Work Text:
Chapter 1
Tales From Moomin Valley.
That was the name of the green book that Sal had found, split open on the floor in the hallway, pages down. On the inside of the cover written in neat handwriting was the name Travis Phelps , the notoriously homophobic Christian closet case that hated his guts. Or, at least, he did hate Sal’s guts. It started to change after Sal found Travis crying in the bathroom a few months ago.
Sal wanted to think of the conversation they had then as the beginning of something that would hopefully turn into friendship, especially because he knew that Travis had been friends with Larry and Ashley before he went off the religious deep-end, but that didn’t seem to happen—even after deliberately extending an invite to hang out. Several times.
After their encounter, Travis was no longer deliberately antagonistic, but that was kind of because he was avoiding Sal and his group, pretty deliberately it seemed. Whenever Sal talked to him, he was pretty cold and antsy, like he wanted to get out of the conversation as fast as possible. Sal kept offering to hang out in the case that Travis thought the initial one had an expiry date, but he always had some reason, some excuse, some stove he left on, some video tapes he had to return.
Sal didn’t want to take no for an answer from someone he knew didn’t have any friends, who came to school with new bruises every week, but all the same, one can only lead a horse to water.
The others were pretty confused as to why Travis had stopped bullying them out of nowhere, but he promised Travis that he wouldn’t say anything, and the last thing he wanted to do was break Travis’ trust like that while he was actively trying to befriend him. Sal prided himself on being a man or woman of his word, so he didn’t mind letting his friends have room to wonder about it. Maybe they’ll find out one day, when all of them are hanging out together some time.
The ring of the bell, the rush of papers, footsteps of students stumbling out of class, chatters and screams filling the halls as students get excited for the last few weeks of school—these were the sounds that suddenly brought Sal back to the present.
Right, he was doing something, wasn’t he? He looked back at the book in his hand, Travis’ book, and with a stubborn glint in his eye, he saw it for what it represented in his mind: an opportunity.
Fantasies of the kinds of conversations they could have about this book, about the other kinds of books Travis might like, sharing the overlaps in their interests, and vague ideas of Travis finally agreeing to hang out with him all filled his mind with fervor.
Sal had never heard of Moomin Valley before, but he recognized the book from the kind of circulating collection that Travis seemed to keep with him. It seemed like he always kept with him something new to read, along with something he’d already read before, and this book definitely fit into the second category.
Couldn’t hurt to take a little peek inside.
The worn paper-back cover was adorned with the white webbing of deteriorating parchment, especially along the spine. Some pages were slightly torn at the edges, remnants of old dog-eared corners bent upwards. The aged paper was soft, as it tended to be in old books. Some of the old ink had smudged and diminished over time, and there were little faded pencil doodles of some of the characters left in the margins.
A white creature with a large snout, two little ears atop his head, and what looked like a cow’s tail; evidently the titular Moomintroll, according to a note. A little girl with a ponytail that stood straight up, a big nose, and a sour expression, called Little My (Little My what?). A guy with a pointy hat and a poncho, with a pipe in his mouth, named Snuffkin. There was also a little girl who seemed to be invisible, save for her red dress and the red bow on her head, and her name was Ninny. Sal didn’t know what was up with these names, but Snuffkin looked pretty cool.
When Sal popped the book open to the first chapter, he found that it was exactly what it said on the cover; a collection of short stories about the characters of the Moomin Valley. It probably belonged to a series of some kind, if Sal had to guess. Based on the language and the illustrations throughout, it seemed like it was mostly aimed at kids, but he couldn’t judge, so was Ricko’s Modish Wife.
Reading has never been Sal’s strong suit since the incident. It was a weird condition that sometimes came after brain damage, similar to dyslexia, except you got it instead of being born with it. Because of this, most of the books Sal read had many letters he’d bolded himself with pen to make things stand out more, and he usually read with a ruler to keep track of what line he was on. Still, he found himself reading paragraphs over and over, having to think harder than he felt like he should to understand metaphors, and struggled to figure out the themes of stories if they weren’t spelled out for the reader.
