hey, aren't you...

          Well.

          This is less Action Film Getaway than he’d hoped.

          “Wh— Shit! What do you MEAN ‘help’?” Nathan yelps. “I’ve never driven one of these things before! Just punch it b’fore Psycho Baldy o’er there kills us!”

          “…AND DON’T CALL ME ‘CURLY’!”

          Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit.

          Nathan kicks his leg out too, which doesn’t seem to help so much, but it makes him feel like he’s doing something, and that’s better than nothing at all. 

          “C’mon, c’mon! If we can just crest the hill, we can roll the rest of the way down!”

          But when he spares a glance backward, Big and Angry is coming in hot now, yelling and cursing and running. Fuck!

          “JESUS! Aren’t you a horse? Put some leg power into it, man!” Nathan screams, kicking again. The scooter lets out a horrible sputter and he’s sure the cloud of smoke she spills out next is a sign of their doom— “Nononononono!”

          But miraculously, the scooter lurches once and starts picking up speed. Nathan hasn’t stopped screaming. His arms tighten around the stranger’s middle and squeezes him close. God, come on, please! He does not want to get beaten to a pulp with this guy as his last human contact. Erh. Horse? Horse contact? Whatever.

          “Almost there! Almost!”

          The scooter reaches the top of the hill. They’ve done it! They’ve done it! Nathan throws his arms up in a great whoop.

          The scooter is going down the hill.

          It’s going down the hill extremely fast.

          Nathan screams again and they drop, careening down, down, down—

          “TRAFFIC LIGHT! TRAFFIC LIGHT! TRAFFIC LIGHT!”

Any sense of relief that BoJack felt when they reached the top of the hill disappeared as fast as they started to plummet downhill.

He barely registers the stranger screeching in his ear in warning of the traffic light--as if he hadn’t noticed it already because it was right in front of him-- too focused on trying to avoid crashing the goddamn scooter and figuring out just how to maneuver through the cars that zoomed through the junction.

Okay, now he’s done a lot of stupid shit, like eating a mouldy chocolate bar because ‘the alcohol will kill it’, to blowing up a saltwater taffy factory (in his defense, it wasn’t intentional), but trying to buy a scooter off of some bum was quickly becoming one of them. It should’ve been a simple task, but NO. Now he’s probably going to die and his last means of human contact is with the goddamn BUM.

Just when he thinks all hope is lost, time seems to slow down with a dropside van gliding into the frame. On its back, there is a bouncy castle, and the first thing BoJack thinks is:

Why the hell is it not deflated?

   He’s heard a lot of odd expressions from those startled by his sinister appreance, but this one was a first. He quirked an eye ridge, looking up at the towering horse with folded arms.

        “ Hmph. I don’t know. Does it look like it? ”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking,” he puts emphasis on the last word, a drop of annoyance in his voice. “If I was sure you were going to eat me, do you think I would ask?”

Despite having the audacity to snark, his hands remain up close to his chest in a defensive position. It’s embarrassing, really, considering that the other is practically half his height; BoJack could probably punt him if he wanted to.. but he is choosing not to.

Eyeing the stranger up and down, he has to ask, against his better judgement:

the conversation was like he lived here , he doesn’t understand the tone so there’s a large splash as he hurriedly makes his way out of the pool ( shaking himself off like a dog ) and starting to run toward the house , that is again , was very much not his.

“   but whyyyyy ? “ he asks , voice is a tinge annoying but very much childish. He slides himself into society as he’s needed. To blend in , to not act with any indication he was afraid. He’s all wet, trailing it through the floors,  when he sees all of the things being put down on the counter , the muffins catch his eye more than the pizza does. 

Greedy scale covered hands move to grab at them ,  “   what are those !?   “ 

He’s turned towards the fridge by the time Not-Todd approaches the counter, making minor effort to clean up what is right in front of the fridge with some paper towels.. which just means scooching it to the side for later. I’m too tired from having to wait in the line to pay, he thinks.

Hearing Not-Todd’s whine causes his eyes to roll while he stocks his fridge with the beer. “I just told you why, weren’t you listening? Also, why does your voice sound like that? Did you eat too many--” 

Embarrassingly, BoJack does a full-body flinch when he finally turns around and realises that this was a complete stranger in his house -- whose hands are outstretched towards HIS MUFFINS. Somehow, he’s more offended by that than the intruder aspect.

