[ FIC ] Team Building.
Sunday, October 27th, 2013 07:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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mindcrackloveI have to stop doing this thing where I come up with really intricate plots and then abandoning them. With that in mind, I should probably thank Cat for coping with my crippling codependency being my ever-loving and ever-patient editor, kicking my ass when it needed to be kicked and helping me grammar when I could not.
Heh.
I don't want to say much about this. This is a fic about what happens when Vechs takes it upon himself to start a little team building exercise, and not the kind that involves trust falls and singing kumbaya around a campfire.
Well, at least there's fire. And falls. And trust.
His first reaction shouldn’t have been one of surprise.
No, alright, it should have been. When Bdubs wakes up in what is distinctly not his home in something that is distinctly not his enchanted armor, surprise is definitely the emotion that should be painted across his face. Jumping to his feet and banging his head on the low cave ceiling (why is he in a cave?!) is the proper reaction to finding out that he’s ended up somewhere far removed from the relative safety of his house and the spawn village.
Shouting obscenities into darkness about the bastard who took all his freakin’ stuff might have been a little overkill, though; a fact of which Bdubs is immediately reminded of when the words come back to harass him in the form of an echo.
Right. No loud noises, then.
Bdubs runs a hand through his hair, unsure if the wetness he feels is water from the damp stone above him or blood from his own scalp. Either way, it twinges something awful when he touches it. He hisses, pulling the hand from his hair to place it on the nearest wall, body forced to contort at odd angles in the cavern. His eyes peer into inky black until they adjust to form shapes in the darkness: stone walls stretching well beyond his vision, turning sharply to the left and casting shadows on…
Laughter trickles from Bdoubleo’s lips as he strolls up to a chest. He drops down, not caring about how the hard rock makes his knees ache when they hit it with unapologetic abruptness. A small sign covers the front, and with the light of the torch placed a few blocks away he can just barely make out the words.
<3
He discards the scrap of wood without a second thought. The lid creaks open.
A thick coil of rope fills the chest to the brim. He plucks a strand from the bottom, watching it unwind as he pulls the first length out. His face has just enough time to twist into a look of utter bewilderment before the hiss of TNT throws him back into reality -
“Fricker!”
- and onto the floor.
His world is metallic ringing that scrapes against his eardrums and a burning white light. That twinge in his head grows to a full-fledge throb, and if it wasn’t bleeding before it sure is now.
Right. No chests, either.
When his muscles cooperate enough to allow him to stand, Bdoubleo stumbles towards the crater the trap has left behind. From the charred ashes of the chest, he can salvage three arm lengths’ worth of rope. They’ll make a decent bow.
He rolls his shoulder, flinching at how the bones crack back into place. In a way, he’s lucky: he could have easily broken an arm or a leg, and then he’d really be screwed. He’d have no choice but to hobble through the pitch-black caverns until some merciful god sent somebody- or even better, a creeper- to find him. Even with nothing broken, a small part of him still wishes he could die and respawn back in the comfort of his home.
With the ropes in hand, he plucks the torch from the ground to peer deeper into the cave, hoping to catch sight of something that won’t explode or stick him with arrows or eat his flesh.
He’s going to kill whoever’s responsible for this.
Kurt wonders if he’s entered the wrong world when he’s welcomed by a jovial bark.
His confusion is only heightened when he finds himself not in the extended hidey hole, but rather perched in the spindly branches of a swamp tree, one arm hanging freely and occasionally nudged by a wet nose. His body reacts faster than his mind does, waking with a start that nearly sends him toppling into the marsh below. From this position, legs hooked tight around the branch as though his heart will stop beating if he falls, he finds himself staring direction into a familiar pair of heterochromatic eyes.
“Wolfie?” he asks, voice heavy with notes of sleep. The dog stares at him with head cocked to one side, offering another bark as if to say hello.
Kurt smiles. “Hello, Wolfie!”
He peers around, brows narrowed in confusion. Even behind red and blue lenses it’s easy to see that he’s caught in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night: certainly not the greatest idea, especially considering he’s both weaponless and armorless.
“No sense sticking around here, boy. Let’s find somewhere to spend the night.”
The marshland sinks a good inch with the force of Kurt’s contact when he jumps to the ground, a small frown tainting his features. Wolfie jumps up to Kurt’s chest, white paws stained black by the inky mud tracking pawprints all over his clothing. The ground bubbles and hisses possessively, unwilling to release Kurt’s foot when he attempts to move back to catch his balance.