Even with the big font and the kid-friendly language, was probably out of the question right now. Not to mention he was afraid of damaging it. The book wasn’t exactly fragile, but it was still pretty old, probably held sentimental value. Travis already gives him enough shit on the day-to-day, he couldn’t imagine what it might be like if he’d damaged something personal, even by accident.
Todd always said that it was a skill he’d have to build up, but having to work harder than everyone else to do things most eighteen-year-olds should be able to do was still pretty frustrating. But he tried not to think about it too hard, because when he thought about it too hard, he started getting a little too upset to be in public, and he couldn’t be doing that right now, because he was in public.
It was nearly the end of the day. The two classes Sal shared with Travis were already over, so he figured he’d just give it back at the end of the day if he couldn’t find him in the halls in between—which he probably wouldn’t, because Travis has basically made avoiding him and his friends into some kind of sport lately. The only time he’d for sure be able to catch Travis was when he was at his locker, so he held onto that guarantee instead.
When the last class was over and the bell had rung, Sal ran over to Travis’s locker, a bit of a ways down from his own.
He spotted the blond standing right where he should be, digging through his backpack and looking frustrated. Sal guessed he was probably looking for the book he’d lost, so now was as good a time as ever to return it.
“Hey, you dropped this.” Sal said, holding the book up, startling Travis into nearly dropping his bag.
“What do you wa- hey! Where’d you find that?” Travis snatched the book from Sal and glared, but Sal didn’t take it to heart. “Oh, I found it on the ground in the hall earlier. Had your name on the inside of the cover. What’s a Moomin exactly?” Sal tilted his head to the side.
Travis side-eyed Sal suspiciously as he put the book into his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “He’s just a guy. Why?” He asked, but Sal just shrugged. “I’ve just never heard of him before.” Travis’ expression was blank now, the ire from earlier dissipating into that stiff blandness Sal had grown used to from him.
“Probably because it’s a Swedish book series. It’s not super popular in America.” Travis shut his locker.
Sal tilted his head to the side a bit. “How’d you get into it, then?” Sal asked.
“Found an English copy in a used book store when I was a kid.” Sal knew that Travis was giving curt answers on purpose, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him.
This is it, Sal thought. The thing that’ll finally get Travis to be friends with me for real.
“Is it good? What’s it about?” Sal leaned his head against the lockers.
It wasn’t lost on Sal the way Travis’ eyes brightened a bit when he asked that question, but what was initially lost on him was the way that they dimmed again just seconds afterwards as he looked at something behind Sal.
“Everything good here?” Larry’s voice was tense as he threw a hand onto Sal’s shoulder, startling his best friend.
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Travis said to Larry blandly, before he looked back down to Sal. “It’s good. You should read it.” He said, locking his locker and shooting Larry another look Sal didn’t understand before walking away.
“What was that about?” Larry asked when Travis was out of earshot.
“That was me about to make some serious progress before you showed up, asshole.” Sal punched Larry in the shoulder, but of course he didn’t flinch. Sal couldn’t punch very hard.
“Oh, come on, this again?” Larry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “I really don’t think he wants to be friends with you, dude.”
“He so does, I can feel it. He wants to be friends with me so bad it makes him look stupid.” Sal punched Larry’s arm with both fists now.
“No, you want to be friends with him so bad it makes you look stupid.” Larry put Sal into a loose head-lock, digging his fist into Sal’s scalp. Sal retaliated by going to stand on Larry’s feet, but considering he was about a hundred pounds soaking wet, it didn’t do much.
“You’re stupid!” Sal ignored Larry’s arms and reached up for his face, grabbing anything he could and smushing.
“Oh, are we attacking Sal again?” Ash’s voice could be heard to the right. She looked incredibly amused.
“Yes.” Larry said simply.
“NO! Ash, don’t listen to him, he’s stupid!” Sal continued smushing Larry’s face, but Larry managed to snag one of Sal’s fingers in his mouth and gently bit down. “Ew! Get that out of there!” Sal screeched.
