A/N: holy crap am I horrible at writing second-person dave or what :/ bluh bluh I'm probably gonna switch between second and third person from now on (did you know that last chapter was my first time writing second person? of course you didn't, but now you know~ 3 anyway, i hate doing pesterlogs for dave cause i cannot write him for shit so there's not gonna be a lot more of that coming around. Also it's kinda half-assed because i wanted to get on with it and second-person really is weird to write. Anyway this is devolving into a long bitch note so just enjoy your silly fanfic and stop reading this terror of an A/N.


== Be Dave Strider

Your name is Dave Strider and for the past thirty seconds you've been staring, very uncoolly, at your big brother as he smirks back at you. He's standing in front of the sword-filled, delighting in watching you come to terms with what he'd just told you.

"…. You want to make a legit record and send it off to a company." You're proud of how deadpan your voice is, and Bro gives you the slightest of nods. "We're just two kids with a keyboard and a drumset."

Bro turns, picking up his bottle of Faygo and taking a deep gulp. You wince behind your shades cause that shit's disgusting and you wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole. "You got friends. Get some of them to help." And with that he's gone, flash-stepping off to gog-knows-where.

A record. A legit, no-fuckin'-joke on-the-charts-one-day record. Bro knows that being a musician has been your dream since- well, as long as you've been old enough to reach up and manipulate Bro's turntables yourself. You spend most of your time making and mixing music, and most of the rest of it chatting with Egderp and your other friends.

Speaking of John, he's pestering you right now.

You move over to your laptop and collapse into your saggy-seated leather rolly-chair, 'resigning' yourself to about half an hour or doing nothing but

[ectoBiologist started pestering turntechGodhead at 19:48 hours]

EB: hey

EB: dave

EB: you there?

TG: sup

EB: oh good

EB: um

EB: so

EB: im getting like tons of emails over here

EB: hehehe

EB: i think we're famous

TG: not yet dude

TG: bro just laid the mightiest of missions on our shoulders

TG: im serious dude this shit is intense

EB: what?

EB: what did he want?

TG: the question isn't what bro wants

TG: the question is what we want

TG: to fizzle and die out in a vapid puddle of youtube trolls

TG: or to flip some of the sickest beats ever created

TG: and make our own record

TG: you still there

EB: yeah! Sorry

EB: i just

EB: a record?

EB: like a real live record?

EB: like, we're making a band?

EB: we can't just have a band of you and me!

TG: huh

TG: guess youre right

TG: not even my cool can contain all this derp you spew everywhere

TG: need at least two more people to mop that shit up

TG: it's a full time job

EB: hey!

EB: im going to ignore that

EB: because I just had the best idea

EB: why don't we get rose and jade to play with us?

TG: no way dude

TG: i don't feel like having lalonde psychoanalyze every gogdamned word that comes outta my mouth

TG: and Harley

TG: don't even go there

EB: aw come on!

EB: jade plays a wicked bass! She'd be perfect!

EB: just give them a try

EB: I'll invite them over for tomorrow afternoon

EB: and I have to go eat dinner now, so I'll catch up with you later!

[ectoBiologist ceased pestering turntechGodhead at 21:14 hours]

TG: what the fuck

TG: nobody even listens to me