They fall, Kurt’s yelp swallowed by the wet earth.
For a moment, all his world is darkness and the stench of undergrowth. His mouth is open when he plunges under, filling with mud and rot and things he doesn’t even want to begin to think of. It covers his eyes and blinds him with black pain, glasses lost somewhere in the muck. He reaches the surface with a gasp, forcing some of the mud down only to have him cough it back up almost instantly, heaving in what must been a foot of swamp until his lungs ache and stars dance behind his eyes.
The first thing he sheds is his coat, which is heavy even before it’s wet. By turning the sleeves inside out he realizes that there’s enough clean fabric to wipe his face, eventually managing to clear his eyes enough to see a few inches ahead of him.
Wolfie sits, white fur stained black just like Kurt, with tail wagging and tongue lolling.
“Wolfie,” he sighs, the farlander unable bring himself to true anger. Rubbing at his eyes does nothing to restore his vision, as his hands are also covered in mud. His clothing fares no better, now heavy and wet and quickly becoming immovable in the night breeze.
Red and blue eyes stare wide, ears perking at his owner’s curious appearance. It’s impossible to bereave Wolfie when he blinks so innocently, to the point where Kurt begins to wonder vaguely if that isn’t the point. Whatever frustration he holds dissolves in the few seconds he takes to look around and adjust his still stinging eyes his surroundings: a swamp, obviously, and noticeably darker than it should be even in the dead of night. His eyes become accustomed at a painfully slow pace, sending the first few waves of panic deep down Kurt’s spine; in the darkness, it won’t take long for the monsters to spawn. And with him weaponless, he either has to find a place where the ground is stable enough for him to dig a hidey hole, or wait in the trees in hopes that a skeleton won’t try to turn him into some macabre work of modern art.
Slowly, though, his vision clears. And when he can finally see again, he notices a faint light from somewhere beyond the trees, flickering occasionally in the putrid breeze. He perks, moving with measured steps, always testing the ground before he places his full weight upon the sunken earth. What might be twenty feet to the light source feels like twenty miles to Kurt, his heart stuttering whenever he sinks more than a couple of inches.
“Breathe, Kurt,” he mutters, voice taut like piano wire threatening to snap. Wolfie trods along happily beside him, occasionally disappearing beneath the mud and giving Kurt a small heart attack in the process. Each time he re-emerges the farlander feels the flutter of relief in his stomach, though he knows in the future he’s going to hate washing all that mud from his fur.
What he finds is probably the last thing he expected. A torch, a chest, and a sign lay before him, tucked neatly into a grotto where the ground is solid enough to make Kurt want to bend down and kiss it. He plucks the torch from the ground, using it to sweep the area- no mobs, good- and to read the sign.
<3
He hums low, pursed lips and knitted brows both signs of his immediate confusion.
“What do you think, Wolfie?” It’s more to himself than the dog, even if it’s technically directed to Wolfie patrolling the borders of the grotto. He sweeps the torch over the face of the chest, noticing the red tinge of the latch the moment he removes the sign.
His heart sinks. Whatever loot is inside that chest surely isn’t worth being blown to bits for, right? He drums his fingers anxiously on the lid, looking around with frustration caked into the mud that covers his face. His fingers trail slowly along the sides and then the bottom of the chest, where its walls meet the ground. He's already filthy, there's no reason for him to be worried about burrowing into the dirt, so he digs until the bottoms of his fingernails are as black of the rest of him and doesn’t stop until he grasps a redstone wire.
There’s a fatal pause as he pulls on it, waiting for the characteristic hiss of TNT about to explode.
A second passes.
Another.
Wolfie barks, the sound loud enough to make Kurt jump. His laughter is that of both embarrassment and relief: embarrassment at his jumpiness and relief at the fact that, for everything that had gone horribly wrong since he woke up, something had finally gone right.
The chest creaks open, and under the light of his torch Kurt can plainly make out a dozen bones and a leather helm.
Magnificent.
Kurt fits the helm snugly onto his head, tucking the loot into whatever pockets he has available. The coat may be out of commission for the time being, but he’ll be needing it as soon as the sun rises for the extra storage it provides. Hefting the torch and the considerable pile of bones, he now turns his attention to navigating out of the swamp.
