Flip it Four Ways - Green
Flip it Four Ways - Part Two
Even to a native Texan the heat here was oppressive. The air was approaching something like liquid, slick and thick. This wasn't even Harley's land yet (Heat and Frogs, he guessed. Once Harley got there anyway) and it was already living up to its name of Hellmurder Island.
Gog damn. He loosened his tie before giving the fuck up and changing out of Four Aces Suited and into his old red T-shirt.
Or he tried to, anyway. Halfway through he was interrupted by a loud SHOOOOOSH!
“How HIGH do you even have to BE to wear pajamas like that!?”
“Oh my god you're asleep,” he said, immediately berating himself for stating the painfully obvious. How high do you even have to be to somehow speak in fucking Comic Sans? How was that even possible?
He didn't quite have time to actually contemplate that question before Davebot was attempting to strafe him. With lasers.
“Harley you dumpass STOP SHOOTING,” he shouted, whipping out the rocket board and hopping on. “And your pajamas are AT LEAST as retarded as mine.”
He headed for the tower and prayed to the god he didn't believe in that the devilbeast was somehow not actually paying attention or sleeping or something, because he really didn't want to get killed by his retarded alternate self.
“SHOOOOSH! Hey BRO watch out for the STAIRS!”
Huh. Actually, that was a good idea. He shot up the tower, nearly vertical and staying on the board only through sheer will, his alternate self's robot in hot pursuit. He whipped out Caldescratch and dove through the window, breaking it in the process.
Dave Harley's room was covered in posters of various European techno-pop bands, as well as a whole lot of Squiddles and Squiddle puppets. Robot parts were strewn everywhere. If anything, this one was even weirder than Dave Egbert.
The robot, meanwhile, was stuck in the window, unable to figure out how to actually fit through.
“Pap... pap... god DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN!”
And there was Harley on the bed, fast asleep. Strider deftly navigated the squiddle-and-robot piles, then stopped short.
The goddamn devilbeast was sitting right at the foot of the bed.
He considered time travel, but that would probably end in yet more dead Daves. Not a good plan. How the hell did you distract an omnipotent devilbeast?
He almost screamed when one hand fell on his shoulder and another clamped across his mouth.
“We really got to get more used to this,” future him said.
“... yeah, jegus. Maybe it would help if you … nevermind, it's going to happen anyway,” he said to himself. “What's the plan?”
Future him pulled out an irradiated steak and a green rocket board - apparently Dave Harley's. “Finished the conversation you're about to have and am about to abscond the fuck out of this universe. In the meantime, pooch here apparently can't resist delicious radioactive cow, so I'mma create a steak ruse.”
“A distaction. Fucking ace.”
“In the meantime, you scratch forward about, oh, a minute. It'll be done by the time you're back.”
He was already spinning up the disks.
A minute later, Devilbeast was gone, and so was future him. He turned back to Dave Harley.
“Right.
He slapped himself in the face. Doof, bitch.
“NAK!” shouted Harley as he flailed and fell out of bed. “Dude, what the hell - oh. Woah! You're actually here! Damn yo, took you long enough!”
He stood up, dusted himself off, and stuck out his hand for Strider. “Dave Harley! Nice to meet you, Dave Strider!”
Strider stared at the hand like it was the beak of the chief Horrorterror.
“... you knew I was coming?”
“Haha, of course! I've been totally stoked for this!”
“... how?” The impression he'd gotten from talking to Dave Egbert was that their title was always Knight, which meant that this Dave couldn't be a Seer. Unless...
“Lol, wut?” Harley said - actually pronounced 'lol' and 'wut' - “Duh, the Squiddles giggled to me that you were coming a while back! They were all like dude, this DAVE is coming and he's gonna be like ROSE, like, the raddest coolkid. And I asked Rose too and she was like,Yes I saw it in the future using my SEER of TIME powers and he's going to be like me and not like you. And you are totally cool! I asked if I could come see you later and the squiddles said no, which is totally weird because I know later I'm gonna go see the creepy me and prankster me and coolkid Jade and that there's a universe where coolkid Jade and me are in the same place but I can't see you for some reaso-”
“Wait, slow down. How the hell can you jump timelines? You're a Space player, right, not Time, you can't jump dimensions,” said Strider, backing up a little in response to both the sudden torrent of words and the idea of referring to the whispers of the Horrorterrors as 'Squiddle giggles'.