“I don’t know, dude, I think Larry might actually have less brain damage than you do. I think I might want to listen to him.” Ash shrugged coyly.
“HEY! One little head trauma is nothing compared to years of drinking bongwater!” Sal pulled his finger out of Larry’s mouth and smeared the spit-covered digit it all over Larry’s face. “Oh-ho! Gross, dude!” Larry laughed.
“Says the guy who ate my finger!” Sal jammed his finger into Larry’s cheek.
“I don’t know, Sal, it seems like you’re the evil one here. I think I just have to side with Larry on this one.” Ash grinned, before slowly bending over. Sal began recoiling, knowing what she was about to do.
“You keep your grubby little hands off of my ankles, you she-beast!” He began gently kicking her away as Larry tried to hold him in place.
“If you didn’t want me grabbing your ankles, you shouldn’t have such grabbable ankles!” In one swift move, Ash’s hands darted out and grabbed both of his feet at once, causing Sal to shriek a little bit. Larry shifted his grip from around Sal’s neck to underneath his arms to avoid actually choking him, and they began to carry him toward the school’s exit just like that.
“I hate you guys so much.” Sal said, resigning himself to his fate. “How long do you think you guys can carry me like this?”
“Probably all the way back to Addison’s.” Larry said cheerfully.
Ash moved Sal’s legs to the tops of her shoulders so she didn’t have to walk backwards. “Probably anywhere, you’re not very heavy.”
“This is kind of awesome, honestly. I feel like one of those kings on those big king-holder things. Y’know, the ones that are lifted by their servants or whatever.” Sal said, laughing. “Chop-chop, bitches, off to my castle!” Sal pointed forward somewhat awkwardly.
“Sir, yes, sir!” Ashley saluted.
“Of course, my liege!” Larry huffed.
They both stood up straighter and began carrying Sal out of the school, careful not to drop him on the front stairs.
Outside, Todd greeted them with great confusion. “What the hell are you guys doing?” He asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Is that any way to speak to your king?” Sal didn’t hesitate.
“Hey, no gods, no masters, remember? Pretty sure that includes kings.” Todd crossed his arms.
“Well, what about princesses?” Sal framed his chin with his hands to accentuate the ambivalent expression of his prosthetic face.
Todd appeared to briefly think for a moment, before nodding. “Alright, I can get down with a beautiful princess.”
Sal snorted. “Beautiful is a bit of a stretch.” He said.
“No, your lore is that you’re so beautiful, it’s, uh, dangerous or something.” Ash chimed in, and Sal laughed. “Yeah, I’m so beautiful that I have to wear this enchanted mask or everyone who sees me will cum instantly and not stop.” He replied, and the laugh that ripped itself from Larry’s stomach was so immense he nearly dropped Sal on the concrete. They decided then was a good time to put Sal back on the ground.
“I can be the wizard, or something.” Todd said, waggling his fingers outward. Larry perked up, “Oh, what am I then?” He asked. Sal rubbed his plastic chin with his thumb. “You are my beautiful handmaiden.” Larry and Todd laughed as Sal continued, “And Ash, you can be my evil advisor.”
“Why evil?” She smirked as she looked over her shoulder, but Sal just shrugged. “I dunno, royalty always has evil advisors.” Ash just snorted as she continued walking, turning onto her street and waving goodbye.
When they got back to the apartments, the three went their separate ways.
Sal didn’t have anything else to do for the school year, thank god. He was so glad that he’d never have to go back to that shithole. As much as his Nockfell High days were lightyears better than his middle school years, or even his freshman year back in Jersey, that didn’t mean that it was exactly good. He was glad he would finally be able to put his school years behind him, and focus on the next stage of his life: adulthood.
But first, a nap.
