Infinity Smashed: Best Enemies
Apr. 14th, 2021 10:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeBest Enemies
Series: Infinity Smashed
Summary: Biff and M.D. meet in a PIN holding cell.
Word Count: 2600
Notes: This story was the winner of this month’s Patreon poll. It takes place not long after the end of Found Wanting and Born Lucky (the latter of which I've revised, since it was from the old Male!Grey days) and immediately after Calls With Vandorsky: Goodbye. Finally, these jerks get to meet in story, which is appropriate, seeing as it's our Biff's birthday. Happy birthday, angel!
Biff had been in his cell just long enough to realize he wasn’t getting out alone when the suits gave him a roommate. Lucky him.
He still wasn’t sure who these assholes were, but they acted like he was a normal boring problem, like busted plumbing or roaches or something, and it gave him the creeps. The guy even complained in front of him this time. He was going:
“—Bit me! What the hell? I’m complaining to the UDC…”
The white lady ignored him, gave the bars a rap, and looked at the center of the cell, maybe four feet from where Biff really was. “Look alive, tough guy. You’ve got a roommate.”
Biff paused, then let go of the vanish and came forward. While she secured him, he tried to sneak a glance at the new meat but no luck; they were out cold face-down on the floor, and all he could see was blond hair and orange scrubs. Smaller than him.
“I don’t get why they even want this kid,” the woman grumbled as she unlocked the door. “Adults are fine, but I feel weird doing kids.”
“Don’t think of it like that. They’re both problems. Let ‘em sort it out.” The guy gave Biff a look. “You can handle it, right?”
Biff leaned against the bars and pretended they weren’t there.
The door clacked open, and the two suits dumped the kid on the cell floor, leaving their arms zip-tied behind their back. Then the suits re-locked the door, let him loose, and left, the guy still bitching.
Biff gave his wrists a rub to get the cuff feeling off him, then turned to give the kid a better look. Whoever it was, they’d really fucked themselves; when Biff had come to the first time, it’d been in some exam room with a jumpsuit and booties to change into, and they’d left him alone to do it before walking him here. (Big fucking mistake.) Whatever this kid had done, the suits had decided dressing them was easier than waking them up; the scrubs were all sloppy and twisted. The kid themself was a scrawny mess, covered in bruises and half-healed marks, with orangey skin and overgrown blond hair in shades that Biff had never seen outside a bottle. Couldn’t tell if she was a boy or he was a girl; neither felt quite right. Their arms were twisted uncomfortably underneath them, bound to hurt later, but Biff didn’t touch them. Stupidity had gotten him here; no reason for it to get him bit or barfed on too.
Instead, he went back to his bunk, got comfortable in the corner where it met the bars, and vanished. If this place couldn’t hold his face, maybe one day it wouldn’t hold the rest of him either.
He waited.
The kid started coming to way faster than he ever did—didn’t even throw up, the lucky shit. They just flopped around, muttering and trying to get their arms out from under them. When they got themself up on their elbows, they looked blearily around the cell. There wasn’t much to see. The door wall was steel bars, the other three of cinder block, and two of those had a cot bolted to them (no sheets, no pillow, just rubbery gym matting). The last one had a toilet without a seat.
The kid started trying to get up. There was a lot of rolling and scuffling, and once they banged their head into the metal of the bunk. Biff shook his head and resisted a sound of disgust, staying a silent pair of eyes and ears.
By then, the kid hardly looked groggy at all, more twitchy and knowing. Maybe this wasn’t the first time they’d woken up in a cell. They glanced his way a couple times, like they knew something wasn’t right, but Biff wasn’t worried. Plenty of people noticed the tiny sounds he made, breathing and moving, that it contradicted what they saw. They just didn’t notice they noticed.
Eventually, the kid managed to get to their feet (in rubber-tread booties like his). After stretching out the kinks as best they could and getting nowhere fighting the cable ties, they came up on the cell door, eyeing the lock and the camera outside. (Useless now, but no way the kid knew that.) Trying to see as much of the hall as they could, they pressed up to the bars, and a weird pins-and-needles feeling crawled through Biff’s shoulder against the metal. He jerked away before he could help himself, and he could’ve sworn that even before he moved, the kid’s head snapped to the side, staring real intent… but through him, not at him. Their eyes were about the same color as their hair.