“Here, Wolfie!” he calls, tossing one of the bones to the dog. He holds it proudly in his mouth as they walk, tail hitting Kurt’s leg with each step they take. They only pause whenever the clatter of skeleton bones fills the empty air of the swamp, or when a familiar hiss nearly sends both of them two feet skyward and ten feet backwards. Occasionally Kurt picks up a branch that’s solid enough to be fashioned into a torch, or a few pieces of wood to serve as a crafting bench when he finds somewhere to rest his feet.
Eventually he manages to spot a cave through the thick trees of the the swamp. The prospect of ground that won’t threaten to swallow him whole with each step spurs him onward, the idea of a place to set up camp for the night incredibly appealing as his feet sink another two inches. He trudges through the remaining swamp to worship the solid stone that seems to materialize beneath him.
He plants his torch in the entrance, finding a spot where the stone splits enough to wedge it inside. Of the two dozen sticks he’s collected, six are dry enough to be turned into torches, and he places those in a perimeter around the mouth of the cave he now calls home. He pretends to not be alarmed at the sight of a skeleton somewhere deeper in the cave, praying that in his relative silence and distance he won’t disturb it and have to spend the rest of his night fleeing for his life.
He doesn’t have to, because before he can even craft a pick to start building himself a hidey hole, the skeleton is slain. A spark of hope fills him with sudden energy, hands now busily scrambling for a light.
“Hello?” he calls. “Ah, hello! Is anybody there?”
A torch flickers close to where the skeleton dropped, its owner picking up its bow and bones. Kurt squints, eyes still watery from the mud that clings stubbornly to the corners, and vaguely makes out a white shirt and distressed jeans.
“Bdoubleo!” he cries, overjoyed.
The figure perks. “Kurt?”
“Bdubs! Over here!” he waves frantically, Wolfie sensing his excitement and barking happily along with him.
“Kurt, Kurt!” Even with Kurt covered from head to toe in mud, Bdoubleo still manages to look worse. His shirt’s torn and singed, stained brown with dried blood where it looks like he had a nasty bout with a skeleton. The wound is shaped a little too much like an arrow’s head to be written off as anything else. He staggers the last few steps up into the pool of light, finally allowing himself to relax. Evidently whatever Kurt had suffered through, it had been nothing compared to whatever Bdubs had just experienced. He clamps a hand down hard on Kurt’s shoulder, using it to support his weight. “Man, you would not believe what just happened.”
They trade stories under the light of the torches, which inevitably turns into Bdubs running his mouth about things Kurt is pretty sure are blatant lies and the farlander smiling politely.
However, the presence of another body does little to quell his paranoia. Neither man feels secure enough to let their guard down, voices flooded with the tension that shows in the tightness of Bdubs’ arm ready to strike with his crudely fashioned sword and the way Kurt jumps at the suggestion of a scuttle from inside the cave.
It dawns on Kurt that they’ve been speaking for quite some time, but they haven’t seen the first beams of sunlight peak over the horizon. Without speaking, he moves out of the cave’s cover to peer into the sky.
“- I’m tellin’ ya, there were six- six!- creepers, and I went boop beep daboopity beep and-- hey, where ya goin'?!"
The farlander’s mouth opens and closes, as if unwilling to produce the words that his mind wants to speak. His eyes trace the blinking lights of the stars and can’t find a single one of the constellations etched into his mind. Moreover, there’s one very blatantly obvious missing piece of the puzzle, which would explain this night’s unnatural darkness.
“Where’s the moon?”
Bewildered by the question and annoyed at his sudden lack of audience, Bdoubleo follows begrudgingly behind him. In place of the usual sea of rotating stars are a few scattered, stationary points of light. No brilliant white square tracks itself slowly across the sky to mark the passage of time. The sudden realization that he’s far, far more removed from reality than he imagined when he first woke up makes Kurt’s head spin with dizzying clarity.
Wherever they are, it isn’t home.
Heh.
I don't want to say much about this. This is a fic about what happens when Vechs takes it upon himself to start a little team building exercise, and not the kind that involves trust falls and singing kumbaya around a campfire.
Well, at least there's fire. And falls. And trust.
His first reaction shouldn’t have been one of surprise.