After an oddly intense nap, one where he left the overhead light of his room on and woke up with indents of the folds of his blanket in his face, it was now 7pm, and it smelled like his father had made dinner. He blindly felt around for wherever he’d left his prosthetic on his bed, his eye barely open and unable to see through the mess of his bangs, and he instead came into contact with some mystery wet splotch on his pillow that seemed to line up with the damp corner of his mouth. Gross.
Anyway, Sal wiped his mouth with his sleeve and grabbed his prosthetic from next to his pillow before he stumbled out of his room, looking for his father.
“Hey, can I borrow the computer for a second? I want to look something up.” He asked.
“Uh, yeah, sure, it’s unlocked and everything right now.” His father said, barely looking over his shoulder from the pot of pasta he was lazily stirring. Next to it was another pan, full of meatballs and sauce.
“Sweet, thanks.” Sal ran off to his father’s room to the computer.
Sal sat at the helm of his father’s Packard-Bell something-or-other and loaded up Netscape. Sometimes his dad complained about missing the old ways computers did things, something about no longer needing to type in code to start programs on OSes like Windows95, leading to some kind of epidemic of computer illiteracy or whatever, but to Sal, it was the difference between manual and automatic: the choice was clear. The graphical user-interface was going to be the future, so suck it up, old man.
Tales From Moomin Valley is what he typed into the search bar, and it didn’t take long to get some results. Some in English, some in Swedish, and some poorly translated to English from Swedish.
It was a book, (not that he didn’t know that already), part of a series about the Moomin family, who lived in Moomin Valley . Written by Tove Jansson, a Swedish-Fin woman who—who might’ve been a lesbian according to one article—starting in the fifties, the series had managed to span a range of media formats, from books to comics, to a couple of films, all the way to an animated series made in Japan of all places, that even had some episodes in English. It seemed like it was super popular outside of America, having been translated into dozens of languages, and that most of the English speaking places that were interested in it were in places like the UK.
Huh.
It seemed like a cute little story. Maybe if he could get his hands on the cartoon somewhere, it’d be easier to get into. He’d have to look out for it somewhere.
He found he wouldn’t have to wait very long, though.
After school, Sal and Larry were on their way to Jimmy’s Rent-A-Vid, because today marked the end of some quarter, and that meant Jimmy would be practically giving out tapes that weren’t selling again to make room for new ones with a secret sale. Every tape was two dollars, and you had to know the password to get it. This is mostly because the tapes being sold here were bad, like, extra bad. Not something Jimmy could make money off of, and so he’d sell them for extra cheap for a quick buck to whoever was interested in that sort of thing, and throw the rest away.
The most miraculous videos of all time could be found among the tapes that Jimmy was throwing out, and Sal and his friends often took these tapes, got stoned, and had themselves the worst watch parties of all time.
The fun was in not knowing whether the tape you’d picked up was something good, like some kind of underrated gem of a movie that just didn’t sell very well for whatever reason, something so bad it’s good, something that’s just bad, or the best option: something crazy. Something you would never imagine in your wildest dreams.
Legends of the watch parties included an amateur documentary/instructional video going over the various kinds of slot machines, various training tapes for different fast-food restaurants, and Quebecois chef Pol Martin using microwaves to cook foods in ways mankind wasn’t meant to discover.
The real joys of these nights was found in watching something terrible with your friends.
Larry opened the door for the both of them, letting Sal walk under his arm, and Jimmy greeted them enthusiastically.
“Heya, guys! How’s it goin’?”
Without missing a beat, Sal spoke up. “You know what we’re here for.”
Jimmy’s demeanor changed dramatically. His posture stiffened as he stood up straight, a shoulder pointed toward them. A suspicious glint sat in his eye as he pursed his lips at the two teenagers entering his establishment.
“Password.” He said simply.
Larry rolled his eyes. “Ugh, are you kidding me? How long have we been doing this? Come on, Jimmy.”
“Password.” Jimmy repeated sternly.
Larry looked to Sal, who just shrugged as he walked up to Jimmy and held out his hand. Jimmy pulled out his, and the two of them performed some kind of long and complex handshake that took at least sixty seconds. When it was over, the two of them looked over to Larry expectantly.
