loungelizard | Prisma ♦︎ Inbox

[Aside from the strange urge to sing which has more or less passed once he actually gave in and did it, Ford has been more or less ignoring the new boy band craze sweeping Lunatia. Aside from mandatory listening from Mabel during the time he spent catching up on Earth pop culture, pop isn't really his jam. And with things getting heated in the streets (actually legitimately heated! Over a boy band that isn't the Beatles!) it makes the most sense to stay in with someone else who's relatively sane.

And do drugs.

It's relatively gentle as illicit substances go: Ford is smart enough to know not to go straight to the cosmic sand the first time he gets high with someone, even when that someone is Larry Laffer. What he wound up bringing up from level three is a handful of what look like pixy stix only they're about half as long as the standard sugar candy. The wrappers are plastic and striped half with a matte black and half with clear sections to allow the crystals within to show through. Since this is Prismatica, the 'candy' is shades of neon pink, blue and green. As far as Ford can tell the color is purely for presentation: he's tried this stuff before and the high is the same regardless of shade. It's a little like weed, or at least it makes him contemplative in the same way weed historically has. Right now there's an open packet of blue next to him as he draws. Every now and again he picks it up and shakes a little onto his tongue with the hand that isn't holding his pencil.]

I'd say this feels like being back in college, but I was never smooth enough in college to get to this point with anyone. Nobody was posing naked for me unless it was a classroom and they were being paid.

[Larry needed this. He's been constantly 'on' since Wanderlust became official, splitting his time between sit-down work and run-around work. Now that he's got connections to fulfill his needs whenever his libido rears its head, his weirdly persistent and dogged work ethic has bubbled back up, and that means he's gotten an addiction to productivity. His brain doesn't let him stop, even when he tells himself he should take time off, and that means that even though he's been really efficient, he hasn't been thinking clearly.

Now the pause button has been pushed and jammed into place.

It's pause, not off. He's still thinking about work but it comes in and out. He doesn't have to fight it. Some of the things he'd thought about before but couldn't come up with a solution for at the time suddenly resolves itself without any warning. It's kind of a bummer that his body is busy right now because he really should write these down, but he really can't be arsed. It feels too good to be splayed out across a selection of throw pillows, regular pillows, and a comforter like he's an art piece, being admired by an audience of one.

It fills him with an emotion he's pretty sure he's never felt before. Larry puts a lot of effort into his peacocking, but he's never caused heads to turn and look at him like this. For all his flaws and imperfections, he is gorgeous, wanted, desirable, like an
untouchable supermodel. He knows it's absurd, and he'd probably be giggling the whole time and not taking it seriously in the slightest.

But with the moon dust...

He sups from this elegant golden saucer with a shameless indulgence.

(And the stretch this current pose has feels great on his obliques.)

It takes him a little longer to respond than he normally would, but it's not because he's distracted. He just...really loves the sound of Ford's voice, and lets it roll around in his brain like sucking on a caramel.]

You could say you paid me in drugs! [He giggles, but it's a little less tittery than usual.] But if that doesn't work, you could transfer me a few bucks. Or treat me to dinner. Or sex. Oh, wait -- that would pay both of us...

[Another giggle.]

Edited 2020-04-27 03:27 (UTC)

Well I'd hope you don't think of this as work.

[He doesn't. Sure, it's technically drawing practice, but it's not like a class or a workshop. He's not even doing it to draw something new, because he's been drawing Larry for a while now, just never with Larry explicitly posing for it. In much the same way as he dedicated a whole page in his journal to the back of Fiddleford's head as he saw it from his own desk in their shared workspace, he has pages of his sketchbook dedicated to Larry Laffer engaged in work that does not involve him. The only real difference here is the lack of clothes and the way he's drawing, because drawing while high is a little different. He's less concerned with being completely true to life and letting himself get a little more into the gesture of it.]

And if I were to pay you all I'd be doing is giving you back the chroma you helped me earn to begin with.

[Larry is basically the source of about eighty percent of his income between the sex and Wanderlust, and he's not even mad about it.

He turns his sketchbook a little, the better to facilitate getting the swoop of Larry's hair just right. For a man that barely even bothers to brush his own hair most days, Ford is admittedly pretty enamored with the amount of work Larry puts into his.]

