scubatankfilledwithfarts: (god help me)
[personal profile] scubatankfilledwithfarts

To say Badou hates his living situation is an understatement. It’s like saying meals from those meal-in-a-box places don’t know what a single serving for a human being is. Their clients clearly aren’t real.

And Badou’s been ready to move out since he realized he’d have to share a place with his brother again. After swearing in spit and rug-burns that no one would get bowl cut in the middle of the night, the usual stank applies.

The homestead is only as trashy as its occupants and their neighbors are the equivalent of dirty, moldy baby diapers wrapped in jockstraps.
Take the landlady and land-mass for starters. She’s got a sex dungeon where the sounds of the damned frequently seep through the air vents upstairs, she’s touched his ass three times (to Dave’s chagrin and envy for his fucked up ego) and her titty is constantly out. Him? Badou’s seen him a handful of times and too many handfuls of taint were involved to un-repress that experience.

“Could you hand me a refreshingly cold Ginger-ale, Nails-kun? I need it to wash this down.”

Another prime example is, who Dave suspects, the couple of Ninja insurance agents who live across the hall. Bad enough they’re heard, Badou’s currently seeing way too much of him and wishes he were blind in both eyes instead. He’d been convinced, nay, economically bullied into coming to their apartment to give Might Gai date advice.

Perched reluctantly on the (closed) toilet in the cushy restroom, Badou squeezes his eye shut, only to open its blood-shot contents.

“Are you shitting me—wash what down? Can I just leave, clearly you need a minute to like, absorb whaaahyyyyyy do you have Miso soup in there? SICK, ITS ALL YELLOW WHAT THE FUCK—

Badou’s certain he’ll never stop screaming, not the way the soggy noodles, both in the bowl and between Gai’s legs, glisten in the fluorescent light.

“Calm down, Nails-kun. I know you’re probably feeling envious of my muscles, even that one, but I’m the one who must humble myself and ask for your help. Just…I need some do’s and don’ts. This is our…50th date, and I’m nervous,” Gai says with real severity as he slurps noisily.

“YOU’RE FUCKING MARRIED!” Badou shrieks into the paint-peeled ceiling. Not for the first time in his life does he feel this same hopelessness and despair when it comes to their neighbors. Not for the last either.

The ginger throws the Ginger-ale anyway and wonders if college would have made his life different.

“Here’s rule one,” he rasps while pointedly looking for something pointy to blind himself, “don’t talk about his dog’s balls.” To Gai’s aghast expression:

NO ONE FINDS THAT FLATTERING! NO NINJA OR INSURANCE AGENT FINDS IT A TURN ON AT ALL TO TALK ABOUT ANIMAL BALLS!”

Honestly, he’s beginning to wonder. They’re clearly not normal people, so anything is possible. Failing in grappling with his soul to stab himself with the scissors Gai uses to trim his brows, Badou moves on.

“Second, don’t challenge him to a contest. Just don’t do it. This is dinner, not hey-I-can-make-the-waiter-cry-before-you. Funny as hell, but won’t get you laid, maybe.”
Why is he doing this? Why is he such a nice guy wh—

--YYYYYYYYY ARE YOU GETTING UP WHY ARE YOU GETTING UP WITHOUT EVEN GETTING THE GODDAMN TOWEL WHY ARE YOU SHOWING ME EVERYTHING—

Badou doesn’t get to the third piece of advice until Gai’s tried on five outfits, two of which had the centerpiece being his…piece. He’s seen Gai’s taint three times. None of which happened in the bath.

Sorely wishing at this very moment, draped over the dog-piss ridden couch, that gingers indeed lacked a soul, Gai comes strutting out. He’s suited up to the nines in a pair of slacks that aren’t even green, a button up polo and shiny shoes.

“You don’t even have socks and sandals,” Badou breathes gratefully, feeling his heart clench. Or some gas. This is so much better than the codpiece two outfits ago. Concurrently. The ginger rises from his feet, something like hope blooming.

“Here’s rule three: just be yourself. Cause for some reason he likes you. So that must be working in whatever parallel universe this is.” He even manages an encouraging smile.

“Course it is! It’s love, young Nails. Love conquers all!”
T
he thumbs up is the last thing Badou sees before marching right out the door to throw up in the cheap potted plant in the hall.

Two days later, he found a card and a giftcard to Olive Garden under his door. It almost made up for the after date sex he had to hear, vividly, through the walls. Almost.
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