Larry rolled his eyes again before walking up to Jimmy and performing the same handshake, albeit a bit worse than Sal had.
Larry was pretty sure Jimmy just did this to fuck with them, or to make the people that came to these things feel stupid, or something like that. Either way, he didn’t care much for it.
“Come with me.” Jimmy said, nodding his head to the back of the store.
“That’s not even a pass word .” Larry grumbled under his breath as they walked.
In the back storage room, Sal and Larry dug through a couple of boxes of tapes Jimmy was going to throw out when he’d spotted it: a blue sleeve, with pink bubble-lettering on it that spelled out Moomin.
The lonesome tape contained two episodes of the adventures of Moomin, with a synopsis of each on the back.
“Oh, that’s that book series Travis likes so much. I didn’t know they made a show.” Larry said, looking at the tape in Sal’s hands.
“Yeah, I was reading about this online the other night. I think it was made in Japan, or something.” He pulled the tape out of the sleeve, and the words BBC Video were printed on the sticker.
“Ah, you’ll need a VCR that does PAL for that one. It’s British.” Jimmy spoke up. No wonder it didn’t sell, nobody had any reason to have a PAL VCR in America. Jimmy must’ve bought it without even thinking.
“Well, is it Japanese or British?” Larry asked.
“Both, it was made in Japan, but shipped almost everywhere. This must be the English dubbing they did for the UK.” Sal replied, getting up from the box. “My dad has a PAL VCR and a converter box ‘cus he likes foreign movies, we could convert this to NTSC pretty easily, so I’ll take it.” He sounded pretty satisfied.
Larry shrugged and kept digging while Sal pulled out his cash and handed Jimmy a couple of dollars for the tape.
On their way back to the apartments, Sal’s mind was already racing.
If he could convert this to NTSC, this would be nothing short of the perfect birthday gift for Travis. If he could get Travis’ birthday at any point, that is. Or maybe he could just give it to Travis just because. Either way, Travis would be so grateful that he’d be tripping over himself to be friends with Sal. Sal could convert any other Moomin tapes Travis comes across, even, just for the low, low price of hanging out with him.
The world could be so beautiful if things would just happen exactly the way Sal planned them. Which they will, because he will make it happen.
“Lotta homework for a guy that doesn’t wanna be friends with you. And he’s an asshole.” Larry huffed.
“Just you wait, Larry. I’m gonna convert this tape, watch it a couple of times, and then I’m gonna give it to Travis, and he’s gonna have no choice but to be my friend. Because, get this,” Sal stopped walking and leaned in. “What if he finds more Moomin tapes? What if he needs them converted? Bam,” he pounded his fist into his palm, “instant friendship.” He began walking again.
“Or, get this,” Larry rolled his eyes as he followed. “His dad could just get a PAL VCR and a converter box.”
Sal scoffed. “No way, his dad thinks computers are the devil or something, they don’t even own one. I think if you tried to get that guy to understand different formats, he’d start trying to exorcise you.”
Larry laughed. “Have you seen the way Travis types in the computer lab? It’s like it’s not even paying attention to the typing games.” Larry mimed poking at the keys on a keyboard one at a time with his index fingers, and Sal snorted.
“I’m sure I could fix that. I’ll show him Doom or something, he’ll get hooked. Trust me.” Sal used his shoulder to push open the old door of the apartment complex.
“Or, you’ll give him nightmares. I’d be happy with giving him nightmares.” Larry walked in first, with Sal trailing behind.
“Okay, nightmares, maybe. We should start small. Jazz Jackrabbit, or something. Everyone likes Jazz Jackrabbit.” Sal pushed the elevator button.
“What even happens when you put a PAL VHS into an NTSC VCR? Is it gonna break something?” Larry asked as they walked into the elevator.
“It’s kind of cool, actually. Completely unwatchable, but cool. I’ll show you.” Sal pushed the button for floor 4.
When they got to Sal’s apartment, Sal darted to his father’s bedroom, where the man could be seen typing something out in some kind of word processor on his computer.