No, alright, it should have been. When Bdubs wakes up in what is distinctly not his home in something that is distinctly not his enchanted armor, surprise is definitely the emotion that should be painted across his face. Jumping to his feet and banging his head on the low cave ceiling (why is he in a cave?!) is the proper reaction to finding out that he’s ended up somewhere far removed from the relative safety of his house and the spawn village.
Shouting obscenities into darkness about the bastard who took all his freakin’ stuff might have been a little overkill, though; a fact of which Bdubs is immediately reminded of when the words come back to harass him in the form of an echo.
Right. No loud noises, then.
Bdubs runs a hand through his hair, unsure if the wetness he feels is water from the damp stone above him or blood from his own scalp. Either way, it twinges something awful when he touches it. He hisses, pulling the hand from his hair to place it on the nearest wall, body forced to contort at odd angles in the cavern. His eyes peer into inky black until they adjust to form shapes in the darkness: stone walls stretching well beyond his vision, turning sharply to the left and casting shadows on…
Laughter trickles from Bdoubleo’s lips as he strolls up to a chest. He drops down, not caring about how the hard rock makes his knees ache when they hit it with unapologetic abruptness. A small sign covers the front, and with the light of the torch placed a few blocks away he can just barely make out the words.
<3
He discards the scrap of wood without a second thought. The lid creaks open.
A thick coil of rope fills the chest to the brim. He plucks a strand from the bottom, watching it unwind as he pulls the first length out. His face has just enough time to twist into a look of utter bewilderment before the hiss of TNT throws him back into reality -
“Fricker!”
- and onto the floor.
His world is metallic ringing that scrapes against his eardrums and a burning white light. That twinge in his head grows to a full-fledge throb, and if it wasn’t bleeding before it sure is now.
Right. No chests, either.
When his muscles cooperate enough to allow him to stand, Bdoubleo stumbles towards the crater the trap has left behind. From the charred ashes of the chest, he can salvage three arm lengths’ worth of rope. They’ll make a decent bow.
He rolls his shoulder, flinching at how the bones crack back into place. In a way, he’s lucky: he could have easily broken an arm or a leg, and then he’d really be screwed. He’d have no choice but to hobble through the pitch-black caverns until some merciful god sent somebody- or even better, a creeper- to find him. Even with nothing broken, a small part of him still wishes he could die and respawn back in the comfort of his home.
With the ropes in hand, he plucks the torch from the ground to peer deeper into the cave, hoping to catch sight of something that won’t explode or stick him with arrows or eat his flesh.
He’s going to kill whoever’s responsible for this.
Kurt wonders if he’s entered the wrong world when he’s welcomed by a jovial bark.
His confusion is only heightened when he finds himself not in the extended hidey hole, but rather perched in the spindly branches of a swamp tree, one arm hanging freely and occasionally nudged by a wet nose. His body reacts faster than his mind does, waking with a start that nearly sends him toppling into the marsh below. From this position, legs hooked tight around the branch as though his heart will stop beating if he falls, he finds himself staring direction into a familiar pair of heterochromatic eyes.
“Wolfie?” he asks, voice heavy with notes of sleep. The dog stares at him with head cocked to one side, offering another bark as if to say hello.
Kurt smiles. “Hello, Wolfie!”
He peers around, brows narrowed in confusion. Even behind red and blue lenses it’s easy to see that he’s caught in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night: certainly not the greatest idea, especially considering he’s both weaponless and armorless.
“No sense sticking around here, boy. Let’s find somewhere to spend the night.”
The marshland sinks a good inch with the force of Kurt’s contact when he jumps to the ground, a small frown tainting his features. Wolfie jumps up to Kurt’s chest, white paws stained black by the inky mud tracking pawprints all over his clothing. The ground bubbles and hisses possessively, unwilling to release Kurt’s foot when he attempts to move back to catch his balance.
They fall, Kurt’s yelp swallowed by the wet earth.
For a moment, all his world is darkness and the stench of undergrowth. His mouth is open when he plunges under, filling with mud and rot and things he doesn’t even want to begin to think of. It covers his eyes and blinds him with black pain, glasses lost somewhere in the muck. He reaches the surface with a gasp, forcing some of the mud down only to have him cough it back up almost instantly, heaving in what must been a foot of swamp until his lungs ache and stars dance behind his eyes.
The first thing he sheds is his coat, which is heavy even before it’s wet. By turning the sleeves inside out he realizes that there’s enough clean fabric to wipe his face, eventually managing to clear his eyes enough to see a few inches ahead of him.
