she's a giggle at a funeral

@elipax: @dicksistersinc no, thank you.

@griffinallard: @dicksistersinc say more. 👀👂

Latching onto Elias’ hand with the lockjaw determination of a pit-bull, simply the equivalent of a ‘hello’ in the Lana Jameson handbook, she tugged him along to the next mirror in the Picasso room. “I look totally pregnant, in this one,” she declared, doing her best to puff out her stomach as she stood side on, mirror distorting the bump even further. Her free hand cropped up to pat twice at claimed child-to-be, eyes pinging to study Elias’. “It’s yours. You’re the father. Are you gonna provide for us? I wanna hear, like, your long term plan of action. I mean, Gilbert and I...” she trailed off, feigning a heartfelt sigh. “We want security, Eli. We need a strong poppa to keep us safe. He’s already gonna get bullied for being so sexy, people are, like, vicious when they’re jealous, and let’s face the facts, this baby’s genes? High calibre. Total dynamite. So, I mean, we at least need a good dynamic at home. To get him through. Begin your pitch, please. Paint me the whole picture.” @eliaspaxton​

Prancing up to Viktor like some kind of demented hobgoblin set free from a curse, Lana didn’t have the cognitive awareness to realise she might be interrupting something, pupils plump as berries. “Hey, look what I stole from whatever weird thing they’re shooting in the Marge Whatever room,” she announced, lifting one of two bags of fake blood in such an excitedly scrunched fist that something popped, erupting over everything -- Viktor’s shirt, Lana’s hand, a sizeable fleck on her chin. “Oh,” came with a startled blink, grin springing after her nose wrinkled. “That’s -- um, I mean, way to make an entrance, I guess. Sorry, that kinda sucks. Wanted to give you both. Like, to stage a murder or something, pretend your guts plopped out. This -- um...” trailed off, reaching out to discard the deflated remains into the cup of somebody standing by. Zoned in to the fiasco, she didn’t register how disgusted they were. “Do you want, like... a napkin, or? I mean, I won’t lie, I don’t really know what to do here,” she blathered on, patting at Viktor’s shirt and only worsening the seep. “Wow, that’s super on there. Pretty... realistic. It’s --,” cut short with a blink elsewhere, red jogging something unwanted. She continued to chatter on autopilot, hand hovering like she didn’t know what to do with it, now, couldn’t acknowledge something so eerily familiar. “Kinda wanna wipe it on Cary Grant’s head. He smashed up the HQ and, like -- God, I’m thirsty. Do you have a drink?” @viktcrr​

“Wait!” Lana declared, reaching out to snatch the teacup from Disha’s grip before she could take a sip. “Don’t drink that. I saw some guy, like, hacking something up, baby bird style, earlier. So gross. Spitting in it, literally no mercy -- like, your back was turned, I’m just on the ball. I spotted it. Thank god for me, I guess. Saving your life. I’m kind of a hero, when you really think about it.” Despite the entire story, it barely took her a second before she was lifting said teacup to take a drink for herself -- the base had a monkey dangling one armed from a branch, scratching with a free hand at it’s armpit. In her hair, she’d pinned a fallen butterfly that’d been dangling from the ceiling. She fiddled idly as she chattered, unable to keep her hands still. “Which room’s your favourite? I think I like this one. Pretty. I don’t really know much about Frida but I think I’d make out with her, if I could time travel. Like, she just has that vibe. I mean, I used to think the same about Thomas the tank engine, when I was a kid -- like, if I was a train, it’d totally be on.” @dishajohal​

Plotted in front of a Margaret Keane painting, Lana’s pupils were vibrating to the extent that it almost looked as if the woman depicted was tracking her whenever she moved -- central on a murky street, her white rimmed waterline had Lana scrunching up her nose. “This one’s gross -- she’d, like, steal people’s floss, when they were done, and eat it. I mean, right? I know she would. She’s telling me with her eyes. I don’t like her,” she rambled, reaching to take the hand of the person besides her under the impression it was Dom -- eyes flitting, a shriek parted her lips extraordinarily loud, right against his ear. Unnecessary? Yes. Theatrical? Always. She threw his hand like she’d picked up a dead rat. “Oh, you’re! Whoa. What’s -- where’d Dom go? How long have you even..? This is -- sorry for screaming, it was just, like, a total shock. Disorientating. Honestly kinda shaken up. You know,” she began, pressing her lips into a line to mock a scold, suddenly flipping the narrative. “You can’t just go holding people’s hands out of the blue like that, Clark. I don’t care if this painting’s creepy. Maybe buy me dinner first? Kinda sick.” @clarkiingram​

Trampling along like a bull in a China shop, Lana caught her foot on a strewn Kanken bag and almost went flying, blurting a garbled “WAL-uiiiiiii!” as she staggered around in search of balance. Jaw dropping, she whipped her head around to find a witness, eyes latching onto Dayn who was standing closest. “Did you hear that? I literally, like -- like, I got taken over, I totally felt an all encompassing chill. Waluigi was inside me, wearing my skin like a suit. I almost said his name and everything -- that’s how it happens, that’s how he gets you. So scary. Think I’m gonna pitch the experience to a big horror movie company, maybe buy my own private island with the box office profits.” Slotting her lollipop into her mouth -- thankfully, she hadn’t dropped it -- she gave it a suck before popping it out, wafting in his general direction. “Didn’t I race you to a lamp post, once? I beat you, right? Weird. ‘Cause, like, your legs are so long. Almost too long, you know? Like... we get it.” Smile a permanent fixture, it only grew wider. “What’s your name? Or wait, don’t tell me. Think I wanna call you Fergus. Fergie when I’m happy with you.” @dvyns​

duckyfm​

dvminics​

when will you get bored of dom?