Edited 2020-04-27 04:56 (UTC)

Investing in the talent is work. So is trying to sit this still for this long!

[He's used to it. Standing around waiting, unpaused, for players to come back from dinner. And being high helps, because he gets to focus on the furniture or the rugs or the ceiling for a real long time while he contemplates all the nooks and crannies of their textured surfaces and patterns.

He closes his eyes and his chest rises as he takes in a big inhale.]

But sometimes work is fun. Especially when you're doing it for a friend.

[At least Ford's house offers a lot to look at. There's plants hiding everywhere, try and find them all! Or examine the finely-stitched details on his various wall hangings and throw pillows.

Or just watch Ford, maybe. The way his hand moves, the way his mouth is slightly open in concentration, the way his eyes keep flicking up and then back down as he checks and re-checks the lines he's putting down. He hears what Larry's saying but he doesn't respond immediately, and by the time he opens his mouth a little wider to actually speak his brain has jumped ahead several thoughts. A friend, yes -- they're friends. That's still nice to think about. He remembers the first time they actually spent any time together (the first time that wasn't as a result of a cursed phone app) and the conversation they had and the point where he decided maybe he'd like to get to know this man better. They'd talked about Larry's hands. Five fingers, unusual, because of a change in art style. Art style, and that makes him think--]

What do I look like to you?

Huh?

[Larry's eyes flick up to Ford from the underside of a plant's leaf after studying the different ways that light passes (or doesn't pass) through it, the pattern of the veins and how he'd program an algorithm to draw it out digitally.

He has no suggestion of what Ford's thought process is, so from his perspective they're just moved from I like doing fun favors for friends to what do I, your friend, look like? without the context of Larry's self-awareness.]

Uh...that's a great question!

[Is it? Because it seems kind of random...and also definitely the kind of random shit that pops into someone's mind while high. Larry observes him intently from his spot on the floor.]

You're...hmm...kind of a combination of "nerd" and..."jock", I think. You're tall, muscular, and square-jawed like a jock, but you dress with pragmatically and observe the world in a nerdy way. [Larry grins, turning a little ruddy in the cheeks.] It's a perfect marriage of traits -- if you ask me!

[He gives a soft giggle.]

[Uh.

Ford looks up properly from his sketchbook. It takes him a couple of seconds to figure out where the disconnect is, but luckily he's used to saying things that people misinterpret and so even high he's pretty good at combing back through a conversation to find where he messed up.]

Oh, no, I meant -- I mean, I'm flattered.

[It's still bizarre to hear someone else talk about the way he looks in a positive light. He got so used to thinking of himself as a freak that it's still jarring and when someone else doesn't. He never knows what quite what to do with it, but his ears do go very pink and that's probably a good indication of how he feels.]

But what I mean is, how do you see me. Am I pixels to you? How many colors?

[He waves one hand very descriptively toward the entirety of himself. He sees Larry as real. He wonders if he simply isn't capable of parsing whatever Larry really looks like, if his brain is reinterpreting it into forms and sensations that make sense to keep it from being too jarring. If so it would be the first time. He got no such luxury on worlds like the one where he was the only 3D being on a 2D plane. He's a little disappointed, sometimes, that he can't see the pixels.]

Edited 2020-04-27 08:03 (UTC)

[Larry's smile immediately falls.

The silence that follows is thick enough you could swim through it. Larry stares at Ford with a slight frown, brows lightly furrowed, long enough that he languidly blinks at him several times before finally speaking up again:]

Are you really sure you want to know the answer to that, Ford?

[Once he opens this Pandora's box, he won't be able to put the knowledge back in.]

[For what is not remotely the first time in his life, Stanford Pines looks at what is very clearly a dangerous situation and yeets himself directly into it without pausing to think of how wrong it might go.]

Yyyyyes?

[Maybe it's really bad. Maybe Larry only sees four colors. Or maybe Ford's just a text box with a physical description, if Larry's really old school. That would almost be funny.]

[There are very few things in this world that make Larry go into Serious Mode. This, apparently, is one of them.

Larry pushes himself out of his loungey and artful position to sit up. Despite him being stoned, he manages to give Ford an unusually stone-cold stare.

Even though it's not really an appropriate time for subeeisms.]

I'm being serious.

I'm a self-aware video game character. That means I'm aware of everyone else, too, and I can tell who else of us is from fiction and who isn't. I know the reason why we're here -- beyond the--"what the Moon Knights tell us".

