segaboybrodie: (If it isn't mon frere.)
Brodie was a big fan of routine.

Wake up, do the one handed-salute if he hadn't spent the night with Eden, grab breakfast in the kitchen, then look for comics on the shelf. That was the morning deal, island hijinks non withstanding. Cause it was kind of hard to look for Fantastic Four comics when you were suddenly transported to Marvel Land or to the FUCKING JUNGLE.

Or when your roommate thought you'd tasted his neck meat in the middle of the night.

Crazy fucker.

Slightly battered dixie cup in hand, and still in t-shirt, bathrobe and boxers, he went to the rec room, checking the shelf for the tell-tale width of a comic.

It was a goddamn art form, getting the fucking thing to give him shit that he actually wanted. One that required concentration.
segaboybrodie: (Bathrobe)
Contrary to popular belief, the worst part about having a broken leg wasn't the pain. Brodie'd dealt with pain before, and now he was kind of used to it. It was the kind of thing that you learned to live with when you'd asked as many chicks to show him their tits as he had.

The worst part of it all was the GODDAMN ITCHING. The itching and the fact that there was nothing to DO. Fuck but, he'd give his left nut for a Sega and just about ANY game right now. Even Too Cool To Fool. Yes, he'd bought it, and yes he'd played it. But Brodie blamed that on the fact that it had been ten cents at The Dirt Mall and he'd been hungry at the time. But hey, you get what you pay for.

He shifted a little on the clinic bed, wincing when he moved his leg.

"HEY!" Brodie yelled out, "What's a guy gotta do to get a little room service around here?!"

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segaboybrodie: (Default)
Brodie Bruce

December 2010

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