Rules: please repost, don’t reblog! Bold and italicize what applies accordingly.

          “Thanks, I wasn’t, but for the sake of argument, what if me an’ my group all collectively hate the singular person? What if we’d rather run ‘em off the pavement instead?”

—–🏵️🏵️🏵️—–

“….Right,” Phil pauses, lying splayed on the horse’s floor as hands wandered for fingers to tap around at the carpeting below him, slowly sitting up. Scanning his surroundings for clues. Really, it seemed as though Phil didn’t pose much more threat than a smooth pebble on a walkway. He was reluctant to make eye contact for fear of the consequences as he timidly offered explanation,

“There’s actually a… Really simple answer to that called I got really, really high last night and I don’t know where the fuck I am, uh… sir.”

—–🏵️🏵️🏵️—–

He heaves a sigh, pinching his eyebrows together for a moment. He’s obviously annoyed because of the unexpected guest, but for all BoJack knows, he might’ve been the one to accidentally bring this guy with him -- which he’s really hoping is not the case, because it’s not his problem.

        she  was  always  type  a  …  when  it  came  to  anything  ,   really  .   always  had  to  be  ,   it  was  the  only  way  she  was  able  to  TOLERATE  her  past  ;   diane  was  always  working  towards  something  bigger  .   it  was  her  only  true  motivation  .   and  now  she  had  a  new  one :   becoming  more  than  a  ghost  writer  .   she  just  had  to  PROVE  herself  one  more  time  to  publishers  .  

      doesn’t  bother  to  comment  on  the  mess  of  the  place  is  ,   though  she  does  take  a  mental  note :   this  will  be  going  into  the  book  .    “  ah  ,   9:30  .   like  we  agreed  on  ,   i  think  .   long  night ?  ”   she’ll  ask  curiously  .  

“Right... 9:30.”

Ah, goddamn Diane and her punctuality. Sure, it’s a great and beneficial quality to have, but not for BoJack -- evidence: this situation, being caught in a less than graceful manner by his ghostwriter because he overslept ( which is.. a very generous way of putting it. )

He eases himself out of the armchair and does a little stretch, causing a series of pops from his joints. “Uh, yeah, you could say that,” he begins to pick up some of the bottles, “I discovered that someone had made a drinking game for Horsin’ Around, and it made me realise just how often we each said our catchphrases. Like, I know they’re catchphrases and that’s the whole point, but jeez.”

[Phonegingi had just been minding their own business ( in other words , rummaging through a random dumpster in search of sustenance and / or nectar ) when this stranger showed up. At first, they thought he might be the owner of whatever establishment they were currently sifting through the trash of – he had a fancy-looking jacket on, after all, even if it had some stains here and there and reeked of nectar ( the burn-your-throat kind, not the cough nectar that Gingi coveted ). Panic started to set in; Phonegingi glanced around frantically, searching for an exit in case of the inevitable: a call to animal control. But then…]

[OH. He sounded…confused. In that case, this couldn’t be one of the business owners that they tormented on the daily with their dumpster-diving. This was somebody new. That…probably didn’t mean they should be any less worried, though.]

[Gingi looked to their route of escape, then back to the stranger. They slowly pulled their paws out of the dumpster, staring at the strange horseman the whole time.]

❝ Don’t “WHAT” me – I dindo NUFFIN. ❞ [By their flawed logic, if their hands were OUT of the dumpster, they couldn’t be busted ( even if this guy had been watching them dig around in the trash for…however long ).]

BoJack’s eyes are wide open, frozen in shock / horror at the sight before him.  He rubs his eyes and blinks rapidly, as if the other figure is simply just a speck of dirt in his eye. What the hell is that? No, seriously. What the hell? Did he accidentally ingest something else with the alcohol?

And oh my god, it talks. Best case scenario: this is a very intricate and realistic costume, which combined with his current state of mind, is obviously mind-blowing.

“Uh,” he gestures uncertainly at the creature’s head, then literally everything else. Green, nipply.... Frankenstein-esque phone head... BoJack begins to inch backwards, but finds that his back meets the wall.

“Yeah!” he answered gleefully, interpreting Bojack’s repetition of the word as him being obviously impressed. 

