Happy Birthday Keith
Lance made a face like a magician had just pulled his asshole from behind his own ear.
‘It’s your birthday?’ he asked, stony serious, leaning across the back of the couch.
Keith shrugged and went back to prying pebbles from between the grooves in his boot with his dagger.
Lance pressed his palms together and rested them against his lips, begging God to give him strength.
‘Why,’ he began, ‘Didn’t you tell us?’
‘Huh?’ Keith asked, leaning into a particularly stubborn stone. ‘Ah’ohn.’ He uttered as if it was in any way shape or form an answer or resembled the “I don’t know” Lance interpreted it to be.
Lance, doing a weak job of keeping his voice within human hearing range repeated: ‘Why didn’t you tell us?!’
Keith jumped and dropped his boot. He spun towards Lance. ‘What the hell, man!? You made me drop my boot!’
Lance made wah-wah noises and rubbed his knuckles in his eyes. He stopped abruptly and snapped, ‘Drop it in the trash can, mullet.’
‘If you mean your mouth, I just might!’ Keith returned, standing and pushing up his sleeves in a way that convinced Lance that Keith had learned all human interaction from old-school TV characters who said things like, “Why I outta!” and “Gosh darnit, Barbara!”
Lance squealed and pulled on his hair. ‘Why are you so difficult all the time!?’
‘I was only cleaning my boots!’
‘Can’t clean garbage!’
Keith threw down his dagger and kicked his boot with his socked foot. It arced across the room and scattered the space mice from where they were attempting a desperately under-resourced mouse-pyramid.
‘Why are you here, Lance? Is your computer broken? Kalternecker bored of your non-stop yammering?’
Lance huffed and folded his arms. ‘No.’
‘Pidge lock you out of her hangar?’
Keith smirked. ‘You ruin another one of Hunk’s recipes?’
Lance cut the air with his hand. ‘Nope, nopey, nope. Nope.’ He pouted. ‘I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, you flaming nuddroid.’
Keith narrowed his eyes and tsked, ‘What?’
Lance huffed and scuffed the ground with his slippered foot. ‘I said Happy Birthday, stupid. I’m not totally thrilled you didn’t give us the chance to prepare something for your big dumb dumb head. Like- like a snake in a top hat with throwing stars.’
Keith stared at him open mouthed.
‘It is what it is,’ Lance said, convinced that Top Snake was more and more appropriate as the seconds passed. Keith continued to stare.
‘What?’ Lance asked, bothered.
Keith smiled. ‘Thanks, man. Thanks for thinking of me.’ Lance looked up just in time to catch a face fool of Texan sock. ‘Now go fetch my boot.’