"We need to tell someone this— the world deserves to know what we just discovered." Alex follows his lead only doesn’t leave the puppy on the ground, instead he keeps the wiggling ball of cuteness in his arms, smiling at both the animal and over at Trip. "At least you have one already so you’re not losing out on anything." Alex steps out of the cage, dog still in hand. "Do I get to just take him today? I’ve never done this."

Trip stepped from the puppy pen, lanky legs taking him over it with ease. "All those pups are eight weeks or more, so you should be able to take him home. The guy will probably just scrub him down and give him a quick shot or two. Then, in three weeks, you follow up on the shots with vet. It's pretty simple," He explained, crossing the room and coming upon the breeder. The older man, with his wirey beard, donned a smile. "Ah, I thought you'd like him. A real sweet heart," He said, stepping forward. "Hand him here and I'll get him all ready to go."

"Honestly I don’t know why no one has thought up this amazing plan yet. It’s genius, I say, genius." His tone matched Trips, a teasing smile on his lips. He loved how they could mess around like that, how not everything was so serious. The display of affection along with the words coming from his lips have Alex grinning, a laugh leaving his lips as he scratched at the dogs ears. He was going to have to take this one home, it was the only one that didn’t go running off. "Good, because I was getting this dog and naming it Tucker whether you approved or not."

"Yeah! You think that, after like thousands of years of civilization, somebody would have realized that death is a choice," He said, pressing all the puppies from his lap and standing to his feet. Trip looked down at the wiggly creatures, frown spreading across his face as he realized that he had not leave them behind. "I wish I could take them all home, but I can barely handle Upchuck," He mumbled, crossing his arms and pouting. He looked to Alex, watching the way the school teacher held his own pooch. Slowly, his smile returned. "You're taking him? Well, alright. Lets go tell the breeder, then."

Alex looks up from his dog, dimples shining through as he looks to the other man, “That’d be a lot of dogs— I don’t think I’d want to give them all away though.” He’d want to take them all home.. not that he was sure that many puppies in his apartment would work. “I have a new plan. Just don’t die and then it’ll all work out better.” Yes, that was a much better idea. “So is Tucker acceptable or does his Majesty not approve?” 

"Just don't die? Why, that is a brilliant plan! I don't know why I never thought of it," Trip joked, speaking in such heavily coated sarcasm that his words struggled beneath the weight. He snickered and bowed his head, moving to bring a new puppy into his arms. This one was round and fat, little faced pressed with wrinkles. "Oh!" He chirped, tugging on its droopy jowls. "She is so cute, just like Upchuck when he was little." The blonde stuck out his tongue and snuggled the little thing. He glanced at Alex and smirked. "I, the Lord of Dogs, declares that such is a splendid name."

                   Is he high? What’s he on? Common thoughts to cross Don’s mind when Trip was in one of those moods. But he didn’t exactly pull away. He stumbled along, keeping his head down and hoping no really attractive women were watching. Then, at the loud (and rightfully blown) horn, Don whipped away from Trip just to turn on whoever had done it.

                   “AH, GO FUCK YOURSELF YOU BAG OF SHIT." The bespectacled driver only glared, too frightened by Don’s baggy jeans, hoodie, tattoos, and lip ring to do anything else. Soon, the pair of men were off the asphalt and on the cement again. "Yeah, well… what are the other two thirds made of then?" he asked, one brow arched.

   Trip near leapt out of his skin, goose bumps flaring up on his arms. He turned to Don, a burning streak of embarrassment painted across his cheeks. "What are you doing?" He questioned, squeezing the taller man's forearm. "Don't yell at people like that, Jesus Christ. You don't know who you're yelling at. That could be a psycho over there. A psycho just looking to shoot up an incredibly attractive blonde and his less attractive, but still handsome, friend."

    He huffed and continued his dragging, mouth pulled into a scowl. "You know I love trouble, but I'm a man of my word and I promised you lunch. I'm not dying before you get it and that milkshake." Turning another corner, he sighed and dug around for a smile. Popping it on, he beamed and continued on as if he hadn't just snapped at his friend. "Well, another third of you is pent up rage, apparently. That part can be loads of fun at the right time. As for the rest? It's probably a toss up between secret softness, physical appearance, and that thing where you crush a soda can with one hand." 

                   Don didn’t want to go to lunch. He just wanted to lay on some sinking old mattress, close his eyes, and let life sinking into velvety nothing for a little while. When he woke up, he could proud for himself - for just one fucking second - that he’d denied both bottle and pill another day.

                   But again, there was Trip, looking at him with that stupid, wide smile on his youthful face. Even if a cheeseburger and fries didn’t sound like heaven after a month of ramen noodles, it was that face he couldn’t say no to. In class Don fashion, his eyes rolled, and he sighed in defeat. “Alright, throw in a chocolate shake and we got a deal.” A small smile crept up into his cheek despite himself.

    Trip giggled, the joy of ten thousand fucking rainbows spilling past his lips. He brought his arms around Don's, locking them together at elbows, and started down the road. His feet followed the chipped yellow line of the street as he veered off into traffic, too jubilant to notice the screeching drivers. For but a moment, Trip could hear an old dubbed song, see the way jumbled lyrics scarcely fit in an ill-matched mouth. Folg den gule murstein gate. A plaid skirt. Long braids. A journey home. Was this what that was? Were they going to a diner, or were they going someplace more?

   A blaring horn drew Trip from his thoughts and he quickly crossed the street. Donning another smirk, he turned to his taller friend. "There's my Don!" He said, reaching over to pat the older man's head.  "I thought I'd chased off that dry humor. So glad to see it back. You wouldn't be one-third as fun without it," He continued, punctuating the joke will a well-practiced wink.

open

  "Excuse me? What did you just say?"