Biff held still, breathed slow, waited. The kid kept staring through him longer than he expected, all alert stillness like a cat, then finally turned to walk away. Biff relaxed.
Then they spun and kicked his bunk so hard they almost fell over.
Biff held the vanish, but he flinched, and the kid definitely heard that.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” They showed all crooked teeth. “Come out, skulker.”
Biff stayed vanished and quiet. The kid rolled their eyes and headed towards the toilet.
“I’ll splash you. Don’t think I won’t; I have to go.”
Biff killed the vanish. “You do, and I’ll make you fucking drink it.”
The kid jumped, then cocked their head and peered intently at him, as though trying to figure out how he’d done it.
“That’s a good trick,” they said.
Biff just crossed his arms.
They went to the bunk on the opposite wall. “My name’s M.D.”
“I don’t care.”
“No one asked you to. What’s yours?”
Biff sucked his teeth and made it clear he was sizing them up and planning to take their bunk. (Not because it was any better than his. Just to set the precedent.)
“Okay, fine, be that way, Voyeur McGee.”
“Hey, fuck you,” Biff said. “What the fuck are you, anyway?”
They gave him a teenager look. “I,” they declared, “am a Martian.”
Normally he might find that sorta funny, but he hadn’t had a cigarette in weeks and was fit to chew his arm off, so he replied, “You a boy or a girl Martian?”
“Maybe. Are you?”
He bristled. Definitely taking their bunk. “Boy. That makes you the girl.”
He hoped it’d get a rise out of her, maybe a real answer, but she just flopped back on the cot and went, “suit yourself, bubba.”
Then he saw her figure it out, really figure it out: he was bigger, older, and stronger, and she was stuck in a cell with him, tied up.
“They must’ve been pissed, putting you in here with me,” Biff said, picking at his teeth. “What’d you do?”
She was sizing him up too now. Good. “Got hit by lightning. What about you, you cut them off in traffic or something?”
Biff just chortled, which she didn’t seem to like.
“Where are we, anyway?” she asked.
That question, he didn’t mind answering. “Vago Desert.”
Clearly this was bad news. She deflated.
Biff eased back into the vanish. She didn’t try to stop him, talk to him, or even seem to notice. She looked like she was thinking.
…
I really shouldn’t have bitten that government employee.
At first, I was worried that my new roommate would jump me, but if so, he was sure taking his sweet time about it, and after a while, I had to stop worrying about it because I had a much stupider, more humiliating problem: I really needed to go to the bathroom. And the toilet lacked not just a seat, but any sort of privacy.
I eyed the seemingly empty bunk. No way. Not with him there. So I held it, held still, kept my mouth shut, and hoped that if I made no more trouble, the noble agents of the United States government would let me loose.
It was hard to say how much time passed, with no windows, crummy fluorescent lights, and Mr. Unsociable, but I was getting pretty uncomfortable when I heard the door open (not ours, the one at the end of the hall) and footsteps. Two PIN employees strode into view outside our cell, keeping their distance.
“Meal time! Look alive.”
With an air of nonchalance, my new roommate eased into visibility, slouched his way to the bars, and put his wrists through them. One of the pinheads came forward and cuffed his wrists to the bars—making sure to feel that everything was in place, I noticed. When they were certain, they said, “Clear. Next,” and my new babysitter, still staring off into the middle distance, extended one ankle. It was cuffed to the bars in turn, and again, the pinhead made good and sure to check with their hands, not just their eyes. The whole time, the other pinhead, who stayed well back, watched the whole procedure like a hawk.
They must’ve bungled it before, I realized, if they’d built up to this level of security. Maybe they hadn’t just locked us in the same cell to punish me—they were punishing him too, with a potential snitch roommate. Interesting.
Neither ankle nor handcuffs had much slack, and the position looked awkward and off-balance, but he showed no reaction. He just stared off into space. Me, I sat waiting, trying not to look hopeful. With my hands bound behind me, there was no way they could easily bind me to the bars. Maybe…
No. “You. Face down on the floor.”
I hesitated, glanced at my roomie’s face (expressionless), and obeyed. I heard a clatter of trays, the door creaking open, a clunk and hiss as the trays were set down and slid in, then the door clanking shut and the click of the lock. I moved to get up.
“Stay down.”
