Work Text:
Greg Hoffman really isn't the type to care too much about anything.
Some might call him chill, others aloof.
According to his boss, however, he is just plain lazy.
"Hoffman! Wake up!"
Greg's eyes flutter open--he's listlessly standing at the gas station counter, just as he was the moment he had started resting. The few customers browsing the store shelves are not paying him any mind, however, so he probably could have continued had he not been interrupted.
Not that he really cares.
The boss slams the counter, yet Greg doesn't even flinch.
"I am sick of your indolence! You never pay attention, customers are hesitant to approach you because of your demeanor, and you just plainly do not participate in this business as you were hired to do."
They pause, daring Greg to interrupt--but as expected, he doesn't.
"You know, Hoffman...I am this--" --they hold two fingers barely a millimeter apart-- "--close to showing you to the door. But...despite your current behavior, I really don't want to do that. So please, Hoffman." Their expression is still angry, but their eyes are softer. "Shape up. For me. For us."
...
They walk away without another word.
This should be something he cares about...after all, how will he pay off his van? How will he pursue his dream of traveling the world and selling art and music?
But...it's kind of hard for him to do more than shrug.
...
A few more tedious minutes pass by...then the bell above the door rings, signaling a customer entering.
Greg sighs and looks up to see one of the few people he knows at least slightly well--wearing a scowl, a short boy with fluffy hair in a specific color nobody can exactly define (orange? pink? red? peach? copper? strawberry-blonde? rust? salmon?) flounces into the station.
Kennith's first action is normal for him--he sits himself on the counter, ignoring (or perhaps not noticing) the stares other customers are giving him.
...
But today...his usual animated chatter has been replaced by a chilling silence.
...
Greg Hoffman really isn't the type to care too much about anything.
For example, when Kennith had shown him (and Kennith's best friend Stephanie) a strange television contraption he called "Colorbars," which had the power to hypnotize viewers, he had merely responded with, "Far out, dude."
Or when, as it happened over the last few days, Kennith had made him well-aware that he and Stephanie were "completely done with" because she "didn't understand or care about him at all" and he was "better off without her anyway." Greg took it that they had gotten into a disagreement--but that although Kennith was clearly still salty about it, it wasn't something he was going to put much input towards. It wasn't his fish to fry.
But despite his indifferent nature...Greg can't help but be a little concerned over Kennith's uncommunicativeness.
"Um...something on your mind?"
"What's it to you?" the 18-year-old snaps, curling his legs up in a fetal-like position.
"I dunno...you just seem kind of...distant today."
Kennith opens his mouth, then shuts it.
...
After some time (during which Greg tends to a customer), Kennith turns closer to Greg and mutters, "You know those Colorbars I showed you?"
The gas station attendant nods, vaguely remembering the dizzy feeling he had experienced when he had looked at the television.
"Well...there's this new student--Evelynn--that I've kind of been hanging out with ever since Steph--" He halts, then sighs. "I mean, whatever. Anyway...I showed them the Colorbars, and they were pretty interested. And..." Kennith side-eyes a nearby customer, and they back off. "...Evelynn suggested a use for them. I...I could get revenge against those who hurt me."
The boy's brown eyes become narrow and steely--Greg has a few guesses as to who he's thinking of.
"The assholes at school. My parents--no, my whole damn family! The entire state! The whole country! And..." His breaths are short and stark. "...her."
*Ring!* As if on cue, a tall blonde female enters; upon seeing Kennith, she appears surprised and backs up.
...
...
"Why--?!"
"Hoffman!"
Greg tries to face both the voices' sources, and ends on his boss.
"Get that young man off the counter, and quit the chit-chat." They give their worker a disappointed frown.
...
"Maybe not..." Greg murmurs to Kennith, who raises an eyebrow.
"What?"
The gas station attendant breathes in deeply, preparing to say possibly one of the longest speeches of his entire lifetime.
"They sound like they give off bad vibes, man. Dunno if I would trust them. And maybe getting revenge isn't the route to go."
A whole three sentences.
"What other route do I have?!" Kennith gripes as Stephanie draws slowly but gradually nearer. "And why would I choose any other route?
"Cuz...cuz I think you would regret it. Even though it seems like a good idea right now since you're mad...I think you still do care about her deep inside. You still care...just like I do."
...
Noticing his friend's former best friend approaching, Greg beckons her over silently.
"And...I think there's...something else you can do, that might actually be pretty cool. Both of you."
The blonde's hesitancy melts into curiosity as she stands behind Kennith, who seems doubtful about whatever Greg is talking about.
