shitposting rave 2, electric boogaloo

Yeah, the word I wanted to hear was dismantled. You can't make a functioning portal. You don't have the brain capability to make one into a gun that goes into other dimensions without a weird triangle coming through.

 

Fuck you, Sanchez. You don't know what actually happened. I do.

 

There is nothing wrong with my brother's brain. He listened to bad advice. He doesn't do that any more, which is probably why he stopped hanging out with you.

I know better than to try to tell you not to swear, Valiska, but don't let this asshole break your composure. He isn't worth your time. He made a gadget that allows him to shit all over the multiverse instead of just one planet, but I've seen his kind before.

 

*sarcastically*Wow, Valiska. You're so threatening. I known him longer than you. You have no idea what happened in the past.

Yeah, well, he told me all about you, and you don't sound better than me.

 

I would love to learn some new things, too. *follows everyone*

 

I won't argue with you that you knew him before we were married. You clearly knew him when he was with Sunshine. There are probably all sorts of things I don't know about those years because Ford doesn't even remember some of them. I don't doubt that you've seen him do terrible things, because I know that he and Sunshine gambled and worked and stole and invented and shot and engineered and fucked their way through dimensions I've never heard of.

But the portal story? There were once three beings who knew more about that than I did, but one of them erased his brain, and the other two are Ford and Bill. I have heard every word of that confession because I am the one who put the metal plate in his head--the surgeon we bribed opened up his skull, and I shaped it to fit--and I am the one who inked, cut and burned Bill's marks off him.

 

Oh, I have no doubt that there was a time when you and I might've been something like friends, at least in the Alternian sense of the word.

But everything I've done for the past thirty years has been for my brother and the kids.

 

Parenting. I know a lot about ways not to be a good parent. Hopefully I have picked up some positive examples along the way?

 

So long as you aren't strangling them. Or stabbing them. Or breaking their limbs.

Or is that good parenting. Hell if I know.

 

Jame, remember, you're part of our home and our pride, and we'll be there to help you whenever you need it.

 

Even if I don't realize it, I hope?

 

Who is that in response to. If you can strangle kids without realizing that is a feat. Teach me how.

 

Is this about me?

 

Of course.

I don't think so. When I was in season and was sleeping all over poor Jame she got a face full of my pheromones and it made her clucky.

Sorry, that's not what we were talking about.

 

Damn. My hopes have been crushed.

 

Strangling just isn't my way, anyway.

 

Well knocking that off my bucket list of things to do with you then. SHAME.

 

I could just tear your throat out with my claws instead, you know. You're conditionally immortal and I don't think I fit the qualifications required to take you out and replace you, so no moral qualms whatsoever.

 

Let's fucking do this shit. Right now. You. Me. Those claws. My knives. I'll take special care to keep you alive because your FAMILY will throw a shitfit otherwise.

 

I sure would.