Biting my tongue, I stayed. This position wasn’t making my bladder any less clamorous. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the pinheads unlock my roomie—ankle first, then hands, practically leaping out of the way once his hands were free. They were taking him way more seriously than me.
“You can move now. Eat up.”
I started squirming, trying to get to my feet. Dinner was a tray of something gloppy and colorless—creamed chicken and rice, maybe, with a plastic spork that I couldn’t reach.
“Hey!” I called. “How am I…?”
They just laughed at me and left, and Mr. Congeniality was sauntering over with a greedy look, so I skipped trying to get up properly and slither-wormed my way to a tray.
“Get your own, bridge troll,” I snarled.
He reached for my dinner, so I plowed my face into it and got to slobbering. If the choice was eating or not, I’d take eating, even if half of it ended up on me, rather than in me. It tasted like cold church leftovers, but it was mine, and I hadn’t protected meals from a million food-stealers just to lose them to this jerk.
He wrinkled his nose like the world’s most unimpressed babysitter, then sat cross-legged and set to eating his own share, watching me with that vacant look that I was starting to suspect was faked. He was older than I was, but barely an adult and not much taller than me—the way the PIN were treating him, he couldn’t be that stupid.
My bladder was starting to scream now; one way or another, privacy or no privacy, I’d be going soon. After I’d gobbled as much as I could reach, I wriggled to my feet, wiped my face as best I could on the shoulder of my scrubs, and headed towards the toilet. It looked no more pleasant than it had the first time.
He’d stopped eating and was looking at me. I couldn’t read his expression.
“You got something you need to say?” I snarled.
His response was to conjure an illusory curtain.
I blinked. Leaned against it. My body went through it like a bad special effect, not even a tingle. I pulled back and it popped back into existence. It looked like ordinary white cloth; I could even see the weave. For a moment, I just moved in and out, watching it appear and disappear like magic.
He didn’t seem to like my inspection. “You going or what?”
“I’m going, I’m going!” I assured, and ducked in.
Fortunately, they’d put me in scrubs, not a jumpsuit like roomie’s. Said scrubs had an elastic waistband, no snaps or buttons, and even with my hands bound behind my back, I got them down by myself. I even managed to catch them before they dropped too far, because no way was I risking that. The rest of my business went smoothly, though I had to skip the toilet paper and hit the flusher with my foot.
As far as I could tell, he hadn’t moved from his spot when I came out. I had a moment of relief until I realized why: he was eating what remained of my dinner, despite my slavering all over it.
“Hey!”
He just pointedly (smugly) licked my tray clean so it matched his.
“That’s mine!”
He tossed the tray down. “Not anymore.”
“It’s not even real food!” I snarled. “What is your problem?”
He sneered and flicked his spork at me. “I don’t like your face.”
I lunged at him.
Even if my hands hadn’t been bound, he was clearly ready for me; he caught me, jabbed me in the kidney, put in me in a headlock, and then I was in his head.
The next thing I knew, I was face-down among old canned creamed chicken, my head was pounding, and he was up against the wall, as far from me as he could get. The mask of cow-eyed stupidity was gone; he was white-eyed, sharp-edged, up on the balls of his feet with his fists clenched. And his image was… frizzing. Buzzing around the edges.
“The fuck was that?” he snarled.
I just grinned and wheezed at him.
“The fuck’d you just do?”
“Biff?” I cackled. “People still name their kids Biff in this day and age? You poor trashbag! I should’ve known you were from Georgia, with that accent. You wear a vanish all the time, or just for me special?”
Biff froze. His image snapped back to normal. Ah, so I was right. Interesting.
“I get it, I get it, you needed to establish the hierarchy, call top dog, fine. First hit was free, but next time you try it, I’ll go so deep in your head, I’ll know when you quit bed-wetting. So are we finished here? We done now?”
For a moment, I thought Biff would beat the tar out of me regardless of the consequences. But then something flickered across his face, and he put his dull-eyed, expressionless face back on, though his fists stayed clenched. With an attitude of feline indifference, he went to his bunk, lay down, and turned his back to me.
“That’s what I thought,” I said.
He ignored me the rest of the evening. Totally worth getting punched, especially since that brief glimpse at Biff’s innards had given me welcome news: he was a food-stealing bully but not a bathroom creep.
I could work with that.
Series: Infinity Smashed
Summary: Biff and M.D. meet in a PIN holding cell.
