Chapter Text
His phone explodes into life -- an impressive seventeen text messages in a grand total of three and a half minutes. He would be typing up an annoyed response about how that is borderline obsessive, or deliberately ignoring it all in an attempt to not enable her attention seeking at its worst, if he was aware of any of it in the first place. As it is, his phone is on silent as a relic from his recent trip to the movies, and his eyes are neither turned in the right direction nor perceptive enough to notice the way the inside of his pocket seems to glow for a second with each message that lights up the lock screen.
He slumps down onto the couch. “Ugh, I’m bored.”
“I feel you,” says Todd, holding a paintbrush.
BoJack’s eyes widen. “Oh, God. Why are you holding a paintbrush?”
Todd holds up his hands defensively. In the process, he flicks a little bit of blue paint onto BoJack’s fur. “Okay, I know usually, if I’m holding a paintbrush, that would imply that I’ve been dragged into some sort of wacky sitcom-style scheme, which is not only invariably going to lead you into some bizarre situation but in this case will also involve some level of vandalism of your house.” After a pause in which BoJack gives him a look that could kill a lion, he adds, “And this time is no exception.”
“Oh my God.” He smacks himself in the forehead. “What are you doing?”
“I’m helping Herb,” he says defensively.
“Herb asked you for help?!” chokes BoJack, audibly offended.
“No, but he explained an oddly specific problem he was having, and I offered an equally nonsensical solution.”
“Oh my God,” says BoJack again. He stands up, but his attempts to storm out of the living room are impeded by the large bucket of paint in the middle of the floor, and he comes dangerously close to knocking it over when he bangs his knee on the stupid thing. He walks around it, rather grumpily, and enters the kitchen. “Herb?”
“Yeah?”
“What did you need help with, why did you let Todd help instead of me, and how the hell is he going to help you by painting everything blue?”
“What are you -- oh.” He waves a hand dismissively. “It was just, it was more of a practical thing, and I thought Todd’s schemes would work, as they often do. I’m allowed to ask our roommate, who has been living with us for almost five years after he crashed here after a Halloween party, for help.”
“I mean, yeah, but -- but you’d think your husband would hear about the problem? Since we’ve been together for decades in this universe, as you know?”
Herb frowns. “Why are you specifying that we’re talking about this universe?”
“Ah, shit. I’m still in the habit from Todd’s multiverse-related schemes last week.” He groans. “Anyway, what was the problem in the first place?”
Herb grimaces. “Oh, well, I didn’t want to stress you out, you know? It’s really nothing. It’s just, there’s several nonbinary isopods, and none of them --”
“Several nonbinary isopods?!?!” chokes BoJack in disbelief. “In 2014, which is the year that it currently is?!”
“Yeah, well, you see --”
“You know what? I don’t even want to know.” He groans, smacking himself in the forehead. “You guys can do whatever you want with your blue paint and your nonbinary isopods, just as long as I don’t somehow end up getting dragged into it against my will.”
“Oh, I can assure you, you almost definitely will somehow end up getting dragged into it against your will. You know how these things are.” He checks his phone and frowns. “Have you gotten any messages from Sarah Lynn? She told me to tell you to check your phone.”
“Uh, not that I know of, but … oh.” He looks at his phone screen. “Yeah, she’s sent me, um, a lot.”
“Like, a creepy amount?”
“Not quite. But it borders on creepy.” He unlocks his phone to read the messages in their entirety. “Yeah, um, they’re all telling me to watch the news.”
“And she told me to tell you to check your phone, rather than just to tell you to watch the news?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Ugh, whatever. Let’s just go watch.”
He’s already fully aware of the large paint bucket placed rather inconveniently in the middle of the living room floor, and so he walks around it with ease; BoJack forgot it was there while he was out of the room and gives himself another bruise, not to mention coming dangerously close to spilling paint onto the carpet. Herb spends a moment flipping through the channels to get to the news while BoJack comically hops to the couch.
