his feelings out because they were never something anyone else should have to feel.

there's absolutely a few false starts that are mostly a blast of nerves and tangled thoughts before dave forces himself to breath in and out.

just let it go.

your name is dave strider and you are never alone - maybe. when you were much younger your bro was around more often but usually he's a violent robotic entity you rarely manage to see because you just aren't fast enough or strong enough or good enough. if bro isn't there - sometimes he leaves, you think, but you're never sure - then cal is. cal moves, too. sometimes you don't think it's bro moving him, but you're never sure. in these rooms there's always a presence that sets your nerves on edge, always at the corner of your eyes or just in the back of your mind. there's always a trap or a fight or a test. you don't live alone but you never know where the other person is, and he never speaks to you except once in a blue moon or through notes and weird riddles and games you have never been able to comprehend, and he never touches you unless you're fighting. he barely touches you even then, because it's always a puppet or a sword or a kick with a shoe or one of his inane fighting styles that you can't even keep track of.

you can never calm down but you can pretend you can. you tell yourself a million lies every day about what happens and why and how, and you share those lies with your friends or tell them nothing at all. the truth is, you're just not good enough. you're too small too weak too stupid and you aren't worthy of bro's attention or love and you can't earn it no matter how hard you try because you never measure up. you're terrified he'll leave you alone or decide - finally - that you're not even worth trying to train, even though sometimes you wish that would happen and then hate yourself for it. you're terrified your friends will leave you when they realize what bro has always known: you're nothing at all. bro's a hero, and you never will be; you're less of a person than even the puppet cabal, and you have nothing to offer anyone except jokes and a million words to cover up every truth that's ever looked your way. sometimes you can disconnect and not think about anything at all but stupid comics and photographs and whatever else comes you way, and those times are the best times; they are only overshadowed by talking to your friends, safely hidden hundreds of miles away and behind your jokes and text so you can play pretend that your bro is your biggest fan. you pretend you do not spend your days and nights sneaking around your own home trying not to invite anything worse than what is already coming. you're fast, but you're never fast enough. you can never predict how your days will go, and you can never outrun them. absconding is never an option; stalling sometimes is.

you want someone to care about you, but you can't ever let them know you. you want to reach out to your friends, and you do, but you never reach out all the way. you aren't sure if you want them to take your hand or not, because you link touch with pain but worse than that you don't want to feel them letting go when they figure out who you actually are. you are not worth their time or love and you know it but you're too selfish to tell them that. you want to be anywhere else, all the time, but you know there is nowhere else to go. you want to be alone, you want bro and cal to sleep or something and let you be, but it never happens. none of this matters, because you do not deserve to want anything when you don't even deserve the life you have and the training your bro tries to give you. ]

[Dirk knew it would be a lot, but Dirk was ready. He closes his eyes and he feels it sink into him, lets all the muggy air fill up his lungs. Just as it was for Dave, some of it is strange and some of it is familiar, and some fits just right, the heart of it, wanting and not deserving, wanting and having no right to want. Their apartments are alternate universe mirrors with their lives, and it isn't so simple as that—they are not just each other reflected back. But while Dirk suffocates on hot air, he understands better the things that he didn't ever live, and those he did.

Like someone else's sweater, yes. Like someone else's furnishings in the apartment you grew up in. Ben Stiller is in the same spot, but the furniture is rearranged and different horrors cover the floors.

He has said so many stupid things lately that he doesn't want to try to say anything. He has pushed Dave so hard lately that he doesn't want to make a move. But he remembers how scared he felt showing Dave all of that. He needs to do something or say something.

He doesn't know what to do or say.]

We need to actually remember to go get lunch after this. And not... not? I'm not at all hungry right now but it's still a thing that we need to eventually make happen. Maybe it should be dinner instead? We could, maybe, do something stupid until we can do that.

[It's a little helpless and it's very very stupid. He just knows that he still wants to be with his brother and spend time with him and help him every single day of forever.]

[ at least dirk is just about as bad at knowing what to say as dave is, because he doesn't even know what he wants or expects to hear. nothing, really? there has never been anything that really helps a lot, although rose called it what it was and dirk had once told him he wasn't cool but it didn't matter. it's scary and weird and somehow a twisted relief to know someone else knows, even if he doesn't know how to talk about any of it still. not in a way that ever makes sense.

a different topic is good. ]

Probably. I had, like, an apple at some point. I think.

[ eating would be good?

dave bites his lip. he understands at least one thing, but he isn't sure what to do with the understanding. it's all too possible that he won't be understood or he'll break something - again. it would be safer not to say a word. he could make some sort of comment about what he wants to eat (nothing, but ice cream sounds like a fine random option to annoy dirk or amuse him) and let it lie. or he can try to say something and maybe break it. it's like stepping out into freefall without flight, and dave really doesn't like doing that when it comes to the people he loves.

still.

he opts to at least try, this time. ]

But can we do somethin' not stupid first?

[So more food. Dirk is thinking about that while Dave is thinking about talking and Dirk registers the nervousness but he thinks it's the same thing, the after effect. Only when Dave speaks does Dirk refocus, and it's the same attention it has been since they first met, really: open, interested, wanting to listen. Caring.]

Sure. What do you have in mind?

Can we please finish that list? Both sides. You do so have a trigger, and it's a pointless list if it's just my shit and not yours, or if it's not...the things that we absolutely can't handle or need to work on. Both sides.

[ he uncrosses his arms, but doesn't really know what to do with them, so just ends up rubbing at the pants of his slacks nervously. ]

We did it first 'cause you were worried about settin' me off and breakin' shit and needed rules. And we added clauses about what to work on because I didn't want everythin' off the table full stop. I want a column with your name on it for the same reasons you wanted one for me. Clauses included.

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