Word Count: 2600
Notes: This story was the winner of this month’s Patreon poll. It takes place not long after the end of Found Wanting and Born Lucky (the latter of which I've revised, since it was from the old Male!Grey days) and immediately after Calls With Vandorsky: Goodbye. Finally, these jerks get to meet in story, which is appropriate, seeing as it's our Biff's birthday. Happy birthday, angel!
Biff had been in his cell just long enough to realize he wasn’t getting out alone when the suits gave him a roommate. Lucky him.
He still wasn’t sure who these assholes were, but they acted like he was a normal boring problem, like busted plumbing or roaches or something, and it gave him the creeps. The guy even complained in front of him this time. He was going:
“—Bit me! What the hell? I’m complaining to the UDC…”
The white lady ignored him, gave the bars a rap, and looked at the center of the cell, maybe four feet from where Biff really was. “Look alive, tough guy. You’ve got a roommate.”
Biff paused, then let go of the vanish and came forward. While she secured him, he tried to sneak a glance at the new meat but no luck; they were out cold face-down on the floor, and all he could see was blond hair and orange scrubs. Smaller than him.
“I don’t get why they even want this kid,” the woman grumbled as she unlocked the door. “Adults are fine, but I feel weird doing kids.”
“Don’t think of it like that. They’re both problems. Let ‘em sort it out.” The guy gave Biff a look. “You can handle it, right?”
Biff leaned against the bars and pretended they weren’t there.
The door clacked open, and the two suits dumped the kid on the cell floor, leaving their arms zip-tied behind their back. Then the suits re-locked the door, let him loose, and left, the guy still bitching.
Biff gave his wrists a rub to get the cuff feeling off him, then turned to give the kid a better look. Whoever it was, they’d really fucked themselves; when Biff had come to the first time, it’d been in some exam room with a jumpsuit and booties to change into, and they’d left him alone to do it before walking him here. (Big fucking mistake.) Whatever this kid had done, the suits had decided dressing them was easier than waking them up; the scrubs were all sloppy and twisted. The kid themself was a scrawny mess, covered in bruises and half-healed marks, with orangey skin and overgrown blond hair in shades that Biff had never seen outside a bottle. Couldn’t tell if she was a boy or he was a girl; neither felt quite right. Their arms were twisted uncomfortably underneath them, bound to hurt later, but Biff didn’t touch them. Stupidity had gotten him here; no reason for it to get him bit or barfed on too.
Instead, he went back to his bunk, got comfortable in the corner where it met the bars, and vanished. If this place couldn’t hold his face, maybe one day it wouldn’t hold the rest of him either.
He waited.
The kid started coming to way faster than he ever did—didn’t even throw up, the lucky shit. They just flopped around, muttering and trying to get their arms out from under them. When they got themself up on their elbows, they looked blearily around the cell. There wasn’t much to see. The door wall was steel bars, the other three of cinder block, and two of those had a cot bolted to them (no sheets, no pillow, just rubbery gym matting). The last one had a toilet without a seat.
The kid started trying to get up. There was a lot of rolling and scuffling, and once they banged their head into the metal of the bunk. Biff shook his head and resisted a sound of disgust, staying a silent pair of eyes and ears.
By then, the kid hardly looked groggy at all, more twitchy and knowing. Maybe this wasn’t the first time they’d woken up in a cell. They glanced his way a couple times, like they knew something wasn’t right, but Biff wasn’t worried. Plenty of people noticed the tiny sounds he made, breathing and moving, that it contradicted what they saw. They just didn’t notice they noticed.
Eventually, the kid managed to get to their feet (in rubber-tread booties like his). After stretching out the kinks as best they could and getting nowhere fighting the cable ties, they came up on the cell door, eyeing the lock and the camera outside. (Useless now, but no way the kid knew that.) Trying to see as much of the hall as they could, they pressed up to the bars, and a weird pins-and-needles feeling crawled through Biff’s shoulder against the metal. He jerked away before he could help himself, and he could’ve sworn that even before he moved, the kid’s head snapped to the side, staring real intent… but through him, not at him. Their eyes were about the same color as their hair.
Biff held still, breathed slow, waited. The kid kept staring through him longer than he expected, all alert stillness like a cat, then finally turned to walk away. Biff relaxed.
Then they spun and kicked his bunk so hard they almost fell over.