"Like what? You cannot tell me there's literally anything cooler than mass-controlling the nation."
"But there is. You could--"
He stops.
Here's a great opportunity to kill two birds with one stone(r).
"Wait. Before I tell you, you two gotta make up."
Greg starts signing to someone behind Kennith, and the latter turns around...then falls off the counter with a shriek.
"HOW'D YOU GET SO CLOSE--"
...
With a nervous smile, Stephanie waves down at him.
The short teenager glares daggers at her, fiercely signing, No. I am not going to forgive you.
"Kennith..." Greg groans. "Even you know you want to."
Kennith looks at Greg, then back at Stephanie, then back to Greg, then back to Stephanie, then back to Greg, then back to Stephanie, then--
Please, Kennith... The blonde gives her former best friend big, pleady, please-let's-be-friends-again-or-I'm-gonna-cry blue eyes. Please. I can get you help with your problem. I found a therapist who I've been told is really great--I've even heard they persuaded a stubborn old woman to get help just through one phone session. So please...let's not let this issue tear us apart.
She offers him her hand...
...
...
...and after a very dramatic Fineeeeeeeeeee, Kennith takes it.
Greg smiles his barely-noticeable smile. Good. Now...
§
The COLORBARS flash brightly from the back of the empty gas station.
"Ready yet, Kennith?"
"Almost...getting there..." The small teenager hits a button, waits...then laughs triumphantly. "GOT IT! Should be ready to broadcast to everyone!"
Stephanie claps her hands as Greg gives the thumbs-up.
"All right. Places!"
Dressed in the gas station company uniforms (with Kennith's cut into a crop top and short for "obvious fashion purposes"), the three stand before the camera.
"Going live in three...two...one..."
*Beep!*
"Hello, fuckers of the United States of America!" Kennith greets ever-so-politely. "I am your host, the Kennith Simmons...and welcome to GREG'S GAS STATION!"
Stephanie rapidly sighs a much kinder introduction, and dramatically gestures to the contents of the store.
"We have, uhhhhhh--" The boy seizes a two-liter orange soda bottle and shakes it. "Soda!"
*PFFFFFFTTTT!* The beverage sprays out, narrowly missing Greg.
This store holds a wide array of snacks, drinks, utilities, and anything else you may need!" the blonde signs joyfully, then picks up a pickle jar for demonstration--it shatters onto the floor as Greg bumps into Stephanie.
Oops...
"And most importantly," Kennith announces, "we have GREG HIMSELF!"
The attendant merely waves at the camera.
After making a bit more of a mess (accidentally, of course), the three stand on either side of the Colorbars television.
"But the only thing missing from here..." Kennith pauses as Stephanie signs the same sentence. "...is YOU!"
The short boy counts down from three on his fingers...
"COME TO GREG'S. COME TO GREG'S. COME TO GREG'S. COME TO GREG'S."
Greg and Kennith chant the phrase like they are in a ritual, while Stephanie signs along.
After repeating it ad nauseam, Kennith concludes, "Get here right now, some way, somehow! BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE!"
A few quiet seconds pass...
...then the trio are trampled by a huge flood of hundreds, thousands of people running through the doors.
Kennith struggles to escape from the mob and reaches out aimlessly--a hand takes his, lifting him out of the crowd.
You look surprised, Stephanie signs, looking rather in shock at the abundance of people herself.
I just...didn't really expect it to work...? I mean, I did...but... He stops mid-sentence, remembering something...
With a mischievous grin, the small teenager runs before the camera.
"Hey, Evelynn, if you're watching this..."
He holds up two middle fingers.
"FUUUUUUUUUUCK YOUUUUUUUUUU!"
As Kennith dashes away with wild laughter, the blonde signs to Greg (who the mob is trying to crowd-surf), Your boss will be so proud of you for bringing in so many customers!
Greg tries to smile in her direction, but it's a little difficult with the crowd turning him every which way. Nevertheless, Stephanie knows he's...happy.
He cares.
...
...
...
Greg Hoffman really isn't the type to care too much about anything...but when he does, sometimes he forgets that there are other things to care about, such as laws.
For example, hijacking a national television broadcast to advertise one's workplace, no matter how "dope," is very much illegal.
...
...
*WEE-WOO WEE-WOO*
As he finally frees himself from the mass, Greg hears the sound of sirens.
Stephanie hesitantly taps his shoulder...and he looks towards the flashing red and blue lights where she is pointing.
...
...
"Oh shit."