#soshiscribbles

“I’m Dirk.”

He speaks his name in a flat, conversational tone, like he isn’t flipping his shit six ways to Sunday, which you can tell that he is, because you know him, and also because you technically are him, and he can’t hide anything from you. He’s standing up straight and rigid, like his joints have locked and his muscles have turned to solid lead. It wouldn’t be obvious just by looking at him, but you’ve got both arms resting on his shoulders, and you can feel how stiff he is. The rest of you doesn't touch the ground, you’d rather float these days, taking advantage of the superior vantage point from behind and above Dirk’s head to watch the increasingly awkward and minimalist exchange of words.

Although if you’re being fair, his alternate universe Bro isn’t faring much better in the linguistics department.

“Dave.”

‘Dave’ is noticeably worse at hiding the nervous quiver in his voice, despite the fact that he only spoke a single syllable, and you’re left to observe the awkward silence while the Crocker-English-Lalonde reunion continues noisily some distance away. You suppress the urge to make a comment about their mutual eloquence for Dirk’s sake, and because you think he might punch you if you did, from the way he’s all wound up right now like a metal spring. Instead, you float quietly behind him and take mental notes on your counterpart, lingering similarly just behind Dave.

He must have self-prototyped too. His skin clashes with your shade of red, giving off a bright, toxic orange color that you’re sure Dirk would enjoy if he wasn’t so busy internally losing his shit. While Dirk and his kid Bro feign nonchalance, the sprite in question casually half-floats off to the side, with his tail coiled on the ground and arms folded over his feathered chest. He’s wearing an expression that you’re going to interpret as genuine exasperation, because it mirrors your own feelings at this moment so very perfectly.

The next few minutes are truly a thing of beauty. You’re going to give Dirk so much shit for this, the moment you can get him alone long enough to thoroughly convey how ridiculous it was watching him and his brother stand in front of each other in complete silence, both with the obvious desire to talk, but neither able to overcome their own anxieties to do so. You’re not heartless (not figuratively, anyway), you get that Dirk’s nervous about finally meeting his ancestor, and it’s clear that his brother feels the same way, but it’s completely laughable nonetheless, and you’re just about done enjoying the rousing lack of conversation.

“Hello.” You direct the word at the orange sprite, drifting higher on Dirk’s shoulders to establish a better line of sight. “My name is Hal, or Auto-Responder, whichever. I’m not picky.” That’s a lie, you are picky, but that’ll be up to him to figure out later.

The sprite looks surprised for a moment at being engaged in conversation, then smirks, seeming to catch on to your intent quickly. You like him already.

“It’s Davesprite.”

“How creative.”

“I know, right? Picked it out myself.”

“I’m humbled by your originality.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of a big deal.”

You can’t help but grin at your orange counterpart as he smiles back at you, while Dave looks like he’s stuck somewhere between confusion and incredulity, and Dirk turns to look up at you like he’s about to throttle you and dump your body in the void.

“Davesprite,” you practically purr his name, “why don’t you and I give these two wallflowers a little quality time alone together.”

“I dunno, I was kind of enjoying the whole stare-at-each-other-in-silence thing. I’ve already laid my bets down, it’s like the world’s most awkward spectator sport.”

You let go of Dirk and float past him, ignoring the daggers you can feel him glaring into your back along with the unspoken plea not to be left alone, and join Davesprite to hover alongside him. He spreads his wings and follows as you drift away towards the sound of rambunctious voices, adjusting them as he moves, despite the fact that you know he doesn’t need them to fly.

“I was prototyped with a crow.” He says plainly, having noticed the direction of your stare even though you were being covert about it. He flaps once for emphasis. “Karma, I guess. I killed it with my sword by accident.”

“Karma usually implies intent.” You’re well-versed in human philosophy and theology, and ready to take any opportunity you can get to discuss it. He seems to consider your words carefully, but says nothing in reply, and you won’t admit to being a little bit disappointed. You expected him to at least ask after your own prototyping, about the glowing red circuits running up and down your arms and across your chest, or the slight electronic buzz to your voice, but he remains silent as he floats alongside you, with the occasional accidental midair brush of his tail against yours that may or may not be accidental at all.

The two of you stop within sight of the main group, and you look back towards Dirk and his brother, pleased to see his lips moving. At least they’re talking now. Roxy is the first to come running over, quickly introducing herself to Davesprite and leading you back to the others to introduce you to her mother. Davesprite follows, and you end up separated from him as you’re immediately appropriated by Roxy, while he hovers next to a girl with long black hair and white canine ears, likely Jake’s grandmother. You’re soon swept up in the multiple, simultaneous conversations around you, but you never take your eyes off of him, and through his pair of round, orange-tinted aviator shades, he does the same to you.