Wolfie sits, white fur stained black just like Kurt, with tail wagging and tongue lolling.
“Wolfie,” he sighs, the farlander unable bring himself to true anger. Rubbing at his eyes does nothing to restore his vision, as his hands are also covered in mud. His clothing fares no better, now heavy and wet and quickly becoming immovable in the night breeze.
Red and blue eyes stare wide, ears perking at his owner’s curious appearance. It’s impossible to bereave Wolfie when he blinks so innocently, to the point where Kurt begins to wonder vaguely if that isn’t the point. Whatever frustration he holds dissolves in the few seconds he takes to look around and adjust his still stinging eyes his surroundings: a swamp, obviously, and noticeably darker than it should be even in the dead of night. His eyes become accustomed at a painfully slow pace, sending the first few waves of panic deep down Kurt’s spine; in the darkness, it won’t take long for the monsters to spawn. And with him weaponless, he either has to find a place where the ground is stable enough for him to dig a hidey hole, or wait in the trees in hopes that a skeleton won’t try to turn him into some macabre work of modern art.
Slowly, though, his vision clears. And when he can finally see again, he notices a faint light from somewhere beyond the trees, flickering occasionally in the putrid breeze. He perks, moving with measured steps, always testing the ground before he places his full weight upon the sunken earth. What might be twenty feet to the light source feels like twenty miles to Kurt, his heart stuttering whenever he sinks more than a couple of inches.
“Breathe, Kurt,” he mutters, voice taut like piano wire threatening to snap. Wolfie trods along happily beside him, occasionally disappearing beneath the mud and giving Kurt a small heart attack in the process. Each time he re-emerges the farlander feels the flutter of relief in his stomach, though he knows in the future he’s going to hate washing all that mud from his fur.
What he finds is probably the last thing he expected. A torch, a chest, and a sign lay before him, tucked neatly into a grotto where the ground is solid enough to make Kurt want to bend down and kiss it. He plucks the torch from the ground, using it to sweep the area- no mobs, good- and to read the sign.
<3
He hums low, pursed lips and knitted brows both signs of his immediate confusion.
“What do you think, Wolfie?” It’s more to himself than the dog, even if it’s technically directed to Wolfie patrolling the borders of the grotto. He sweeps the torch over the face of the chest, noticing the red tinge of the latch the moment he removes the sign.
His heart sinks. Whatever loot is inside that chest surely isn’t worth being blown to bits for, right? He drums his fingers anxiously on the lid, looking around with frustration caked into the mud that covers his face. His fingers trail slowly along the sides and then the bottom of the chest, where its walls meet the ground. He's already filthy, there's no reason for him to be worried about burrowing into the dirt, so he digs until the bottoms of his fingernails are as black of the rest of him and doesn’t stop until he grasps a redstone wire.
There’s a fatal pause as he pulls on it, waiting for the characteristic hiss of TNT about to explode.
A second passes.
Another.
Wolfie barks, the sound loud enough to make Kurt jump. His laughter is that of both embarrassment and relief: embarrassment at his jumpiness and relief at the fact that, for everything that had gone horribly wrong since he woke up, something had finally gone right.
The chest creaks open, and under the light of his torch Kurt can plainly make out a dozen bones and a leather helm.
Magnificent.
Kurt fits the helm snugly onto his head, tucking the loot into whatever pockets he has available. The coat may be out of commission for the time being, but he’ll be needing it as soon as the sun rises for the extra storage it provides. Hefting the torch and the considerable pile of bones, he now turns his attention to navigating out of the swamp.
“Here, Wolfie!” he calls, tossing one of the bones to the dog. He holds it proudly in his mouth as they walk, tail hitting Kurt’s leg with each step they take. They only pause whenever the clatter of skeleton bones fills the empty air of the swamp, or when a familiar hiss nearly sends both of them two feet skyward and ten feet backwards. Occasionally Kurt picks up a branch that’s solid enough to be fashioned into a torch, or a few pieces of wood to serve as a crafting bench when he finds somewhere to rest his feet.
Eventually he manages to spot a cave through the thick trees of the the swamp. The prospect of ground that won’t threaten to swallow him whole with each step spurs him onward, the idea of a place to set up camp for the night incredibly appealing as his feet sink another two inches. He trudges through the remaining swamp to worship the solid stone that seems to materialize beneath him.
