"WHAT THE FLYING FUCK ARE YOU DUMBASSES DOING."

"Dude, we're like two feet away. Stop yelling."

"We're watching movies in our blanket fort!"

"…WHAT."

John and Dave were currently hiding out in a house of blankets, constructed of bedsheets, couch cushions, and one harlequin-themed sleeping bag. The fort extended to the shelf where the television stood, blankets tacked up with clothespins. It looked rather silly, in all honesty. Or incredibly stupid, depending on who you were.

"HOW IS A HIVE BUILT OUT OF COTTON BLANKETS GOING TO PROTECT YOU FROM AN ATTACK?"

John frowned. "Well we're not hiding from anyone. Maybe you. Are you going to attack us?"

He was strongly considering it. "WHAT COULD I POSSIBLY GAIN FROM DESTROYING YOUR LAME EXCUSE FOR A FORTRESS?"

"I dunno. I don't think personal gain ever really stopped you from destroying things," John replied with a shrug. "We'll let you in if you promise not to wreck it."

Karkat's eyes narrowed in agitation. "YOU HONESTLY THINK I WANT TO SIT AND CUDDLE LIKE SOME THREE-SWEEP-OLD GRUBFUCKER AND WATCH YOUR PATHETIC EARTH MOVIES." It was a statement, not a question, but Dave took it as one anyways.

"Yeah, but you gotta calm your tits before you're allowed into this holy comforter cathedral, erected in homage to the god of shitty videography, Tommy Wiseau."

"WHO IS THIS HUMAN TOMMY WISEAU?"

"He wrote a movie called, 'In which there is a man who is an accomplished banker with a beautiful matesprit, but her cheating on him and his poor choice in friends leads him down the path to despair, causing him to take his own life, which is filled with much drama and clichéd plot twists'. Wanna watch?"

"THAT IS THE WORST ATTEMPT AT A TROLL CINEMATIC TITLE I'VE EVER HEARD."

"Fine, it's actually called 'The Room'." There was a slight pause before John continued speaking. "…We've got popcorn."

"…MOVE OVER, FUCKWADS."