Biff held the vanish, but he flinched, and the kid definitely heard that.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” They showed all crooked teeth. “Come out, skulker.”
Biff stayed vanished and quiet. The kid rolled their eyes and headed towards the toilet.
“I’ll splash you. Don’t think I won’t; I have to go.”
Biff killed the vanish. “You do, and I’ll make you fucking drink it.”
The kid jumped, then cocked their head and peered intently at him, as though trying to figure out how he’d done it.
“That’s a good trick,” they said.
Biff just crossed his arms.
They went to the bunk on the opposite wall. “My name’s M.D.”
“I don’t care.”
“No one asked you to. What’s yours?”
Biff sucked his teeth and made it clear he was sizing them up and planning to take their bunk. (Not because it was any better than his. Just to set the precedent.)
“Okay, fine, be that way, Voyeur McGee.”
“Hey, fuck you,” Biff said. “What the fuck are you, anyway?”
They gave him a teenager look. “I,” they declared, “am a Martian.”
Normally he might find that sorta funny, but he hadn’t had a cigarette in weeks and was fit to chew his arm off, so he replied, “You a boy or a girl Martian?”
“Maybe. Are you?”
He bristled. Definitely taking their bunk. “Boy. That makes you the girl.”
He hoped it’d get a rise out of her, maybe a real answer, but she just flopped back on the cot and went, “suit yourself, bubba.”
Then he saw her figure it out, really figure it out: he was bigger, older, and stronger, and she was stuck in a cell with him, tied up.
“They must’ve been pissed, putting you in here with me,” Biff said, picking at his teeth. “What’d you do?”
She was sizing him up too now. Good. “Got hit by lightning. What about you, you cut them off in traffic or something?”
Biff just chortled, which she didn’t seem to like.
“Where are we, anyway?” she asked.
That question, he didn’t mind answering. “Vago Desert.”
Clearly this was bad news. She deflated.
Biff eased back into the vanish. She didn’t try to stop him, talk to him, or even seem to notice. She looked like she was thinking.
…
I really shouldn’t have bitten that government employee.
At first, I was worried that my new roommate would jump me, but if so, he was sure taking his sweet time about it, and after a while, I had to stop worrying about it because I had a much stupider, more humiliating problem: I really needed to go to the bathroom. And the toilet lacked not just a seat, but any sort of privacy.
I eyed the seemingly empty bunk. No way. Not with him there. So I held it, held still, kept my mouth shut, and hoped that if I made no more trouble, the noble agents of the United States government would let me loose.
It was hard to say how much time passed, with no windows, crummy fluorescent lights, and Mr. Unsociable, but I was getting pretty uncomfortable when I heard the door open (not ours, the one at the end of the hall) and footsteps. Two PIN employees strode into view outside our cell, keeping their distance.
“Meal time! Look alive.”
With an air of nonchalance, my new roommate eased into visibility, slouched his way to the bars, and put his wrists through them. One of the pinheads came forward and cuffed his wrists to the bars—making sure to feel that everything was in place, I noticed. When they were certain, they said, “Clear. Next,” and my new babysitter, still staring off into the middle distance, extended one ankle. It was cuffed to the bars in turn, and again, the pinhead made good and sure to check with their hands, not just their eyes. The whole time, the other pinhead, who stayed well back, watched the whole procedure like a hawk.
They must’ve bungled it before, I realized, if they’d built up to this level of security. Maybe they hadn’t just locked us in the same cell to punish me—they were punishing him too, with a potential snitch roommate. Interesting.
Neither ankle nor handcuffs had much slack, and the position looked awkward and off-balance, but he showed no reaction. He just stared off into space. Me, I sat waiting, trying not to look hopeful. With my hands bound behind me, there was no way they could easily bind me to the bars. Maybe…
No. “You. Face down on the floor.”
I hesitated, glanced at my roomie’s face (expressionless), and obeyed. I heard a clatter of trays, the door creaking open, a clunk and hiss as the trays were set down and slid in, then the door clanking shut and the click of the lock. I moved to get up.
“Stay down.”
Biting my tongue, I stayed. This position wasn’t making my bladder any less clamorous. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the pinheads unlock my roomie—ankle first, then hands, practically leaping out of the way once his hands were free. They were taking him way more seriously than me.
“You can move now. Eat up.”