Do you know what you're asking, Ford? Do you really want to know?

[See, the problem with there being few things that do it is that Ford hasn't really had the opportunity to see it yet. They've had discussions about more serious topics, sure, but Larry's never quite acted like this. Ford's brain once again does several very quick leaps all in succession. The first is a horrible intrusive thought that says 'he's trying to say you're fictional too', but surely that can't be it. The second is the realization that Larry is being too serious, really too serious, and that must mean he's joking. Right? Playing it up for effect? Maybe the real answer is boring. Maybe that's the punchline. 'You look normal'. Ha, ha. There's a little bit of a laugh in his voice when he responds and it's just a tinge nervous.]

What, do I look bad in 4bit?

[It's not what it sounds like, surely. He's just jumping to conclusions because he's already in a headspace where the possibility might seem plausible.]

[Four--

Ugh, this is the problem with being a constant jokester. People don't take you seriously when it's time to be serious, which is irritating -- but not irritating enough to just blurt it out. It's enough to break someone's psyche if they're not ready for it and Larry is not going to do it to his friend. He crosses his arms as he stares at Ford, carefully choosing his words, before deciding on:]

...You look exactly how you're supposed to.

[Which is intentionally unhelpful as possible, hoping that in some way it'll end this unnecessary and dangerous conversation. "Supposed to" - either because he's fictional and has an intentional appearance, or that he looks like a real person even through the eyes of a video game character.]

Exactly how--

... I'm supposed to.

[That would have been the time to say the joke, if there was a joke. Ford might be high but he thinks he can tell the difference between a joke and not a joke regardless. So that wasn't a joke. None of that was a joke. And surely if the real answer was just 'you look like a normal human being' Larry wouldn't be sitting there staunchly refusing to say it. And that means--]

You're SERIOUS?

[He holds up a hand like this assumption he's making will pull the wool from his eyes and he'll suddenly see beyond whatever fourth wall may or may not be there. It looks the same as it ever has: six fingers, wrinkles and calluses, light dusting of hair. Real. Unless it looks real because he's fake, and he sees everything that's fake as real, and--]

Tell me what I look like!

[There is a very distinct crack on 'look'.]

[Larry's eyebrows raise in alarm. Oh, yeah, he's definitely not ready for this knowledge.

...but he's clearly not ready to let it go, either.

Larry brow lowers again and he lets out a defeated sigh. He unfolds his arms and holds out an empty hand in silent request to be given Ford's sketchbook and drawing implement. Larry's no artist, but he can at least draw a decent communicative sketch. In fact, his less-than-artist skills are probably going to do them both a favor in the long run.]

I'll show you.

Edited 2020-04-27 09:20 (UTC)

[Ford almost doesn't hand over the sketchbook. He literally just asked to be told but the gravity (ha) of what it might feel like to see it is... a lot. It's a lot. It's hard to tell if it's better or worse to be doing this while high. Worse because his brain is going a mile a minute making assumptions based on nothing at all. Better because he's more open to it to begin with.

This isn't the first time he's thought about this possibility. It's crossed his mind on occasion ever since that first conversation, and then even more frequently after the second, the one in the bathroom. He just always dismissed it because, well...

Because it was safer. And that's not in his nature, to take the safe path over the one that leads him to the truth. That's always been one of his biggest strengths and his greatest weaknesses. Now is no different.]

Okay.

[He holds it out, along with the pencil. He's almost at the point where he hopes this isn't a joke, because it's an awful long way to go for one and it sure won't be funny at this point.]

[Larry takes both from him and flips to an empty page. He holds it open on his naked lap while he fills said page with a schematic of Ford. He's at it for a while - and for the entire duration, he doesn't even look up at Ford. He's doing it entirely by memory, which is not that much of a challenge because he's spent many a quiet moment late at night or early in the morning drinking in the image of...well, him. Attuned to the vibe of whatever drug this is, he recalls every detail - the relation of facial structures to each other, the way the lines change direction and where.

It's not a bad re-creation of the Gravity Falls art style from someone who doesn't draw for a living, nor has seen a single episode of the show.

When he's done, he turns the sketchbook face-down and hands it back to Ford to give him the freedom to reveal it to himself when he's ready.

He's still not smiling.]

