[ ooc; Dirk Strider, 16, thrill-seeker, "cool" bro, and mouthy dork. Kind of a huge fuck up. Missing his iconic rad shades (for the moment, just you wait). Catch his AU Workshop info here!]
II-B: Sick tat, bro.
[ He's chill. Cool as fuck. Sure, he's been drugged, kidnapped, caged up, and mysteriously and painfully gained some less-than-rad ink on his left palm. Yeah, his mom's probably going to murder him for it, straight up dump his body twenty miles outside the city. And if anybody asks where that troublesome younger boy of hers went? She'll roll out a doll that bears a striking likeness to him and tell people just how well behaved he's become since 'that day.' It's alright, he's got a survival plan: just gotta wear gloves 24/7 for the next two years and claim it's a phase. Exploring his identity.
Whatever un-chill thoughts he may have? Not making it to his face. Whoever the assholes on the other side of the glass are, he's not giving them shit to hold over him. As one shadow looms closer, he scrambles to his feet to retreat from the center of the case, until his back bumps heavily against the glass wall behind him, shoulders braced for a fight.
The glass cracks, just slightly. His head turns, amber eyes focusing on the thin line that's slowly crossing the panel, before his deadpan stare glances back to the other side. The moment stretches, and then he takes a running leap, springing for the wall with athletic grace, ready to drop-kick/bodyslam/pirouette off the handle and on his way to freedom...
...Only to be bounced back like an teenaged idiot who just tried to drop-kick/bodyslam/pirouette off a fucking wall, laying stunned on the floor. ]
Fuck.
[ Well. The case may have withstood the first attack, but at least it looks like it won't survive a second. Just give him a minute, ok? You could also help him out, or maybe just stand there laughing. Your choice. ]
III: You, him: teacup challenge. Let's do this.
[ If you're lucky enough to get paired with him on the teacup ride, prepare to be hijacked into helping him check a ridiculous stunt off his bucket list of increasingly stupid lifetime achievements. ]
You ready to spin it to win it?
[ He's leaning forward, hands gripping the center wheel in perfect form, expression set in implacable determination. There's a sense that things are about to go horribly, horribly off the rails, whether or not you're down for the ride.
You may wonder how the fuck somebody wins at teacups, and Professor Di-Stri here is about to teach you. ]
Wildcard: Bring it.
[ Hot damn I love brainstorming. HMU on Plurk (coolbrewed) or on Discord (coolbrewed #4435) if you wanna chat ideas! ]
[REBOOT] Dirk Strider | Homestuck
II-B: Sick tat, bro.
[ He's chill. Cool as fuck. Sure, he's been drugged, kidnapped, caged up, and mysteriously and painfully gained some less-than-rad ink on his left palm. Yeah, his mom's probably going to murder him for it, straight up dump his body twenty miles outside the city. And if anybody asks where that troublesome younger boy of hers went? She'll roll out a doll that bears a striking likeness to him and tell people just how well behaved he's become since 'that day.' It's alright, he's got a survival plan: just gotta wear gloves 24/7 for the next two years and claim it's a phase. Exploring his identity.
Whatever un-chill thoughts he may have? Not making it to his face. Whoever the assholes on the other side of the glass are, he's not giving them shit to hold over him. As one shadow looms closer, he scrambles to his feet to retreat from the center of the case, until his back bumps heavily against the glass wall behind him, shoulders braced for a fight.
The glass cracks, just slightly. His head turns, amber eyes focusing on the thin line that's slowly crossing the panel, before his deadpan stare glances back to the other side. The moment stretches, and then he takes a running leap, springing for the wall with athletic grace, ready to drop-kick/bodyslam/pirouette off the handle and on his way to freedom...
...Only to be bounced back like an teenaged idiot who just tried to drop-kick/bodyslam/pirouette off a fucking wall, laying stunned on the floor. ]
Fuck.
[ Well. The case may have withstood the first attack, but at least it looks like it won't survive a second. Just give him a minute, ok? You could also help him out, or maybe just stand there laughing. Your choice. ]
III: You, him: teacup challenge. Let's do this.
[ If you're lucky enough to get paired with him on the teacup ride, prepare to be hijacked into helping him check a ridiculous stunt off his bucket list of increasingly stupid lifetime achievements. ]
You ready to spin it to win it?
[ He's leaning forward, hands gripping the center wheel in perfect form, expression set in implacable determination. There's a sense that things are about to go horribly, horribly off the rails, whether or not you're down for the ride.
You may wonder how the fuck somebody wins at teacups, and Professor Di-Stri here is about to teach you. ]
Wildcard: Bring it.
[ Hot damn I love brainstorming. HMU on Plurk (