“Hey, dad, where’s the converter box? I got a PAL one this time.” Sal asked.
“Uh, second shelf. The PAL player is right next to it.” He said, without looking up. “You remember how to set it up?”
“Yeah, I do, thanks!” He quickly darted out.
Sal made his way over to the shelf next to the TV, kneeling down and grabbing the converter box, the PAL VCR, and all the assorted cables they’d need to throw everything together.
“Okay, watch this.” Sal said, turning the tube on and inserting the unaltered Moomin tape into his incompatible VCR.
After a few seconds, the screen had burst to life, but not with previews or colorful animations of the Moomin characters. Rather, it had began rapidly flickering, scanning the screen with unreadable black and white stripes. A few seconds later, what sounded like preview audio had began playing, some kind of anti-piracy notice, but it was sped up and at a higher pitch than normal.
Overall, completely unwatchable but kind of cool, just like Sal said.
“Weird.” Larry said as Sal popped the tape back out and began setting the conversion process up.
“I know right? It’s kind of fun watching it try to process a tape that it wasn’t meant to read. It tried real hard, and it’s still so bad.” Sal laughed as he plugged all the cables in. The PAL VCR into the converter box, then the NTSC VCR into the converter box, like a weird little daisy-chain.
Sal stuck the Moomin tape into the PAL player and a blank one into the regular player, hitting record on the second, then play on the first.
After a normal version of the basic previews they’d heard earlier, they were greeted with an episode of Moomin called Moomin Winter. Sal rested his elbow on his knee and put his chin in his palm as he watched the tape inquisitively.
This seemed like it could’ve been the first episode, where the characters find some kind of big, magic hat that transforms things put inside of it. During a game of hide-and-seek, Moomin hides in it and gets transformed into something different, and his friends and family could no longer recognize him.
It was what you would expect of a children’s cartoon. It was simple, cute, brightly colored, and the story itself felt kind of like watching a recreation of a fable of some kind. The oddly-named characters felt familiar, yet distinct from other cartoons he’s watched. It was charming, unique. It was no wonder what Travis was so drawn to it when he was younger, if he’d discovered this as a kid, Sal probably would’ve felt very similarly about it.
But as he watched the tape, Sal couldn’t help but mentally recoil as he was hit with cold waves of childhood. Things like this were astringent reminders of what had been ripped away from him, and they always settled in his chest like ice.
He swallowed his bitterness with a dry mouth and soothed the pit in his stomach with a deep breath in. The profound emptiness in him couldn’t be soothed or changed, but he could choose not to focus on it for right now.
He was thankful when Larry distracted him by talking.
“You know, me and Ash used to be friends with Travis, years ago. Back before, y’know, our parents left and all that.” Larry sat next to the coffee table, head propped up on his fist as he watched the show.
“Yeah, you told me about that.” Sal said, briefly looking back to him. Looks like he wasn’t the only person feeling something about this tape.
“I remember reading some of the Moomin stuff he had. He only had, like, two of the books back then, but I think he got more. One time he had a Moomin-themed birthday party. He fuckin’ loved these guys.” There was something in Larry’s voice and his words that conveyed something deeper, something he didn’t want to say out loud, but Sal could see it in the pensive expression on his face as he watched the tape.
“That’s pretty cool.” Sal said simply.
Larry didn’t need to say it out loud. Sal was intimately familiar with the bitter taste of nostalgia. He knew what it was like to sit at the edge of a bed, panic-vomiting, praying to anything that might listen to please, just make things different, I can’t live this life anymore .
But Sal still smiled underneath his mask. He knew well enough by now that his circumstances were pretty permanent, there wasn’t much he could change about his life at this point. But Larry was helpless, sitting there and waiting, wanting for change he was too scared to enact upon.
Sal couldn’t fix his own life, but he could fix other things, and that was at least half as good.
When the tape was over, Henry was heard from just a few feet away, an inquisitive expression pointed toward Sal.