He plants his torch in the entrance, finding a spot where the stone splits enough to wedge it inside. Of the two dozen sticks he’s collected, six are dry enough to be turned into torches, and he places those in a perimeter around the mouth of the cave he now calls home. He pretends to not be alarmed at the sight of a skeleton somewhere deeper in the cave, praying that in his relative silence and distance he won’t disturb it and have to spend the rest of his night fleeing for his life.
He doesn’t have to, because before he can even craft a pick to start building himself a hidey hole, the skeleton is slain. A spark of hope fills him with sudden energy, hands now busily scrambling for a light.
“Hello?” he calls. “Ah, hello! Is anybody there?”
A torch flickers close to where the skeleton dropped, its owner picking up its bow and bones. Kurt squints, eyes still watery from the mud that clings stubbornly to the corners, and vaguely makes out a white shirt and distressed jeans.
“Bdoubleo!” he cries, overjoyed.
The figure perks. “Kurt?”
“Bdubs! Over here!” he waves frantically, Wolfie sensing his excitement and barking happily along with him.
“Kurt, Kurt!” Even with Kurt covered from head to toe in mud, Bdoubleo still manages to look worse. His shirt’s torn and singed, stained brown with dried blood where it looks like he had a nasty bout with a skeleton. The wound is shaped a little too much like an arrow’s head to be written off as anything else. He staggers the last few steps up into the pool of light, finally allowing himself to relax. Evidently whatever Kurt had suffered through, it had been nothing compared to whatever Bdubs had just experienced. He clamps a hand down hard on Kurt’s shoulder, using it to support his weight. “Man, you would not believe what just happened.”
They trade stories under the light of the torches, which inevitably turns into Bdubs running his mouth about things Kurt is pretty sure are blatant lies and the farlander smiling politely.
However, the presence of another body does little to quell his paranoia. Neither man feels secure enough to let their guard down, voices flooded with the tension that shows in the tightness of Bdubs’ arm ready to strike with his crudely fashioned sword and the way Kurt jumps at the suggestion of a scuttle from inside the cave.
It dawns on Kurt that they’ve been speaking for quite some time, but they haven’t seen the first beams of sunlight peak over the horizon. Without speaking, he moves out of the cave’s cover to peer into the sky.
“- I’m tellin’ ya, there were six- six!- creepers, and I went boop beep daboopity beep and-- hey, where ya goin'?!"
The farlander’s mouth opens and closes, as if unwilling to produce the words that his mind wants to speak. His eyes trace the blinking lights of the stars and can’t find a single one of the constellations etched into his mind. Moreover, there’s one very blatantly obvious missing piece of the puzzle, which would explain this night’s unnatural darkness.
“Where’s the moon?”
Bewildered by the question and annoyed at his sudden lack of audience, Bdoubleo follows begrudgingly behind him. In place of the usual sea of rotating stars are a few scattered, stationary points of light. No brilliant white square tracks itself slowly across the sky to mark the passage of time. The sudden realization that he’s far, far more removed from reality than he imagined when he first woke up makes Kurt’s head spin with dizzying clarity.
Wherever they are, it isn’t home.
no subject
Date: Monday, October 28th, 2013 01:39 am (UTC)Favorite line in the fic. (Chapter?) XD I imagined that in Bdubs voice, I did! XD Yay!
Wanna see where this goes, very badly. <3
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Date: Monday, October 28th, 2013 01:52 am (UTC)Nonetheless, I'm glad you liked it! <3 I have plans, don't you worry your sweet little head.
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Date: Monday, October 28th, 2013 03:16 pm (UTC)I'm so excited XD
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Date: Monday, October 28th, 2013 01:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Monday, October 28th, 2013 01:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Monday, October 28th, 2013 02:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Monday, October 28th, 2013 02:31 am (UTC)At the end I must have somehow read it as, "That's no moon," because I promptly imagined Vechs cackling off in the distance on the Death Star.
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Date: Monday, October 28th, 2013 04:01 am (UTC)I love that line from BDubs. The one Mew mentioned. <3
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Date: Monday, October 28th, 2013 04:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Monday, October 28th, 2013 02:09 pm (UTC)<3
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Date: Monday, October 28th, 2013 07:29 pm (UTC)