Drabble: Mun and Muse - Waking up together.
“We’re programmed to be pragmatic if someone messes with our brain”
Sephiroth says: “Pragmatic. Get up.”
“I’m so tired, I don’t want to get up.”
“Pragmatic. Get up.” His voice gives no way. I hate having a SOLDIER in my head.
“Sephiroth, it’s five-twentyfive in the morning. I don’t want to get up. I have had two and a half hours of sleep.”
“Forgive me for being suspicious, mischief is just not on our brain.”
Aisha pulls the blanket over my head:
“Are you SERIOUSLY playing this music on repeat to wake me up?”
“You need to get up. It’s for the Vice President.”
“Fuck the President.” She says, and means it.
Sephiroth: “You cannot say that. You must get him from the airport.”
“Uuuugh.” She tosses over and reaches out to turn the computer on.)
“You messed up a nice dream I had of Crim.” She whines. “I didn’t dream of him for weeks, and now I dreamt of him and you woke me up. I dreamt he sat beside me on a barstool and he showed me a FFVII video on his tablet.”
Hush boy, hush boy, no one has heard. Put on your jernsey, no one has heard.
“He was shushing you anyway. ‘Shush you need to see this, it’s zero effort at all’, he was saying. Thus your opinion mattered little to him, just your prsenence”
“I’m so tired I could sleep so many hours more.”
“You cannot leave them at the airport. Shower. Bag those clothes. Get up. Write this conversation with me. Crim said he was interested in that meme of watching the muse and mun doing things together. The first item on that list was 'waking up together’.”
(reaches out and grabs laptop.)
“Now I’m done. This was such a gigantic waste of time.”
He dares to sound smug: “But now you’re awake.”
“My elbows hurt like shit.” I say, and drop a pause: “I bent plastic all yesterday and the day before. I’m surprsed I didn’t dream of bending worbla.”
(whe posting to tumblr)
“This posting takes up entirely too much time. I gave you five, not TWENTY-five, Aisha.”
“Now I’m working on it, I’m going to finish hit. Telling me to write richoceted it, didn’t it.”
“That’s not the correct way to write ricocheted,”he says, and he points it out to me juct to annoy me. He knows I have dyslexia and some words are just difficult in another language.
Aisha mutters a string of curses.
Sephiroth: “But you’re wake.”
And that’s where the conversation ends.
“Hush boy, hush boy, don’t say a word, put on yorur jernsey, no one has heard,” plays on in my mind. And Sephiroth’s hand is curiously close to the radio.