Nobody (thekidwhodies) wrote in repose, @ 2019-09-20 20:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, alex white, mal reed |
Pizza and Smash: Alex and Mal
Who: Alex and Mal
What: Hanging out
Where: Mal's place, above the repair shop
When: Weekendish
Warnings/Rating: Probably low, will update if that changes
Alex had already learned a lot tonight:
1: Salad was pretty good. Literally eating leaves...was fine (okay, so it was spinach, but they were totally little leaves). Was it better when you piled on cheese and croutons and ranch dressing, and ate it with pizza? Well yes, absolutely, but it was still good. If he could find more room in his food budget, it definitely needed to go on the menu. (1a? Dipping pizza in ranch was also pretty awesome. He was coming to respect the versatility of ranch dressing in a huge way.)
2: He sucked at Super Smash Bros. Or maybe, Mal was very good. Like, Alex definitely enjoyed the bright colors and the flashy moves and panoply of characters - he'd tried most of them and found himself switching between Ness and Joker, as he seemed to at least suck the least with them - but Mal was good. Or, Alex was just entirely too out of practice at these types of games, and the last thing he'd been any good at was Goldeneye and that was about five console generations ago.
Still, he was having a great time, even as he was just mashing buttons and trying to keep up, in between - he admitted it - stealing glances at Mal and constantly replaying conversations in his head about not running away from things--
"Shit, dude!" He didn't slam the controller down because he wasn't mad, but also it wasn't his to slam. But there was Ness, sarcastically clapping for his opponent yet again on the match results screen. "Thought I had ya that time," he laughed. He sat crosslegged on Mal's beat up, yet insanely comfortable couch, wondering if there was a way he could sneak it out without his friend noticing. But not even Rumpleteaser had been that good a thief, let's be honest here. Also, no way would it fit in his shoebox of a trailer. He'd just have to come over more often.