Just looking at him filled Zeke with a sense of nostalgia, weeknights huddled under his old UFO blanket watching reruns of episodes he’d seen a hundred times, before his father changed the channel to his latest villainous exploits on the news. Ezequiel Sr. didn’t want a soft heir to their empire, Zeke didn’t fully understand until he got older.

“Nah, much better. I’m a bonafide Dark Phantom.” he grinned, assuming Bojack already knew what that meant, “You can just call me Zeke. Seems like I practically already know you! Haha.”

“Dark Phantom? Wow,” BoJack nods thoughtfully, but do not be fooled -- he absolutely has NO idea what the villain is on about.

He’s thankful that Dark Phantom offers up a regular name, because that makes it easier to take the guy seriously.. on top of the costume, of course. Honestly, he’s impressed with himself that he hasn’t laughed yet; a real actor.

       there is absolutely no hesitation to jump in when he realizes that the house he decided to let himself into has a pool  ;;  this city was large enough to hide him , but he hasn’t seen a pool before!! And so up high! He was glad he was able to climb and thanks to his curiosity he had the drive to see what was up there. A trail of food from the fridge to where he’s laying in the water would give him away. He wonders who’s house this is , he can always defend himself if they wanted to call someone to come get him.  Like they would have a chance … . 

So when he hears the sound of a door opening , he waves , like it’s his house … . 

      “    hey hey , do you have any pizza here  ?     I wanna try some!!   “   

@thehorsefrom​ ( starter call – accepting ) 

The first thing BoJack notices when he enters is the trail of food, which definitely wasn’t there when he left this morning. Of course, his first instinct is TODD -- even if his parasitic housemate usually does a decent job at cleaning up after himself, who else could it be?

Clouded by annoyance, he does not take notice that the voice does not, in fact, sound like Todd. He doesn’t even look out, instead making his way towards the kitchen counter to put down three boxes of pizza, beer, and... a 12-pack of chocolate muffins.

          Holy shit, I can’t believe that worked! Nathan gawps as the stranger gives him not ten, not fifteen, but twenty whole bucks for a rubbish scooter. He should probably feel a bit bad about that, especially considering the piece of junk isn’t even his, but fuck it. Once that sweet, sweet cash is in his palm, it’s not his problem.

          “Aw, thanks, man,” Nathan sniffs, first giving his hand a shake. “God bless you, seriously, you’re doin’ me a real ffff—”

          “HEY!” 

          Nathan’s attention snaps to their left. A guy is stalking their way from across the street. A big guy. A big, very muscly, very pissed off guy.

          “HEY! You! Curly! What’d I say about touching my shit?”

          “—ffffuckmegentlywithachainsaw!” Nathan grabs the cash, shoves the horse toward the scooter, and hops on behind him. “Fuck, fuck, man! You wanna live? DRIVE! HI-HO, SILVER! GETTYUP! GOGOGOGOGOGOGO!”

          Alright. So now it’s their problem.

He’s still not happy that he had to fork over the twenty bucks, muttering a “yeah, yeah whatever” as they shake hands, ready to lug the scooter out of there. He barely paid attention to the gruff ‘HEY!’ of a stranger, because surely it’s for someone else, right?

Everything from that point happens so quickly -- he still doesn’t realise what is happening when Nathan shoves BoJack towards the scooter, instinctively grabbing hold of the handlebars to steady himself.

“HEY, what the hell do you think--” he stops when he sees the guy approaching them; he is very big, very muscly, and looks VERY pissed off. All of a sudden, the pieces seem to click together in BoJack’s head -- as well as Nathan’s frantic words. “OH MY GOD. Okay--

The only time he can remember ever being on an electric scooter is when he was drunk out of his mind, and according to witnesses, he was surprisingly good at it; now he needs to somehow retrieve that drunk skill. He flicks on the power switch, and presses his thumb down on what he hopes to be the accelerator -- and off they go!

❛ No, I think that’d be endearing. It’s like a testament to your growth, BoJack. ❜ A happy smile etches into pink features, ❛ I love you, and Ruthie loves you too. ❜

The gentle praise catches him slightly off-guard, causing a stutter in his tracing pattern. “You think so?” But he supposes that she’s right, because if he thinks of the old BoJack... would he ever have admitted that with such sincerity? He’d probably have done it drunk, if at all.