“Hehe, yes. I’m here. My Tallest. “
Funny, it’s almost like he was just about to give them a call. ..or perhaps he’s just been standing there since their last conversation ended. Who knows.
⟨⟪ ℜ ⟫⟩ ❞ ; ℛ . So the Space Monkeys failed to assassinate the little squirt --- well, anyway .
“So uh, what are you doing? How is your assignments going, Zim ?
I haven't received any recent reports yet.”
▼➠ ❝ The Armada. Say it with me. Arm. Ma. DAH. — Now that term class is over, no, it’s not just you. ❞
⟨⟪ ℜ ⟫⟩ ❞ ; ℛ . "Yeah the Amanda,
whatever!
Eh, I'm kind of 50 / 50 with the apathy so, do you think we should go back for those losers?
They might be low on gas or something."
⟨⟪ ℜ ⟫⟩ ❞ ; ℛ . "Zim are you dead --- I mean there. Are you there?"
⟨⟪ ℜ ⟫⟩ ❞ ; ℛ . "Is it just me or is our...
uh, big spaceship gang
lagging way behind the
Massive?"
▼➠ ❝ Not saying you aren’t—— I’m just curious. ❞ But when is Purple not curious? ❝ What’s those loose ends? ❞
"A rebellion.
I'm tired of waiting for them to come so I'm bringing the rain to their planet my way. I want the suffering to last, that's why I called Zim."
▼➠ He couldn’t help it. He had to ask. ❝ You alright in the head, Red? ❞
"I'm perfectly fine and capable. Just taking care of a few loose ends."
" AH! Yes my Tallest of course! “ Even though this was odd. They never call HIM first! This is either totally important or just another joke. —Like.. remember Trail? E x a c t l y !
"You're probably wondering why I called you, but it's important."
who would've thunk that the one Irken, the monarch that hated Zim more than his purple twin would ever call, let alone bestow something of great importance to a defective.
"I'm sure you're aware of some of Irk's neighbouring 'allies', well, I'm sending you on a vacation to one of those planets to do something for me."
"Surprise---yeah, I have a job for you, Zim."
people say that i am heartless but i’ve just learned to use my [ heart ] LESS.
That's fine. Torturing your other half is much more fun, anyway.
Creepy, but the kid got his attention.
”It depends on what kind of torture you’re talking about.”
Something wasn’t right here. Did the kid catch a cold or something?
He’s usually more talkative than this.
I was wondering if you'd come out. I met your other half, let's see if you're worth my time.
“Yeah well, some of us have actual lives—you know, like running an empire? Anyway I’m sorry to burst your little bubble, but you’re not worth my time.
Buh-bye.”
"Right, you.
Don't you ever have something better to do,
you know, instead of bothering aliens?"
"Hey, you're my colour."
”UH-HUH,” he said, tone mocking. He was trying to avoid blame on anyone, but was he doing a great job with the situation? Morally, no. Not at all. however he tended to work with what he had. Calm, and enjoying himself, but that quickly came to an end as he heard the order.
Could he consider it an order- or a plead?
It all just froze. It stopped. Why did it— oh.
He stopped it without much thought, and just stared down at who occupied the wheelchair. Now only did he realize how much those two words let him snap back to the reality, like there was a glass wall that stopped him but no one else. Everyone else just… walked through. But not him. He stayed, lost in thought and feelings far too thick with branches of worries that prevented him from finding a way out.
”…Red?” There really wasn’t much to finish with; Red would answer however he wished and Purple would do the same.
"Take me back to my room."
a voice between a frightened whisper and a held back sob as slender fingers continue to grip the ends of the hover chair's arm rest, knuckles turning white as if flesh would split and tear to reveal porcelain bones.
Thin lips curve downwards in a violent quiver and resistance. It felt so wrong, so different to not be guided by his own will, own want--his own legs.
Red knew himself as a natural leader, and it peeved him to not be in a position despite Purple's efforts of trying to cheer him up and help him get back on his own two feet in the first place though it shouldn't have to be.
He was the one supposed to be protecting, supposed to be taking care. To not do any of what he'd been so accustomed to doing made him feel so uneasy.
Red slammed his fist on the arm rest and snarled at his friend,
"Purple move!"
Replace the anxiety with rage. Did it help? Yes. Was it worth it? No.
“You’re excused, and I’m obviously pushing the wheelchair you are currently occupying.” His quips were soon followed by his obvious recklessness.
He would say he didn’t care, but that would be such a lie; he’d screw up saying it. ”I mean: I’m the driver here.”
“Come on,” he whined in return of Red’s irritation, “It can’t be that bad to be on this thing.”
Of course he’d say that as he pushed the wheelchair forward. Of course he’d say that as he then hopped on the bottom part like he was a child messing with a shopping cart.
Much to the relief of Purple — and possibly Red — the chair showed no sign of tipping.
"Let's see if you say that when you're paralyzed waist down you smart-ass."
It wasn't his intention to throw the blame card around, and he didn't want Purple to feel guilty at all! No one could have known the attack was coming, so no one was at fault here.
Red was just agitated.
But Purple wasn't helping by jumping on the wheelchair. In reality the chair stayed upright, but in Red's mind he felt a jolt from the sudden change in velocity which was normal. It sped up a bit when Purple got on, but Red felt entirely different. He felt it swerve.
"NO STOP!"
He wasn't in control.
He wasn't in control.