“Again,” says A Ryan Seacrest Type. “For those just tuning in, famous actress and pop star Sarah Lynn has vehemently declared her hatred of the military, completely unnecessarily.”
BoJack slams his head into the coffee table.
“Oh my God,” Herb manages to get out.
BoJack removes his face from the coffee table. “You leave her alone,” he begins. “For ten minutes…”
“I didn’t realise we were even leaving her alone! I thought she had a boyfriend who would keep her out of trouble.” His eyes widen. “Oh shit, did they break up?”
“Don’t think so. You know Sarah Lynn. If she had a breakup, we’d know about it.”
Todd raises an eyebrow. “I thought she hated her boyfriend?”
“Yeah, she came over to rant about how much of an evil dickhad bastard he was the last time he left the toilet seat up. That was just a bad day, though. Usually, she loves him. In fact, she borderline idolizes him.”
“Borderline?” scoffs Herb. “She fully idolizes him.”
“Yeah,” snarks BoJack. “That too.”
On the screen, Sarah Lynn clears her throat and grabs the mike. “So, basically, this dumb seal guy is really pissed because I ‘stole’ his muffins. Apparently he had ‘dibs’ on them. And at first, I was like, no, I’m sorry and respectful and shit, but now, it’s like, what the hell? I do hate you.”
BoJack groans. “You know what this sounds like?”
Herb raises an eyebrow. “An utterly ridiculous situation, that only Sarah Lynn could have both the wealth and fame and the sheer balls necessary to get herself into, and everyone, especially her, would be better off if she lacked all of that?”
He shakes his head. “It sounds like the sort of ridiculous bullshit I would do. You know, if I was still doing ridiculous bullshit like that.”
“But you’re not.” He places a hand on BoJack’s shoulder. “That, that ridiculous person, that’s not you anymore. You committed to getting sober in the 90s, and you’ve been to rehab three times, and you’ve been going to therapy for the last decade. You’re not like that anymore.”
“I know. But I was. I dunno, it’s just something I thought of.”
Todd frowns. “Well, now I want muffins.”
“Me too,” says BoJack.
Herb stands up. “You know what?” He grins. “Let’s go to that store, and buy muffins, without causing a huge drama, and then, we’ll come home and eat them, assured in the knowledge that this will all blow over in no time.”
His wide eyes stare at the screen. “That did not blow over in no time.”
A Ryan Seacrest Type continues to narrate the story. “Again, for those just tuning in, Sarah Lynn has now written a hit single about her hatred for the military. Neal McBeal, the navy seal who inspired her to come out with these views, has fired back with his first ever attempt at music, an absolutely horrific single in a little-explored genre known colloquially as ‘operatic country rap’.”
“What,” begins BoJack. “The hell,” he continues. “Is ‘operatic country rap’?!”
“I dunno, but Sarah Lynn clearly has some pretty strong feelings about it,” says Diane. She gestures toward the screen, where Sarah Lynn is going on a long rant, containing several slurs, about how awful the song is.
“I don’t blame her,” says Herb. “It sounds like a shit genre.”
Todd, standing on Herb’s shoulders to smear a large vertical line in blue paint down the wall, raises an eyebrow at Diane. “What are you doing here, anyway, Diane?”
BoJack stares at him. “Uh, hanging out with us? Since we’re friends?”
“Yeah, I know, but,” He gestures vaguely. “It’s not like she’s ghostwriting your biography, or anything like that, in this universe.”
“Does she need a reason?” asks Herb. “I just met her through some boring creative writing thing in L.A., and then after we became friends I introduced her to BJ, and now we’re all friends.”
Diane stares at Todd. “I feel like a better question is, why are you two painting a large blue line on the wall?”
“Uh, I dunno. Why does anybody do anything?” He attempts to shrug, but Todd’s presence on his shoulders makes that difficult.
“Yeah, but, it’s not like she’s ghostwriting your biography or anything, in this universe.”
