#switchedflip

     There’s really no shortage of sights in this city. No matter where Quirrel looks, there is piece of culture to inspect or a technological marvel to behold or a person to chat with (and the people are so friendly!). At this particular moment, he stands on a grassy hill overlooking a field, watching a group of bugs play some manner of sport. Most are humans, but one bug has a silver shell that gleams brilliantly in Sun’s light. Perhaps they’re from the same place as that giant he met before?

     The silver bug parries a thrown projectile with a thundering CRACK, and the missile is sent far, far, and... oh.

     It’s headed directly for Quirrel’s head.

     Immediately, he takes a defensive position, holding his scavenged broomstick weapon in front of his mask. The projectile (or, actually, that’s a ball, isn’t it?) strikes the wooden stick with decent force and then falls to the ground, gently rolling with residual momentum.

     Boxcars is experiencing the same feeling that he’s been experiencing since the moment he ended up here. This emotion is fucking hatred. Half an hour ago, crouching in his apartment, arranging the third of his seven purchased doilies on the floor of the cabinet under the kitchen sink, he was fucking whacked with an all consuming craving for a shitty boardwalk hot dog from the mob operated hot dog stand on Midnight City’s boardwalk, and god damn it, he was going to get a shitty hot dog. Maybe not from Midnight City, but for chrisssakes there’s gotta be a shitty boardwalk hot dog around here. Iswhooza Radiowhazzit is clearly some fucking section of Hell, they’ve got to have a shitty boardwalk hot dog in Hell.

     As it turns out, there is a boardwalk in Iswhooza Radiowhazzit, and it does have a hot dog stand, though he’s pretty sure the teenager working it isn’t involved with the mob. When he’s handed the hot dog, Boxcars actually starts to feel hope that he might enjoy something for once in this tortured fucking existence.

     Then, as he’s walking away, he takes a bite, and the hot dog tastes like real pork.

     Fucking disgraceful.

     He throws it into the ocean.

     “THE FUCK WHAT KINDA TENTACLED SLIVER OF THE FURTHEST FUCKING RING IS THIS HELLPIT MAKES ME FUCKING SICK FER CHRISSAKES YOU WANT A SHITTY HOT DOG THEY CAN’T EVEN DO THAT SHIT RIGHT GOD FUCKING DAMN IT THINK I TASTED SOMETHING LEGAL IN THERE CAN’T A MAN ENJOY SOME FUCKING GARBAGE IN HIS LIFE I’D TAKE THE FUCKING HORSES AND THEIR FUCKING MANURE BASED CIVILIZATION OVER WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT WAS CALL THAT OCEAN POLLUTION GOD FUCKING DAMN IT”

     He throws his hat down and god damn it, Boxcars, you fucking idiot, you’re next to the ocean, the wind’s fucking crazy here, it starts blowing away, that thing is fine Italian silk you told Droog to get the good shit and he yoinked you a hat from a slightly worse brand than the one he got his from. 

     It lands on the head of the ugliest robot he’s ever seen, on top of a far worse hat that is inevitably going to get clumps of cotton blend all over his fucking HAT. This is the worst day of Boxcars’s life.

switchedflip replied to your post: “If Boxcars thinks his dumb little joke is so...

“ A video game with garbage draw distance? ”

@switchedflip​

It was pretty clear, like the clock tower, if anything was happening in Fibonacci Ward, it was probably happening upwards. 

At least that seemed the better place to start looking before he went down to the base of those tall buildings.

It also seemed, unlike the clock tower, nobody had made anti-spider rune countermeasures.

Unfortunately, as it happened, Spirale had thoughtfully made him an anti-spider rune countermeasure... as he found out after having traveled about thirty minutes up a building and suddenly losing his footing.

(thirty minutes up, incidentally, is not that far when you’re busy looking in windows and otherwise dawdling)

Welcome back to beautiful Isola Radiale, Switch!

You’ll be staying in CONDO 463.

You will retain everything you had during your previous stay.

Enjoy your stay!

[ x ]

K1′s managed to stay mostly unbothered in this city, which he feels like says more about whoever else might be here than anything about him. He lays around in his room in his apartment, he goes out to find things to do late at night, he looks through boutique windows wondering how money works. What regular people do.

He turns away from a darkened storefront with no better idea but an urge to better his style, looking back towards the dim street. His head turns just in time to see something speeding towards his jaw, passing under streetlights for just a second, and his paw of a hand raises just in time to catch whatever it is, though it leaves a stinging imprint in his palm.