When they get back to the hotel, there’s a shit ton of furniture in the hallway on their floor-- mattress, bed frames, little cell phone tables, those chairs that no one ever uses except for airing out their jock.
“Looks like someone got pranked, buddy,” Reilly whistles as they roll up to their room.
“Someone got burned, buddy,” Jonesy agrees with a blinding grin.
“Someone got Punk’d in the face, buddy.”
“Someone saw the face of God in a child and it said, ‘BOOYAH', buddy.”
“Someone got come to the face without explicit kink negotiations in advance there, buddy.”
“Negotiations and consent are critical there, buddy,” Jonesy adds, opening the door to their room.
It's a surprise to see that all the furniture is gone except one bare mattress on the floor in the middle of the floor. Their suitcase has been emptied and their clothes are in the tub, soaked.
“Those are non-beauty moves, buddy.”
“Grounds for having your registration stripped by the Registrar for Registered Beautician Registry, buddy.”
“I haven’t washed that cup since we won the Mem Cup, buddy.”
“That's three years of luck down the drain, buddy.”
Across the bathroom mirror is written in lipstick, ‘SUX IT YOU ROOKIE COCK LOOKERS.’
“That was my fave shade, buddy.”
“Looked good on your lips, looked good on your dick, buddy.”
“No problem, buddy.”
They head back into the main room, shoulder to shoulder, so they have to shuffle in sideways to fit through the bathroom door.
The room is still wrecked and they frown around at it, feeling mad.
“Def prob, boys.”
“Def need to wreck some faces, boys.”
“Punching some faces in, boys.”
“Popping the beak.”
“Hooking the honker.”
“Quick jab the the schnozz.”
“So much blood that it's like an anime from the ‘90s after a cheesecake shot.”
“I'll make you cheese your pants shot, boys.”
“Ensuring that plastic surgery you've always needed will be medically necessary, boys.”
“You're the fuck welcome, boys.”
“The whole world is welcome, buddy.”
“Your dick is welcome, buddy.”
“Your dick is welcome in me, buddy.”
They stare at the mattress, letting that all sink in.
“You ready for bed, buddy?”
“For sure, buddy.”
They go darts off and flex the guns before putting the safeties back on and looking back down at the mattress.
“You know, there's only one bed here, buddy.”
“One bed for the boys.”
“One bed for it, boys.”
“Sacking out in the sack.”
“A 250 foot winks game.”
“Dig that snooze game.”
“Pass the biscuit, boys.”
“Respect that biscuit, boys.”
They pound on it with matching grins and go back to looking at the bed. There's still only one bed when there's usually two.
Unless they're pulling a serious snipe.
Or they're in a shitty motel with a busted radiator.
Or they're up late, watching porn and post-o naps become all night z crushing.
Just the usual.
Oh, and their pre-game napskys, but that's just hockey stuff.
“Do we just-- like--”
“I mean, we could--”
“It's some team bonding, buddy.”
“I was thinking about the team bonding, buddy.”
“A little line chemistry.”
“Gelling those lines, boys.”
“Syncing the systems.”
“Locking it all down.”
“Keep this thing rolling.”
“Oh yeah, buddy.”
They pound on it and kick off their shorts, flopping onto the bed on their usual sides. There is just the two of them in the bed.
“Bro, I miss the Katy Kat.”
“Katy Kat was the most snipe, buddy.”
“A serious clap bomb with some serious laser snap.”
“Like. Those Big City Slams are.”
“But Katy Kat was.”
“And, like, four is, like, too many players on the ice, buddy.”
“Serious penalty minutes incoming, buddy.”
“There's a reason you get three lineys on a line, buddy.”
“Plug callups just don't cut it, buddy.”
“Yeah, but I guess it's better than dusting on the bench though, buddy.”
“No other plays on the board here, boys.”
They lay on their backs, arms touching, frowning at the ceiling.
“Unless we just. Did it with each other, buddy.”
“What, like, just the two of us, buddy?”
“Like a temporary, emergency reassignment, buddy.”
“Put the Ds on a D pair, buddy!”
“Some bare knuckle boxing.”
“A blow by blow blowie.”
“A buzzer beating beat off.”
“Going down and out.”
“Dangling the D.”
“Banging those bodies.”
“World Wrapper Championships.”
“Wood between the pipes.”
“Whoa, buddy. Isn’t going between the pipes a little.”
“Nothing wrong with a little glory for the glory hole, buddy.”
“You’d be cool with going five hole here, buddy?”
“I’m no flamingo there, buddy. I can go PP or PK, boys.”
“You’re a real beauty, buddy.”
They pound on it and croon, “NYYYYEEEEEAAAAHHHH! NYEAAAHHH!”