Harley tilted his head and blinked a few times. He then took Strider's hands and pulled him back over, forcing him to have to make a conscious effort not to jerk away. He then smiled serenely. “Time and Space, Dave. Same thing. You'll figure it out eventually. Purple Rose will make you learn.”
Strider very slowly took his hands away from Harley, who kept giving him that serene smile.
“That makes about as much sense as a sunglasses wearing dog in a jester hat,” said Strider.
“Yes... yes, it does, doesn't it?” said Harley, his gaze distant.
“... dude, are you fucking asleep again? Earth to Harley, come in Harley, this is Houston calling Hellmurder Island which is now apparently on the goddamn purple grape soda moon,” he said, waving his hands in front of Harley's face. “Jegus, that's it. Space players are fucking space cadets.”
He snapped his fingers next to Harley's left ear, and the green-eyed boy's eyes suddenly refocused.
“Woah, dude, did I do that falling asleep while talking to you thing again? Shit! Dude, so sorry about that. Man, I've probably left a totally bad impression!” he said. “Shit, where was I? OH YEAH! I think that Bec is probably hungry and I'd better tell him that you're OK so he doesn't laser you to death, and do you want some ice cream because I LOVE ice cream and wait no hold up you're going to do the time thingy because I'm talking too much right?”
Harley looked around. Strider was nowhere to be seen, having already scratched elsewhere. Looked like someone had been messing with his steak irradiator though. Funky.
“Hey Bec!” he shouted cheerfully, prancing down the stairs. “Man where's my rocket board? I wanted to go surfing! Whatever BEC let's go SWIMMING boy!”
Minutes in the past to Harley and minutes in the future for Strider, he retrieved the purple record and began to spin a dark jungle beat that blended into a rock/electronica hybrid, a darker tune... and began to descend.
Even to a native Texan the heat here was oppressive. The air was approaching something like liquid, slick and thick. This wasn't even Harley's land yet (Heat and Frogs, he guessed. Once Harley got there anyway) and it was already living up to its name of Hellmurder Island.
Gog damn. He loosened his tie before giving the fuck up and changing out of Four Aces Suited and into his old red T-shirt.
Or he tried to, anyway. Halfway through he was interrupted by a loud SHOOOOOSH!
“How HIGH do you even have to BE to wear pajamas like that!?”
“Oh my god you're asleep,” he said, immediately berating himself for stating the painfully obvious. How high do you even have to be to somehow speak in fucking Comic Sans? How was that even possible?
He didn't quite have time to actually contemplate that question before Davebot was attempting to strafe him. With lasers.
“Harley you dumpass STOP SHOOTING,” he shouted, whipping out the rocket board and hopping on. “And your pajamas are AT LEAST as retarded as mine.”
He headed for the tower and prayed to the god he didn't believe in that the devilbeast was somehow not actually paying attention or sleeping or something, because he really didn't want to get killed by his retarded alternate self.
“SHOOOOSH! Hey BRO watch out for the STAIRS!”
Huh. Actually, that was a good idea. He shot up the tower, nearly vertical and staying on the board only through sheer will, his alternate self's robot in hot pursuit. He whipped out Caldescratch and dove through the window, breaking it in the process.
Dave Harley's room was covered in posters of various European techno-pop bands, as well as a whole lot of Squiddles and Squiddle puppets. Robot parts were strewn everywhere. If anything, this one was even weirder than Dave Egbert.
The robot, meanwhile, was stuck in the window, unable to figure out how to actually fit through.
“Pap... pap... god DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN!”
And there was Harley on the bed, fast asleep. Strider deftly navigated the squiddle-and-robot piles, then stopped short.
The goddamn devilbeast was sitting right at the foot of the bed.
He considered time travel, but that would probably end in yet more dead Daves. Not a good plan. How the hell did you distract an omnipotent devilbeast?