“Do I have to be?” asks Diane, somewhat defensively. “I’m just friends with Herb because I met him at some creative writing thing in L.A., and then he introduced me to BoJack because we were friends. And wait, why are you specifying that we’re talking about this universe?”
BoJack groans. “Todd, your multiverse-related hijinks were meant to end two weeks ago! I don’t want to hear about them anymore. And why are you painting on our walls?”
Herb attempts to shrug, but Todd’s weight on his shoulders makes that rather difficult. “I dunno, why does anybody do anything?”
“Why does anybody do anything?! Herb, you’re making our house look like a bootleg autism monument.”
Diane cringes. “The colour blue has nothing to do with autism.”
“That shade, though. It looks like the Autism Speaks logo.”
“Autism Speaks is a hate group that silences autistic people!”
“Well, it does a shitty job. Autistic people never shut up.” Everybody stares at him in blunt disbelief. “What? It’s true! They are notorious for never shutting up.”
Herb grimaces. “Okay, BJ, I think that joke might have crossed a line.”
“It did not cross a line! There is a very clear line between hilarious and offensive jokes, and that joke is resting firmly on that line.” He turns his attention back to the screen and his eyes widen. “Oh, dear God.”
On the screen, Sarah Lynn has stopped saying slurs, and now has a new attack plan against Neal McBeal.
“Everybody tune in to the news at five o’clock this Saturday to watch my epic rap battle against this dumb army guy.”
“It’s real,” confirms Neal. “Here’s the deal: You don’t steal a meal from Neal McBeal the Navy Seal.”
“Save the rhymes for Saturday,” says A Ryan Seacrest Type.
BoJack smacks himself in the forehead. “I can’t believe she’s doing this.”
“Really?” asks Herb, struggling greatly to keep his balance as Todd adds a shorter diagonal line branching downwards to the left from the top of the vertical one. “I can.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I can.” He frowns. “So, wait, is the rap battle at five AM or PM on Saturday?”
Contrary to their expectations, it’s not five PM, and the important news stories that need to be reported on first thing in the morning are pushed aside in favour of a sleep-deprived pop star yelling at a seal in rhyme format. BoJack and Herb are both asleep while it plays, and don’t realise their mistake until Sarah Lynn calls them to demand their opinions.
“You didn’t even watch it?!” she chokes, while they both sort of stare at the phone in blunt shock. “Ugh, it doesn’t matter. There’s a rerun at noon. I’ll come watch it with you! You’ll love it.”
There’s no possible way they can protest against this, so, she comes over at noon. With Andrew Garfield.
“What the hell is he doing here?” hisses Herb.
Sarah Lynn glares. “He’s my boyfriend,” she snaps, clearing aside some pillows for him on the couch, and waiting for him to sit down before she sprawls herself across the cushions in a way that leaves no room at all for BoJack and Herb.
“If he’s your boyfriend then where was he at five in the morning when you were in a rap battle with Neal McBeal?”
“I was backstage,” Andrew responds through gritted teeth. “Trying desperately to convince everyone there I don’t know her.”
“For once I don’t blame you,” says BoJack. He leans against a wall that has the number 3 scrawled on it in large blue paint, with the other three walls in the room also being numbered. He’s not sure how this relates to the nonbinary isopods and at this point he’s not sure he wants to. Todd leans against the wall with a 2 painted on it, while Herb opts for the first wall, and the rerun starts to play.
“I’m Neal, McBeal, the navy seal, now this is real, let me give you the deal, sorry for going on a spiel but I gotta feel, I feel the way I feel and how I feel isn’t ideal, so now I’m asking for repeal, stealin’ a meal from Neal McBeal, how can this be real? Stand and fight it, burning rage I’m gonna ignite it, the teal --”
“Oh my God,” says Herb, shoving his hands over his ears. “I’ve heard Pokemon raps better than this.”
“The Pokemon raps were pretty good,” says Todd defensively.
“He’s just a shitty rapper,” says Sarah Lynn lazily. “My part’s the good part.”
“When does your part start?” asks BoJack.
