Chapter Text
[ 10 AM ]
[ On a Monday ]
[ Philadelphia, PA ]
The door to Paddy’s Pub creaks open, as a haggard Sweet Dee walks through, carrying a purse in one hand and her laptop in another. The sounds of another one of the gang’s arguments carry on unperturbed in the background, while she puts her belongings on the countertop and serves herself a beer.
Frank: that’s bananas, there’s no *way* you could do that to a man in under ten seconds.
Mac: What? You totally can. I’ve *done* it pal. I *saw* the dudes eyes roll back into his skull, it only took a couple precise jabs to his weak points to completely disable him
Frank: now that is some *bull* shit right there.
Charlie: i’mmm a bit confused here... you mentioned something about a “carrot artillery”, and I just want to know where that fits into the picture
Mac and Frank stare at Charlie absently, while Charlie, for his part, looks completely assured in the sanctity of his question.
Dee: Whats going on?
Dennis: Nothing of note, clearly.
The camera pans over to Dennis, who is sitting at a table separate from the rest of the gang reading from a book.
Dennis: Mac started another preposterous argument about a feat that most certainly isn’t possible, let alone successfully attempted by himself, and while it’s unusual for me to let these ridiculous fantasies slide, I’m simply letting it happen, meanwhile feasting on the works of some of the finest minds the world has known.
Frank: "finest minds", youre readin some old hat about an armadillo.
Dennis: It’s *Cask* of- really Frank? One of the most famous pieces of literature of *all* time.
Frank shrugs, jutting out his bottom limp in a gesture of almost puerile indifference.
Frank: its that pretentious yuppie crap they teach in college, all the same to me.
Dennis sighs.
Dennis: And by the way Charlie, it’s the Carotid Artery, most certainly not some legume based weaponry.
Mac: See! I told you it was a real th-
Dee firmly smacks her hand down on the countertop of the bar, wild eyed and evidently incensed.
Dee: So *none* of you noticed I’ve been gone for *two* days?
The rest of the gang turn to look at Dee, their gazes piercing and inquisitive.
Dennis: Oh my *god* Dee, you look like shit.
Mac: I wasn’t going to say anything because I don’t enjoy looking at, or really *thinking* about her appearance, but you’re right, she does look like hot trash
Dee tips her head back slightly and sighs.
Dee: Fine, fine okay, I didnt sleep last night so maybe I *feel* like hot trash too, but its because of the same reason I was gone for two days.
The gang give a variation of placidly ingenuous looks of realisation.
Frank: huh... you were gone?
Charlie: to be honest, i-i didn’t...
Mac: I didnt really notice
Dennis: Or particularly care, to be honest. And before you open your big, quite frankly cavernous mouth to tell us why, which I know you’re going to do regardless of any of our wishes, know that it’s almost certain none of us will actually care.
Dee stares in blank silence, before opening the laptop on the countertop and typing in it for a couple of seconds. She smiles, perhaps a little wickedly, for she has a feeling, a precognition that the contents will yet again send the rest of the gang into agony over something that really doesn’t matter. Like a witch casting a hex, she handles the operating with both firmness and flair, turning the laptop round to face the gang as soon as she’s done.
Dee: Let me tell you assholes about Homestuck.