Frank: *barely patched up, fiddling with the thread and staples as he waits for Kitty to return from her "errands." The Spork Chamber stank of disinfectant and stale beer*
Kitty: *spawns a portal, a spliff hanging out of her mouth as she begins tugging a familiar pair of legs through the portal* C'mon, ya trixy bastard! You've been out of action for long enough!
John: *trying to boot her in the face as he struggles against gravity, attempting to regain his grip on a lampost on the other side of the portal - whines* I don't wanna! For fuck sake, I'd rather pose as a synth at Mercer Safehouse. Doesn't that drop some pretty strong hints?
Kitty: *grabs his pants and yanks hard, straining* It was more the fact that you've been AWOL since Chapter Thirteen, ya daft prick.
John: *cringes and between his contorting to escape her, and her clawing at his cloths, his pants end up around his ankles*
Frank: *winces, as bile rises in his throat* Oh, praise the sweet baby Jesus... Why!
Kitty: *resumes, gripping his ankles* Mate, I don't wanna have to snap you in two like a damn KitKat!
John: Leave me alone!
Kitty: *calls over to Frank* You gunna stand there all day?
Frank: Probably. It's not like you're paying me.
Kitty: Ok. Help me and I wont kick you in the nuts.
Frank: T'sall good. I can see that you've got your hands full anyway.
Kitty: *glares, as lightening sparks from her claws. Slowly turns back to Hancock* Don't make me turn your testicles into meat-flavoured popcorn.
John: *suddenly drops to the ground, rubbing his knuckles and hissing as Kitty drags him through the portal, scraping his back along the dusty gravel*
Kitty: Good. And you! *pivots, launching her fist into Frank's face, knocking him on his ass - dusts off her paws* That's for being a smartass.
Frank: *groans, pinching his nose to stop the bloodflow*
John: *warily climbs onto his stool, wincing as his tailbone throbs in agony* You're a bitch.
Kitty: Indeed *hands each of them a bottle of vodka* Self-medication will be necessary to make it to the end of this utter tripe.
Frank: *hastily unscrews the bottle and takes a long, indulgent gulp until he can feel his eyes watering from the burn*
John: *rummages through his pockets and digs out a lovely lump of bud - begins rolling a fat stoogie for himself* I'll stick with salt and pepper if it's all the same to you.
Kitty: *yawns as she flicks ash off her joint, blowing out a long stream of herbal smoke* Whatever you need. We may die of boredom if we were to tackle this without precautions. Now, I know it may seem controversial, but Bravo is on standby.
John: *coughs*
Kitty: For now.
Frank: *gives her a withering look*
John: I don't care. As far as I'm concerned, you two can eye-hump each other all day.
Kitty: Fuck off!
Frank: Just... I wish he would stop pestering me about that damn gun.
Kitty: You and me both, brother *offers him a drag on her spliff* As if I don't have my own problems.
John: *stern, doubtful look* Really?
Kitty: I have lost many heirlooms in my life. And let's just say, I'm the sentimental type when it comes to that stuff.
YOU ARE READING
Topside: Realm of the Onion
Humor"'Consumed by sadness and the fallout of a now retreating fear.' That ought to be tagline for what it's like sporking this shit." ~KittyHP [A/N true to my word.] Sporking: Stones to Abbigale. A book so bad it misspells it's title character's name. A...