“Uh, after he finishes talking about how he needs healed and wants to reinvent the wheel.”
“Geez,” snarks Todd. “Sounds like someone’s going on a spiel.” His eyes widen. “Oh my God, that rhymed! I’m a poet, and I’m not even aware of it.”
“Nice one,” deadpans Andrew. “Well, I’ve already seen this a million times, so, I might go back to the car, and if I’m very lucky none of you will ever come out and I’ll never have to deal with you again.” He stands up and exits. BoJack smacks himself in the forehead.
“Why are you still dating him?!” hisses Herb.
He likes to think it’s something of a sign of improvement that, instead of leaping to his defense, Sarah Lynn at least has the decency to grimace sheepishly and make a so-so gesture. “Well, I mean, I do like him…”
“You’re aromantic,” deadpans BoJack.
Todd suddenly has to leave the room to do some important kitchen things in the kitchen. Sarah Lynn blushes. “That doesn’t mean I can’t date!”
“I know, but, are you sure it’s healthy to act like a scared puppy circling around the feet of any guy that’ll take you, as a substitute for actually dealing with your shit?” He groans. “Besides, he’s kind of hinting that he wants to end things.”
Sarah Lynn’s eyes widen. For just a moment, the look on her face is pure fear, pure deer in the headlights. She quickly regains her composure. “Pfft, as if.”
“He is,” presses Herb. “He’s openly talking about how much he dislikes you. And I’m worried that you’re going to do something stupid when he does dump you.”
“Me? Do something stupid?” She sounds offended, but the arm she waves dismissively is covered in thin red lines. “As if.”
Herb groans, pushing back against the first wall as he begins to pace around the room. “You know, remember how the last time you came over, there was this cat here? Who I hired to stand next to me without heels to make me feel taller, and she gave you some advice?”
She strains her mind to remember, and frowns. “The advice was ‘get your shit together’.”
“Yeah, that advice. Have you put any more thought into that?”
She frowns for a moment, considering this, and then sits up. “Here’s the thing,” she begins, in the voice of one who is thinking of an excuse. “I have too many problems to get my shit together.”
He stops mid-pace, in the corner between the third and fourth walls, and throws up his hands in frustration. “Then fix the problems!”
“Ugh, I don’t want to.” She groans. “You know what? Sometimes I just wish we lived in a world that had, just, like, a shred of positivity. You know, where people actually get better instead of self-sabotaging for no reason, and it feels like we’re making progress instead of barely managing to not fly off the deep end at any given moment.” She sighs. “I want that world.”
Herb leans on the fourth wall. “Then go to rehab! Go to rehab, 90s style, because in this universe, the same bullshit happens fifty times over and nobody has a goddamn clue why.”
BoJack frowns. “Uh, what?”
“I dunno, Todd’s schemes from two weeks ago rubbed off on me.” He removes himself from the fourth wall. “Anyway, the point is -- we’re worried about you, Sarah Lynn.”
“Really?” she asks, frowning. “I’m not worried about me.”
“You’re completely incapable of caring about yourself enough to worry,” deadpans BoJack. “Which is more worrying, by the way, so please listen to us. Soon, Andrew Garfield is going to dump you, and you’re going to do something stupid.”
“Ugh, you guys worry too much!” She giggles. It sounds incredibly forced, to the point of almost being creepy. “Andrew Garfield is not going to dump me. We’ll be together forever.”
“I highly doubt that,” snarks Herb.
“And, even if we do break up -- which I’m pretty sure we won’t -- I will not do something stupid. I promise!” She emphasizes the promise by holding out her pinkie finger, which is connected to a forearm covered in scars. BoJack hesitantly gives her a pinkie promise.
“Nothing stupid?” he confirms, giving her an expectant look.
She nods in a way that seems almost genuine. “Not one stupid thing.”
And, she’s telling the truth. If Andrew Garfield dumps her, she will not do one stupid thing. Multiple stupid things, on the other hand, she might very well do.