[Okay. Alright. The length of time it takes is a little unsettling, particularly because in the state he's in Ford's perception of time is somewhat distorted. He passes the minutes by examining the fine details in the wall hangings over Larry's head and finishing off the entirety of what was left of his moon dust. This situation calls for it.

It's nice to be given the choice of exactly when he gets to see himself. The real him, or at least, the real him as Larry sees it. He doesn't know exactly what he expects. He's visited fictional worlds before where his own appearance was changed to match, but that was a byproduct of a curse and now he's realizing those were fictional worlds within his fictional world. Maybe that works differently. Maybe he's overthinking it. It could be both.

He flips over the sketchbook.]

Really?

[He looks up. Back down. Back up.]

I'm not even four heads tall!

[Back down again. A cartoon? He was expecting something closer to The Grimdark Chronicles, considering. The kind of stuff that happens to him isn't the kind of stuff that happens to cartoons. He covers his mouth with a hand and then drags it down his jaw thoughtfully.]

... I look like a fucking muppet.

[Okay. That's not the worst reaction he could've had. Larry can't help but huff out a laugh.]

That makes the two of us, buddy.

[Larry lays back down, crossing his legs and propping up his ankles on Ford's knee, throwing his arms behind his head as he reclines.]

At least you're more of a Fozzie than -- [He pulls an arm from behind him to poke the side of his own nose] -- Gonzo.

[That's very Ford, to react... not wrong, exactly, but different. To focus in on a different thing that someone else might. That would be true even if he was sober. His hand, still on his jaw, rubs thoughtfully along the angles of it. Is it really that big? Sweet Moses.]

Your nose looks fine.

[But then, he can't see what Larry really looks like. Any of the ways he's really looked like, from the original limited pixel graphics to the slick vectors of the reboot. He wonders how long that's going to actually bother him, particularly when the thing about it that bothers him is just that he can't see it. What he'd see doesn't matter so much as that he can't.]

How I see it. I mean.

[This is easier to talk about than the rest of the thoughts roiling around in his head. This revelation implies a lot of things, puts a lot of his past into a very different light. It's a monumental knot to untangle and Ford doesn't know quite where to pull first.]

It is fine. It's also huge. You won't be gaining any brownie points for telling me otherwise, hehe!

It always has been huge. One whole pixel made all the difference, way back when.

[He throws an arm back behind him. Who's got a healthy body image? This guy. Especially while he's high.]

I know how I look to you anyway. [He nods towards the sketchbook.] Assuming you don't take artistic liberties when drawing real people.

[What an interesting choice of words: "real people".]

I never said it wasn't huge. That's part of why I like it.

[He sure does have a type, but even high and discombobulated he knows better than to go into that. Ford may not know much about relationships but he's pretty sure it's bad form to tell the man you've been fucking for months that he looks very much like another man you once fell in love with.

That was all carefully predestined too, wasn't it? Fiddleford finding a nice girl, settling down, making a life for himself?

Going insane?

Did he only forgive Ford so quickly because the story needed a neat ending?

It's not a nice train of thought. And sure, in some ways it removes some blame from Ford's shoulders, but in others it makes it worse because it means there's nothing he could have done differently. A lot of things don't look so great with that light shining on them.

He's been quiet too long. Probably. It feels like he has.]

My brother used to draw comics back when we were kids in Jersey. This looks a little like that.

[He doesn't smile, exactly, but one of the corners of his mouth twitches upward a little.]

Our dad hated them. If he found out about this it'd kill him again.

Oh -- in that case, thanks! Hehe.

[We knew the compliment would be found in there somewhere.]

I'd bet. Comics weren't "cool" back then.

[Larry takes his arms down from behind his head and roots around for his green pixie stick. Ah, there it is. He pinches a section of it and kicks back the free dust. He rolls the noxiously sweet substance around in his mouth, delighting in how it makes the back of his teeth hurt with just how sugary it is. Once he's got a mouth full of saliva, he swallows it down, then smacks his mouth.]

Mahh! Plenty of reasons to avoid letting people know. It seems like a bigger deal than it actually is. [He's only saying it this way because Ford isn't freaking out on the outside.] It's not like nonfictional people have any more control over their lives than we do, when you think about it!

CW: drug use and existentialism, what a thread this'll be

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bout to end this man's whole career

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