"You heard me, Klara. My dog is named after vomit and I love him. It is term of endearment, I swear," He repeated, crossing one leg over the other. 

Jackson almost groaned when all the plates were dropped in front of him at once. One at a time, he could handle, but this almost felt like too much. Still, he’d already made it  this far, he just needed to focus on one plate at a time, just like he’d been doing already. Maybe. If Jackson could  pull this  off, he’d never do anything this crazy again, and it didn’t matter who batted their eyes at him, Jackson  wasn’t going to gorge on pasta. Hell, he might not even eat  it for a long time after this. 

"You want me to shock you?" Jackson drummed his fingers against the table as he tried to think of what he could say. Trip  didn’t need to  know every last secret  about  Jackson;  they’d  only  just  met.  But,  Jackson  could give Trip something  to  go off  of. “I was kidnapped once by the co-captain of my high school Lacrosse team,” he said. “Held  me  in  a  truck  for  a  couple of days. How’s that for shocking?” 

Trip snickered, pressing a hand to his mouth as Jackson flinched away from the new bowls of pasta. "Having trouble, Jack? You aren't going to fail me now, are you?" He asked, leaning forward to tap the edge of one bowl. "Because if you're going to vomit, I ask that you turn your head the other way. It is only common courtesy not to throw up on handsome men, after all." Trip offered a quick wink before falling back against his seat cackling.

 He listened to the younger man with keen attention, pupils shrinking in fascination. "Is that so? Did you ever report the guy, or was it all high school fun?" He asked, propping his elbows up on the table. "Not that it matters, though. I'm hardly shocked. I once fished a key out of a man to save a little girl. I once discovered a US Senator in bed with three women and a man suffering from dwarfism. Hell, my best friend once tried to shoot me in the head." He threw his head back and gave another laugh, elated by his own memory. "So, if that is all you have, then I'm not shocked."

He was half tempted to hug the puppy to his chest and back away slowly but just grins, “Um, Ace- …Axel? Tucker could work, maybe. —Don’t steal my dog.” Alex rubs at the tiny animals belly, watching it with a happy expression. “What if I die first? Then you have to do it for me. But sure, I’ll just put a puppy on anyone who cries lap and tell’em no.”

Trip snorted and pulled away, fingers finding the soft fur of another puppy. He watched Alex fumble over names, blue eyes carefully studying the school teacher's pleasant smile. Trip found himself admiring that expression, finding his own contentment in its total honesty. Alex lacked pretense; he was happy, but not forcefully so. Too many people lived there lives wrapped up in themselves, in the carefully constructed suits they put on every morning. But Alex? Trip appreciated his openness. "That's the spirit," He replied. "Maybe they could be like gift bags. Everyone can take home a pup."

His fingers scratch behind the ears of the puppy he had, eyeing the other. “That is where you’re wrong. I’m taking this one and really, you can’t stop me.” His smile is clear on his face, dimples and all as he pets the dog. “I think I’ll name him Max. Toby— Rex. Rex, yes.”

"Rex?" Trip spat, nose all wrinkled up. "That name is dog abuse. Too common, too simple. Try again or I'll really have to steal him." Trip stuck up his nose and scoffed, a playful smirk on his lip. He reached over and pat the pup's little head, struggling to keep his own pile of cuteness in his lap. "I swear, you just can't be sad with dogs around. I want you to let a heard of puppies out at my funeral, Alex. No crying allowed."

"…Okay I can deal with that. As long as I can have at least one we’re good."

Trip chuckled and pulled the puppies onto his lap, eyes glowing with signature mischievousness. "Now, now, my friend. We both know who is taking these dogs home and we both know it isn't you."

"—What? …I want them all.”

"Too bad. This one is mine. You can't have her."

open || lola + trip

Lola plopped into the seat next to him upon the invitations, carelessly throwing her legs upon his lap as she laid back.

"But I couldn’t possibly destroy all the Parisians. They have such yummy food, and lovely clothes. I don’t want my fictional reputations based around the destruction of a people who invented creme brulee`."

Trip shot up to his feet, eyes widened in horror. He grabbed at Lola's shoulders, holding her perfectly still. "Don't speak that way! My mother will hear you and come running with a battle ax!" The blonde looked back over his shoulder, face drained of color. After a few moments of silence, he sighed in relief.

"Thank god, she didn't hear you," He said, releasing Lola's shoulders and returning to his seat. "You know," He continued, fingers dancing along the arm rest. "For a woman so concerned with my mother's opinion, you sure do love taking risks. Never mind that my mom is miles away."

{open to males}

"Exactly, you can’t talk." He laughed. "I ought to, but I won’t. I’ll…I’ll work on it, okay? Coming from where I come from, it takes a while to get used to the whole coming out thing."

Trip thought back to his own hometown, a frozen little dollop of farms in the vast expanse of rural Norway. The memory pricked his nerves and he shoved it aside, quick to ignore what was unpleasant. "Do you think they'll hate you? That's why I don't do it." He grit his teeth, having exchanged one sour thought for another. "I don't want to lose anyone, no matter how great being honest sounds."

open || lola + trip

"Protestant, now that’s a stretch," Lola snorted, crossing her slim arms and wrinkling her freckled nose at him. 

"And if you’re going in that direction with my introduction, you can call me the Empress of All of the Known Universe, it’s the title nearest to the truth and mothers usually appreciate honesty."

"Oh no. That won't work," He said before falling into the nearest chair. "My mother is a Brit and the known universe includes France. It wouldn't matter if you had the moon and the Andromeda galaxy; she'd run you through just for France."

Trip patted the seat beside himself and sighed, hand reaching up to scratch at his stubble. "How about we go with Lola, Destroyer of Parisians? It has a nice ring to it."