I started squirming, trying to get to my feet. Dinner was a tray of something gloppy and colorless—creamed chicken and rice, maybe, with a plastic spork that I couldn’t reach.
“Hey!” I called. “How am I…?”
They just laughed at me and left, and Mr. Congeniality was sauntering over with a greedy look, so I skipped trying to get up properly and slither-wormed my way to a tray.
“Get your own, bridge troll,” I snarled.
He reached for my dinner, so I plowed my face into it and got to slobbering. If the choice was eating or not, I’d take eating, even if half of it ended up on me, rather than in me. It tasted like cold church leftovers, but it was mine, and I hadn’t protected meals from a million food-stealers just to lose them to this jerk.
He wrinkled his nose like the world’s most unimpressed babysitter, then sat cross-legged and set to eating his own share, watching me with that vacant look that I was starting to suspect was faked. He was older than I was, but barely an adult and not much taller than me—the way the PIN were treating him, he couldn’t be that stupid.
My bladder was starting to scream now; one way or another, privacy or no privacy, I’d be going soon. After I’d gobbled as much as I could reach, I wriggled to my feet, wiped my face as best I could on the shoulder of my scrubs, and headed towards the toilet. It looked no more pleasant than it had the first time.
He’d stopped eating and was looking at me. I couldn’t read his expression.
“You got something you need to say?” I snarled.
His response was to conjure an illusory curtain.
I blinked. Leaned against it. My body went through it like a bad special effect, not even a tingle. I pulled back and it popped back into existence. It looked like ordinary white cloth; I could even see the weave. For a moment, I just moved in and out, watching it appear and disappear like magic.
He didn’t seem to like my inspection. “You going or what?”
“I’m going, I’m going!” I assured, and ducked in.
Fortunately, they’d put me in scrubs, not a jumpsuit like roomie’s. Said scrubs had an elastic waistband, no snaps or buttons, and even with my hands bound behind my back, I got them down by myself. I even managed to catch them before they dropped too far, because no way was I risking that. The rest of my business went smoothly, though I had to skip the toilet paper and hit the flusher with my foot.
As far as I could tell, he hadn’t moved from his spot when I came out. I had a moment of relief until I realized why: he was eating what remained of my dinner, despite my slavering all over it.
“Hey!”
He just pointedly (smugly) licked my tray clean so it matched his.
“That’s mine!”
He tossed the tray down. “Not anymore.”
“It’s not even real food!” I snarled. “What is your problem?”
He sneered and flicked his spork at me. “I don’t like your face.”
I lunged at him.
Even if my hands hadn’t been bound, he was clearly ready for me; he caught me, jabbed me in the kidney, put in me in a headlock, and then I was in his head.
The next thing I knew, I was face-down among old canned creamed chicken, my head was pounding, and he was up against the wall, as far from me as he could get. The mask of cow-eyed stupidity was gone; he was white-eyed, sharp-edged, up on the balls of his feet with his fists clenched. And his image was… frizzing. Buzzing around the edges.
“The fuck was that?” he snarled.
I just grinned and wheezed at him.
“The fuck’d you just do?”
“Biff?” I cackled. “People still name their kids Biff in this day and age? You poor trashbag! I should’ve known you were from Georgia, with that accent. You wear a vanish all the time, or just for me special?”
Biff froze. His image snapped back to normal. Ah, so I was right. Interesting.
“I get it, I get it, you needed to establish the hierarchy, call top dog, fine. First hit was free, but next time you try it, I’ll go so deep in your head, I’ll know when you quit bed-wetting. So are we finished here? We done now?”
For a moment, I thought Biff would beat the tar out of me regardless of the consequences. But then something flickered across his face, and he put his dull-eyed, expressionless face back on, though his fists stayed clenched. With an attitude of feline indifference, he went to his bunk, lay down, and turned his back to me.
“That’s what I thought,” I said.
He ignored me the rest of the evening. Totally worth getting punched, especially since that brief glimpse at Biff’s innards had given me welcome news: he was a food-stealing bully but not a bathroom creep.
I could work with that.
no subject
Date: 2021-04-17 09:09 am (UTC)"Couldn’t tell if she was a boy or he was a girl" -- <3
~~~
Also, small aside, I think you want "he" not "Biff" here: "As far as I could tell, Biff hadn’t moved from his spot when I came out."
no subject
Date: 2021-04-17 04:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-06-14 07:39 pm (UTC)