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2 much pizza i dont even wanna type pizza anymore that was the last time also dont get delivery from the p-place on main anymore

Why
What did you do to them
I LIKE that place you know

i aint done shit ! it was that other fucking kid the 1 who gave me fucking fleas

sHHIT//.

GAVE YOU WHAT

[NO RESPONSE]

Don't you ignore me are you telling me there are fleas in our house now
Do you have some kind of treatment for it
Christ badou this is one of those things you're supposed to TELL ME ABOUT

i handled it its fine ! sakamoto gave me extracts ??? plant things i guess n he helped me it dont matter how he helped me we aint gotta talk about it i still dont really get it do fleas hate plants n i was gonna burn the house down but she said not 2 also gasolines real expensive i found out so everythings probably fine just dont lay down anywhere

Do not ever burn the house down
Houses grow back but my cat and our dvd collection don't
Oh god I need to wash everything in the house
Jesus christ
Did you definitely get rid of yours do you need me to check

man i 4got about that fucking cat that woulda been worth the $ i dont need u 2 check !!!! their almost gone i think mostly

You kill my cat I fucking kill you flea boy
You need a fine tooth comb
Comb through and make sure there are no eggs or anything
I can do it I've gotta do it for myself now anyway
Christ

we did that i thought he got them all urhgfyfhxkjdf fine

Ok get your butt in here then

back in 15

[as usual, Badou's fifteen minutes is more like twenty-five, and he shows up around then, door slamming open to reveal a dead-eyed (ha ha) Badou not-so-fresh from a three-job day that hasn't been made much better by the constant goddamn itching]

[as usual, two steps in the front door and he's already half out of his clothes, his sneakers banging against a wall (where, somehow despite the house's regenerative powers, a scruff is forming -- he's getting used to his schedule, maybe), socks and coffee-stained jeans leading a trail towards his bedroom]

[and he stands in the hallway, throwing that godawful brown coat, his hat, and his lighter (the important things) into his room, to rebound off the wall and land on the bed]

[rather than find Carol, he immediately makes his way to the bathroom, stands there in his boxers and t-shirt, and sticks his itchy head into the sink, turning it on full blast cold]

Aaaaaaahahaaaa.

[carol's folded up on the couch, clad in her customary pjs -- a tank top and a pair of airplane-print pyjama pants she found in the men's section, because carol is dumb and not funny at all and screw the rules, they look good on her -- nursing a cup of coffee and staring at the tv when she hears the telltale sounds of badou coming home.

she gives him a minute to come stomping into the living room, but he doesn't, and when the water comes on she finally calls out:]

Comb's on the sink, bring it out with you. We're watching Jurassic Park.

[his ear cocks instinctively to the call, and he bangs his head on the faucet]

Eeooww, shit -- !

[and then pulls his face out of the sink, shaking his hair and pushing it back off his face, trying to avoid wetting the bandages over his eye]

[a pause at the bedroom, and he's changed his shirt too before he stomps back down the hallway to the living room, comb in hand as bidden]

[he's looking as surly as ever, but there's a flicker of his eye to the TV that is less so -- he loves Jurassic Park]

[before she says anything else, he prefaces]

It ain't my fault. Somebody gave 'em ta me. I wash every day an' I know everybody says I smell but it's 'coz I ain't sittin' around all day like a fat fuckin' piece'a trash playin' video games or jerkin' off or whatever the hell it is fuckers do around here, okay? I wash every day.

[carol just rolls her eyes at his spiel, while on the tv the music starts up all loud and uplifting, the helicopter coming into view of the island; he hasn't missed too much of it.]

I know you do, stupid, I live with you. I'm very proud. Now siddown.

[and she puts her mug down on the coffee table, shifts to make room for him.

this is gonna be a fun time, she can already tell.]

[the redhead scowls, sitting on the floor directly in front of her, between the couch and the coffee table, so that he can watch the movie and get this the hell over with at the same time]

[he's no sooner popped a squat than he's itching fiercely at the back of his neck]

Cut that out.

[so so tempted to smack his hand away, but she knows he'll just be a shit about it, so she takes up the comb instead.

but doesn't start straight away.

because carol is a shit too.

RUFFLES HIS HAIR ALL UP.]

[grips the coffee table, hunching shoulders!]

H-hey! That ain't combin'! Kn-knock it off! Aa-ah-ah-aaah!!

[his leg flails out from under him, and blur of fur rrrroowls and streaks from under the coffee table]

[sneering grin at the unintentional direct hit]

[stops scruffing him up long enough to smack him in the back of the head, scowling.]

I'm emptying the litter box onto your bed tonight. Sit still.

[and she grabs his dumb damp head and makes him face straight forward (after one last ruffle), runs the comb sharply through it.

prays she doesn't catch fleas herself from doing this, if she doesn't have them already.]

[the boy's predictably tense under her fingertips, but it's like an idle tenseness (he never really relaxes, except into an unconscious sprawl whenever he falls asleep -- wherever he falls asleep)]

[his hands drop to his lap, shoulders still hunched stupidly]

[the movie has his attention for a few minutes, but then he asks, along the same lines she's thinking]

So d'ya got 'em too? You're gonna.

[it's like running a comb through a soggy orange haystack, but the repetitive motion of combing while she half-watches the movie is also weirdly calming. she's been a little on edge lately.

carol frowns at the question, though, wrinkling her nose.]

Dunno yet. No itching so far. Who the hell gave 'em to you, anyway?

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