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: you there?
EB: oh good
EB: im getting like tons of emails over here
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 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: 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: 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