lieutenantantichrist | [19] Video/Action for Olivine - "Warm Sun, Cool Ocean Breezes, Getting Ripshit On Ham"

[The camera is pointed at the sky. It's clear for now, though clouds aren't far distant. There's the sound of waves, underlain by clicks and scraping noises very close to the speakers. The screen shifts until it is angled properly to show the one positioning it - a Clauncher. With careful movements of his claws, he makes sure that the Gear is balanced against the rocks behind it. Once he's satisfied, he scuttles backward daintily until he has room to work.

In the background, Blake is visible, wearing swim trunks and reclining on a distant beach chair and soaking in the last of the summer. Now and then an Emolga hops up and drops a Frisbee onto his bare chest, and he tosses it off across the beach again.

The Clauncher has found an expanse of clear sand and a period of time in which he is given no heed, and intends to make the most of both. With a wriggle of his tail to steady himself, he rises up and lifts his claw. A slender stream of water arcs to the ground, forming the shape of graceful cursive letters writ in dampened sand.]

SOS, please hear and heed
I've come from 'neath the sea
Observe misfortune's bitter grasp
See what's befallen me.

I came with brethren plentiful
I know not whence or why
Only that by some mischance
I caught a native's eye.

I am a humble creature; still,
I've pride and dignity
I'll tell you now, I wasn't hatched
For a brute's menagerie.

Won't anyone come lend a hand
Or wing, or pseudopod?
I'll find my way as best I can-
But spirit me from this clod!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Didn't hear a thing.

[The camera yaws up toward the blue sky as he stretches, then comes back toward his face.]

Cause if I did, I'd have to get all pissed off, and it's too damn nice a day for that.

Why would you have to be pissed off though? You could just accept it...

[Blake gives him a frank gaze] Look, buddy, how would you take it if some guy came around talking about grabbing your balls, huh?

I'd love it.

[Really, Blake. You walked right into that one.]

[Blake sighs, having set himself up for that.

This guy's a freak and a pervert, no doubt about it. But something about how shameless he is, how he doesn't seem to notice that these aren't things you fucking talk about, it needles at Carter. Makes it hard to ignore him like you know you should.]

Okay, how about if a lady did.

I'd slap her.

[Depending on the woman, at least.]

[Blake lifts his hand, feeling like he's making a philosophical point here.]

So what makes the difference?

... I know how to properly grab balls.

[Blake's found a method of argument and he is not letting go.] Okay, what if it was a lady who was real good at ball-grabbing, or a guy who was real bad at it?

Women aren't good at it. I wouldn't care if a guy was bad though. I'd just teach him how to do it properly.

So, [Blake repeated patiently, with the look of somebody drawing towards the conclusion they're looking for,] what's the difference? How come you're not happy with just anybody grabbing your junk?

[Raikov purses his lips, knowing the answer and that Blake wants to hear it.]

... Fine. You win this round.

Exactly. It's all in who you're into.

[He crosses his arms, and he's just going to be smug here for a minute.]

Moral of the story is, don't touch my balls.

[grumblegrumble]

It'd still be the best handjob you've ever gotten if I was able to.

Jesus. [Blake winces.] You don't give up, do you? You're worse than some of the hookers I haul in.

I don't. And I'm better than any hooker.

Don't you have anybody else to hit on?

Yes but I like how grumpy you are about it.

[Okay, so he's just fucking around. Blake thought as much but it's good to know for sure. That's safer.] Well if you're looking for anything more than getting lost in my fuckin' pretty eyes, you're barking up the wrong tree.

[You also get a pretty good view of chest today! Aren't you lucky.]

[He might be messing around but he still means every word of it...

Raikov does appreciate the view though.]

Really? Because the Gear is giving me a nice view on your chest.

[It's a whole lot easier to believe he doesn't.]

What, this?

[Blake inadvertently tilts the phone down so you get a clearer view. It's actually not too flabby. A year or so of being on the road a lot gets you in good shape. There's some wiry black hair, with just a couple strands going gray.]

You wanna look at some guy's chest hair, suit yourself.

[But not for long - an Emolga hops up and blocks the view, chittering for attention. Throw the Frisbee! Come on, come on, throw it!]

[Raikov just purrrss... until the Emolga interupts him.]

... It was nice while it lasted.

You gotta be kidding me. [Blake was figuring he'd call the guy's bluff. That is not the reaction he expected. It's discomfiting. Easier to pay attention to the flying squirrel thing.] All right, all right, I'm throwing it.

[He tosses the frisbee (giving you a good glimpse of hairy armpit) and hisses when the Emolga hops frantically off him, scratching his chest with its little claws in the process.] Shit! I gotta cut that thing's nails.

[Hairy armpits aren't his thing, thankfully. But he winces as he sees Emolga claw up the poor guy, happy that Katya doesn't have claws considering she's always attached to his shoulder or head.]

Jeez... You going to be alright? That looked painful.

[Blake waves his hand] Nah, it's just a scratch. Barely bleeding. You get worse from cats, and those are assholes.

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