hery
the fool
cool pirate cowboy 123123
Dexter Cruz
Auburn Springs
Dexter paced around the living room in circles, the car keys hanging off of his fingertip jangling like Christmas bells. It was times like this he wished he had a cat in addition to a dog; cats are the ones that are super into shiny things like key rings, right? At the very least, Dex's dog didn't seem all that interested, lazing about on the couch like the disappointment he was. It was a commonly-repeated theory that Dex had aged the poor thing years beyond his actual age due to the amount of tireless play time he insisted upon the dog. Part of the blame was in Dex's dad, as he should have known by them that Dex was more of a puppy than any brand-new, mangy beagle mutt could ever hope to be.
Not a day would go by without his dad finding some way to compare the ratlike creature to "bridger cretins", which Dex found a little too Shakespearean for his modern tastes in language. But he would never say that—it just wasn't in him to disrespect his doting father like that.
Did Elena ever sense their father's disparaging of her, offering a blatantly greater amount of affection to goofy, oblivious Dexter? The question seemed to answer itself with the addition of the word "blatantly", although Dex wasn't one to know definitions anyway.
Right—the keys. The night of this bonfire was a momentous occasion, not to be taken lightly nor overshadowed by dogs or dads or sisters. No, for the first time in two weeks, Dex was given the opportunity to drive a car. Alone. With actual permission this time. See, after that whole carjacking Elena and coming to the rescue of Chelsea and Mer thing after Val's party (which sucked, by the way), some priorities needed to be... reassessed.
Now, Dex isn't the brightest lightbulb—nor was he ever—but he wasn't so foolish as to offer every excruciating detail of his dramatic chauffeur opportunity to anyone. He'd been stuck on this whole idea of reciprocity for so long, he hadn't even begun to think about betraying Chelsea's trust.
Buuuuuut... it made a great argument for getting driving privileges back, especially at the risk of another smashed mailbox. Dex had come up with some needlessly elaborate lie about Chelsea getting mugged or something and needing a ride, which none of his family seemed to believe. Even so, Dex's long-winded and convoluted explanation had drawn so much exasperation out of his dad that he threw in the moral towel and handed back the boy's rightful car keys.
And so, Dexter Cruz entered his famous Dexter Cruz-Mobile (name in progress), a red Audi convertible with so many new coats of paint it rivaled the layers of Valerie Flores' hideously cakey makeup. By that point, Dex's father had surely spent more on repairs than he had on the luxury car itself.
Time flew as Dex made his way to the bonfire spot, most of which was spent jamming out and contemplating pb&j flavors, which devolved into ranking jelly types, which devolved into acceptable sandwich spread substitutes, which consisted primarily of nutella and melted cheese. Wait 'til CK hears about this one—I just know he's a tartar sauce ham sandwich type of guy.
Perhaps Dexter had gotten a little too excited, as he came to realize he most definitely showed up approximately... way too early. That wasn't so bad, though, as he was literally in the middle of nature, humanity's most natural, uh, habitat. The dopey boy probably wouldn't last a day fending for himself in the wilderness, but boy could he have a field day with this... field... of trees. Making activities out of nothing was somewhat of a skill Dex was proud of, even if most of the time he was branded the village idiot for just having weird, but good fun.
Well, lots of those activities involved drinking, smashing bottles, and roughhousing, but who was he to deny his passions?
In this case, Dexter's passions lied in a rather gnarly, majestic stick nestled in the undergrowth. It was about as long as his wingspan and as thick as three fingers smushed together (ha-ha), an ideal tool for a skill he had been itching to develop: forest knitting. Of course, knitting requires thread and, in this forest, Dex had no choice but to turn to nature's thread: cobwebs.
The muscled boy began waving his stick about, invasively charging at trees and bushes sporting impressive, no doubt intricately designed spiderwebs. His stick was beginning to look like some twisted form of cotton candy, with clumps of dainty, white threads barely hanging off of the lichen-covered branch.
A familiar voice broke Dexter's intent focus, shattering the crafty processes struggling to function with the rusty cogs inhabiting his brain. "CHELS! Dude, sandwiches, I gotta ask-" he began, swinging around to face his best friend. Unfortunately, he couldn't finish his thought before jabbing the unsuspecting teenager right in the eyeball. His jaw dropped in horror as his friend stumbled backward and felt for his freshly-poked eyeball.
He dropped the stick with no hesitation, as though CK had unlocked a secret command inside that obedient, dusty brain of his. "Uhh, sorry, man..." he sheepishly apologized, more disappointed in himself for being stupid than for actually hurting his friend. That familiar tone of friendly anger softened the emotional blow a little, but he still felt like a kid being called out by the teacher for eating paste again.
Dex watched wordlessly as Chelsea grabbed the stick, his seemingly innocent eyes following the boy's facial expressions as he attempted to rationalize Dex's hopelessly moronic antics. "I dunno," he replied with a nonchalant shrug, puzzled as to what had confused Chelsea so much about his behavior, "Nature knitting, dude. It's a survival skill. You gotta collect spiderwebs first, then you make a sweater or something." He flashed his trademark, goofy million dollar smile, which always seemed to absolve him of any wrongdoing in front of others. "I had time to kill."
He listened with an earnest face as Chelsea continued speaking, thoroughly used to hearing every single insult in the book about bridgers and their fires and stuff. Chelsea usually sounded like he had a point, so Dex didn't really care to question it. He was kind of like his dad in that way, now that he thought about it. Except, like, kind of cooler and more badass and stuff. Imagine having CK for a dad... luckyyy!
"Nope, not yet!" he answered with a chipper lift to his voice, noting that not that much fire was present at all. Sure, it wasn't all that late in the day, but Dex was getting antsy for some more hot hot FIRE, "I'll let you know, though!"
With that out of the way, Dex leaned in to whisper to CK, as though they weren't isolated enough to not be heard already. "Dude, should you be here?" he whispered concernedly, studying Chelsea's hideously disfigured facial features, which were a far cry from his once perfect, gorgeous parts. How long does that stuff take to heal anyway!?
"I think you need to lie down, bro," he suggested, prodding at one of his facial bruises, "You're in horrible shape. You look, like, horrible!" Dex entered a boisterous fit of laughter, which was strange considering he entirely believed his words to be true. "It can't be easy getting around with your injuries. Driving here must have been SO hard."
He wagged a finger in Chelsea's face, then looked around at the forest scenery. "I pet I could make a killer poultry for your eye out of leaves and berries and stuff. Consider it my apology to you! Especially after how BAD you got beaten." The curly-haired boy began laughing again, exhibiting his one-of-a-kind inability to filter his speech.
| mood: nurse dexie | outfit: clothes | location: bonfire | mentions: Mer | interactions: Chelsea | tags:
ditto
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ditto
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