“Well, that was a cute cartoon. What is it?” He was standing in the doorway of his bedroom, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.
Sal looked up, taking the newly recorded NTSC tape out of the VCR. “It’s called Moomin, it’s based on a Swedish book series my friend likes. Thought I’d give him a tape he could watch, ‘cuz I think these are hard to come by here.” He grabbed a sharpie off of the coffee table and labeled it with the series name and episode titles.
“Ah, I see, well that’s pretty thoughtful of you.” Henry smiled.
“I don’t even know if Travis knows about this cartoon. He doesn’t have a computer and doesn’t really use the internet, and that’s where I found out about it, plus it’s not popular in America at all. It’ll probably be a pretty big surprise.” Sal set the sharpie back down.
“Well you sound pretty satisfied with yourself. Wait,” Henry laughed before abruptly stopping himself as he registered something. “You mean Travis Phelps, that guy who was bullying you? You guys are friends now?”
Sal looked off to the side nervously. “Uh, no? Maybe?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know, it’s hard to tell. But we definitely will be after I give him this tape.” His unsure tone quickly shifted into one of conviction as he made his declaration.
“I really don’t think he wants to be friends with you.” Larry said, raising a brow.
“Oh, what do you know, weed-for-brains? He wants to be friends with me, he just doesn’t know it yet.” Sal crossed his arms defensively.
Henry raised his brows. “Oookay then.” He said. “As long as you know what you’re doing and you’re not, y’know, gonna get yourself beat up again or whatever.” He shrugged and made his way to the kitchen.
“Say whatever you will, Larry, but I have permission from my dad to do whatever I want. Imagine I’m sticking my tongue out at you, or something.” Sal laughed haughtily.
“Oh, where are the sticky notes?” Larry asked, before finding them on the other side of the coffee table. He grabbed the sharpie that Sal used to label the tape and quickly doodled something on the note, before scooting over and sticking it to Sal’s plastic lips.
“That better be a silly little mouth and not something gross.” Sal said, and Larry scoffed. “I would never!” He snorted.
Sal turned his head to look at his reflection in the now blank TV and laughed at the smiling mouth with the tongue sticking out that Larry had stuck to his face. He only had a few seconds to appreciate it before Larry pseudo-tackled him to the ground with the uncapped sharpie in hand, and the beautiful blank canvas of Sal’s plastic face sitting right before him.
“Do not draw dicks on my face!” Yelled Sal, in a futile attempt to stop Larry from drawing dicks on his face. “I can’t help it, dude, I’ve been possessed by the poltergeists of penises passed, and the only way to get rid of them is to draw dicks on your face.” Sal laughed hard as Larry overpowered him like a bobcat to an indoor tabby, adorning his best friend’s face in dicks of many varieties.
“What is all this rucku- what in the hell are you two doing?” Henry walked back in from the kitchen, glass of something in his hand as he saw the two of them entangled on the ground, an exasperated expression crinkling his features. “You’re gonna use condoms, right?” He asked sarcastically.
Larry snorted. “I have nothing but the purest intentions with your son or daughter, Mr. Fisher.” He said, saluting as Sal laughed, his face covered in sharpenises.
Henry shook his head and went into his room quietly. “Just keep it down, the walls are paper thin, you sick little bastards.” He said over his shoulder.
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you. When’s Travis’ birthday?” Sal asked as Larry continued drawing dicks on his face.
“Oh, uh,” Larry knitted his brows, pausing his artistry for a brief moment. “February 10th, I think. That sounds right.”
Sal hummed. “Mm, that’s too long. Maybe I’ll give it to him for his half-birthday in August or something. Are you done drawing dicks on my face yet?”
Larry pursed his lips as he looked at his work and shrugged. “Yeah, good enough for now.” He said, lifting himself up off of Sal, who got up and looked into the shiny screen of the TV and laughed at the number of dicks drawn on his face.
It took approximately seven paper towels covered in hand-sanitizer to remove them all cleanly, but hey, at least Sal’s mask was cleaner than ever.