He almost screamed when one hand fell on his shoulder and another clamped across his mouth.
“We really got to get more used to this,” future him said.
“... yeah, jegus. Maybe it would help if you … nevermind, it's going to happen anyway,” he said to himself. “What's the plan?”
Future him pulled out an irradiated steak and a green rocket board - apparently Dave Harley's. “Finished the conversation you're about to have and am about to abscond the fuck out of this universe. In the meantime, pooch here apparently can't resist delicious radioactive cow, so I'mma create a steak ruse.”
“A distaction. Fucking ace.”
“In the meantime, you scratch forward about, oh, a minute. It'll be done by the time you're back.”
He was already spinning up the disks.
A minute later, Devilbeast was gone, and so was future him. He turned back to Dave Harley.
“Right.
He slapped himself in the face. Doof, bitch.
“NAK!” shouted Harley as he flailed and fell out of bed. “Dude, what the hell - oh. Woah! You're actually here! Damn yo, took you long enough!”
He stood up, dusted himself off, and stuck out his hand for Strider. “Dave Harley! Nice to meet you, Dave Strider!”
Strider stared at the hand like it was the beak of the chief Horrorterror.
“... you knew I was coming?”
“Haha, of course! I've been totally stoked for this!”
“... how?” The impression he'd gotten from talking to Dave Egbert was that their title was always Knight, which meant that this Dave couldn't be a Seer. Unless...
“Lol, wut?” Harley said - actually pronounced 'lol' and 'wut' - “Duh, the Squiddles giggled to me that you were coming a while back! They were all like dude, this DAVE is coming and he's gonna be like ROSE, like, the raddest coolkid. And I asked Rose too and she was like,Yes I saw it in the future using my SEER of TIME powers and he's going to be like me and not like you. And you are totally cool! I asked if I could come see you later and the squiddles said no, which is totally weird because I know later I'm gonna go see the creepy me and prankster me and coolkid Jade and that there's a universe where coolkid Jade and me are in the same place but I can't see you for some reaso-”
“Wait, slow down. How the hell can you jump timelines? You're a Space player, right, not Time, you can't jump dimensions,” said Strider, backing up a little in response to both the sudden torrent of words and the idea of referring to the whispers of the Horrorterrors as 'Squiddle giggles'.
Harley tilted his head and blinked a few times. He then took Strider's hands and pulled him back over, forcing him to have to make a conscious effort not to jerk away. He then smiled serenely. “Time and Space, Dave. Same thing. You'll figure it out eventually. Purple Rose will make you learn.”
Strider very slowly took his hands away from Harley, who kept giving him that serene smile.
“That makes about as much sense as a sunglasses wearing dog in a jester hat,” said Strider.
“Yes... yes, it does, doesn't it?” said Harley, his gaze distant.
“... dude, are you fucking asleep again? Earth to Harley, come in Harley, this is Houston calling Hellmurder Island which is now apparently on the goddamn purple grape soda moon,” he said, waving his hands in front of Harley's face. “Jegus, that's it. Space players are fucking space cadets.”
He snapped his fingers next to Harley's left ear, and the green-eyed boy's eyes suddenly refocused.
“Woah, dude, did I do that falling asleep while talking to you thing again? Shit! Dude, so sorry about that. Man, I've probably left a totally bad impression!” he said. “Shit, where was I? OH YEAH! I think that Bec is probably hungry and I'd better tell him that you're OK so he doesn't laser you to death, and do you want some ice cream because I LOVE ice cream and wait no hold up you're going to do the time thingy because I'm talking too much right?”
Harley looked around. Strider was nowhere to be seen, having already scratched elsewhere. Looked like someone had been messing with his steak irradiator though. Funky.
“Hey Bec!” he shouted cheerfully, prancing down the stairs. “Man where's my rocket board? I wanted to go surfing! Whatever BEC let's go SWIMMING boy!”
Minutes in the past to Harley and minutes in the future for Strider, he retrieved the purple record and began to spin a dark jungle beat that blended into a rock/electronica hybrid, a darker tune... and began to descend.