[In their time apart, Dave had dated a few other people, couple girls, couple guys, but he eventually just settled on the fact that he probably wasn't meant to chain someone to him forever and bring them down with him when he would inevitably fall from the sky, wings of wax melted from fame and glory. Or something like that. He's on top of the world, he feels like, he has movies out, he's being sent scripts daily (he never reads them), fan letters every five fucking minutes (he sometimes reads them), and vague attempts at conversation from friends and family. Facebook apparently wasn't cutting it since he only logged on every seven or so months for all of five minutes.]
[He's tried to keep in touch, but with his schedule it's been rough. Sometimes he had patches of free time, time where he would go on dates and stay up all night on Pesterchum and walk Rose down the aisle to marry his best friend, thereby also sealing the John-Dave Totally Officially Brothers deal and wow that was a year ago, man. He should hit them both up, ask where his nieces and/or nephews are already he needs to corrupt a small child before they do. He and Wally talk, they do, and he has maybe seen him once in the past year or more, but...okay, their break-up wasn't bad, not really, but it was still a break-up that Dave thinks he bounced back from too quickly. Oh well, honestly right now none of that is on his mind. Nope. Not at fucking all.]
[Dave is chin deep in words and notes and shit at the moment, he's got to finish an entire script, draft out an entire score, and shovel all of his fucking shit out the damn door before he starts getting high of goddamn feces, that is how deep the shit he is in is. He fucked himself over, honestly, might as well have drove a giant dick from space right up his butt and told himself to take that to the grocery store and deal with it. Fuck, his thoughts aren't even making sense. The more he replays the raps he's mumbled and recorded, the less he's in tune with the world. He's way off track, raps aren't even involved in this shit, he's just letting his nostalgic desire for busting some rhymes take over when he really fucking shouldn't. He's sitting atop 3 hours 14 minutes 47 seconds of time wasted: aka shit. He's no longer sitting he's sinking.]
[When his phone goes off for the first time in--god fuck he doesn't even know how long it's been jesus fucking dildos--he promptly yells at it and swats it to make it shut the fuck up. He was broken out of his work-induced daze of doing then thousand things at once and not being productive with any of them. He stares at the phone like it's fucking offended him before he snatches it, hands shaking, when was the last time he ate?, and slides it on to see what the fuck this piece of shit technology wants from him. He has a new message, awesome, he almost deletes it before he actually reads who its from. Oh. They haven't talked in...well. A long time. He opens the message and reads it over five and a half times.]
[He stares at the text message for a while, trying to figure out what the fuck Wally was talking about. There's nothing special on a fucking Thursday night, it's dead as shit. Dave clicks away from the text to check the date, and he frowns when he realizes he's lost track of 2 days 19 hours 37 minutes and is too tired to mess with seconds. Fuck, this project was going to literally devour him if he didn't watch out. He's gradually starting to see why Dirk wanted to stay over for the week that Dave just happened to be working on something new; big bro always knows when he's in need of a good influence.]
[Dave runs his hand through his hair. It's the 25th. It's Wally's birthday. He almost missed it because of his stupid mess of projects with deadlines. He groans and agrees with himself to not let this shit slip.]
by 'kinda in the area' you mean youre running over here no matter what i say and by 'a while' you mean dave dont make a long list of exact time measurements because it would be so fucking catastrophic that youd need to call in superman to contain that shit yeah im in texas in good ol america ill send you my address i could use a break and i didnt get you anything sorry iou?
no subject
[He's tried to keep in touch, but with his schedule it's been rough. Sometimes he had patches of free time, time where he would go on dates and stay up all night on Pesterchum and walk Rose down the aisle to marry his best friend, thereby also sealing the John-Dave Totally Officially Brothers deal and wow that was a year ago, man. He should hit them both up, ask where his nieces and/or nephews are already he needs to corrupt a small child before they do. He and Wally talk, they do, and he has maybe seen him once in the past year or more, but...okay, their break-up wasn't bad, not really, but it was still a break-up that Dave thinks he bounced back from too quickly. Oh well, honestly right now none of that is on his mind. Nope. Not at fucking all.]
[Dave is chin deep in words and notes and shit at the moment, he's got to finish an entire script, draft out an entire score, and shovel all of his fucking shit out the damn door before he starts getting high of goddamn feces, that is how deep the shit he is in is. He fucked himself over, honestly, might as well have drove a giant dick from space right up his butt and told himself to take that to the grocery store and deal with it. Fuck, his thoughts aren't even making sense. The more he replays the raps he's mumbled and recorded, the less he's in tune with the world. He's way off track, raps aren't even involved in this shit, he's just letting his nostalgic desire for busting some rhymes take over when he really fucking shouldn't. He's sitting atop 3 hours 14 minutes 47 seconds of time wasted: aka shit. He's no longer sitting he's sinking.]
[When his phone goes off for the first time in--god fuck he doesn't even know how long it's been jesus fucking dildos--he promptly yells at it and swats it to make it shut the fuck up. He was broken out of his work-induced daze of doing then thousand things at once and not being productive with any of them. He stares at the phone like it's fucking offended him before he snatches it, hands shaking, when was the last time he ate?, and slides it on to see what the fuck this piece of shit technology wants from him. He has a new message, awesome, he almost deletes it before he actually reads who its from. Oh. They haven't talked in...well. A long time. He opens the message and reads it over five and a half times.]
[He stares at the text message for a while, trying to figure out what the fuck Wally was talking about. There's nothing special on a fucking Thursday night, it's dead as shit. Dave clicks away from the text to check the date, and he frowns when he realizes he's lost track of 2 days 19 hours 37 minutes and is too tired to mess with seconds. Fuck, this project was going to literally devour him if he didn't watch out. He's gradually starting to see why Dirk wanted to stay over for the week that Dave just happened to be working on something new; big bro always knows when he's in need of a good influence.]
[Dave runs his hand through his hair. It's the 25th. It's Wally's birthday. He almost missed it because of his stupid mess of projects with deadlines. He groans and agrees with himself to not let this shit slip.]
by 'kinda in the area' you mean youre running over here no matter what i say
and by 'a while' you mean dave dont make a long list of exact time measurements because it would be so fucking catastrophic that youd need to call in superman to contain that shit
yeah im in texas in good ol america ill send you my address
i could use a break
and i didnt get you anything sorry
iou?