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“Jaron, I don’t care if you’re transgender, we need to get to Washington D.C. by twelve!”
He needed to get his roommates in order. Now, over twenty years after the sudden plane crashes into the Twin Towers and Planet’s hospitalization due to being in the building at the time (the plane did go into the building), getting on a plane to anywhere is a challenge with all the new security measures like the TSA and police that pull him aside every once in awhile and ask why grease spawns on the floor whenever Bacon stands still for too long. Did he spill something? Did he piss himself? No, Bacon always says, he did not piss himself, his name is Bacon and that’s just the way things go sometimes.
So basically: No plane. They’re taking the train.
It would take more than two hours, and Jaron is busy doing transgender things that are taking up too much time, like tying his shoes. Bacon isn’t transphobic but you must be part of some movement if you take more than six minutes to tie one shoe.
Bacon sighs, taking his hands off of his hips and reaching down to help Jaron who instantly recoils, scooting so that he faces away from him.
“I can tie my own shoes, Bacon, the laces jumping away from me have nothing to do with being transgender.” Jaron says, struggling to pull the laces through each other after he makes the bunny ears. The laces slip out of his grasp and he starts from square one in frustration.
Bacon scoffs, “The laces are not jumping away from you, you’re using your minority status to make us late. Speaking of, what’s taking Planet so long?”
Jaron shrugs, “I dunno, he’s probably messaging some terrorist organization as we speak. Yell for him, maybe?”
“Oh, sure, ok. Good idea.”
Bacon turns to the hallway, “HELP, SOMEBODY HELP ME! PLEASE!”
When he turns back Jaron is looking at him with a weird expression that scrunches up his face, like he thinks Bacon is stupid.
“Are you stupid?” He asks.
Bacon blinks, “I did what you said?”
After a moment the door to the bedroom opens calmly, or as calmly as it can with the fork-on-plate screeching the eighteen year old hinges produce. They can’t get WD-40 into the apartment anymore after what they did last time. Planet walks out unbothered.
“Yo.”
“I was screaming for help and all you say is ‘yo’? What if I was dying or being murdered? Or worse, like being killed?” Bacon asks, arms crossed incredulously.
Planet doesn’t humor a response, “Is Jaron struggling with his shoes again?”
It really doesn’t have to be asked. There are tears in Jaron’s eyes as he white-knuckles the laces of his skechers once more. His hands are shaking.
“Dude, why don’t you like… wear different shoes?”
“They—” Jaron sniffs, wiping his nose with his shoulder. It’s really gross. “They light up.”
They stand on the train platform, Jaron’s shoes untied. At least they made it on time. The train, however, did not make it on time and they’ve been stuck waiting for twenty minutes, maybe a whole year if Bacon went by how he felt, and he’s always right.
“Ew, Bacon, you’re dripping grease everywhere again.” Planet covers their nose. The smell permeates the air but the station is so crowded it’s hard to discern the source. Unless you’re Planet and Jaron who are pressed right against him and light up shoes are illuminating the spill.
“I really could not tell you how much I don’t care.”
“Oh my god, ew ew ew, it’s getting on me. Jaron, tell him how bad and gross he smells.”
Jaron doesn’t seem to care either, his mouth is pressed into a thin line. “Why are we doing this again? We don’t even like Trump.”
“You don’t like Trump, I find him funny,” Bacon says, putting a hand to his heart like a true American, “I thought this would be funny. I know you’re a Biden-head but you don’t need to be a buzzkill either.”
“Yeah, okay.”
The train ride itself was fine. The passing cityscape to rolling hills back to the city had Planet’s face pressed to the window in awe when he wasn’t playing Geometry Dash on his Ipad like a devoted Catholic to their holy texts. It was the same amount of worship, Bacon guessed. Bacon would nudge his shoulder every once in a while and they would just swat at his hand, still tapping, or not react at all. It was a little strange and off putting actually.
Good thing that was over and Planet had put his Ipad away into his backpack that was supposed to carry things like water bottles and gloves and things of the like but now only held:
1. The Ipad
2. 13 pens of various color varieties
3. A light green sticky note that was colored over with crayon poorly in red with the word (with terrible handwriting in black crayon) “poopcock” (definitely by one of the freaks in the apartment above them)(Mapicc)
4. One bottle of hand sanitizer (orange)
5. A math textbook completely ripped apart with all of its pages scattered throughout the main compartments of the backpack as well as the pockets. Each page is burnt or ripped or both a heinous amount
6. Knock off airpods called Hearhogs (pink)
7. A Samsung SCH-V200 with incriminating evidence of participation in a national tragedy
8. Two long copper wires
9. 6-inch long PVC pipe
10. One Hexbug (yellow)
11. Gunpowder
12. Flint and steel
13. Broken glass
14. 9v battery
15. Black tape
16. Ten obsidian
17. A bomb x2
18. One bottle of hand sanitizer (purple)
19. A rainbow flag colored over (also with crayon) with the American flag colors
20. Spoke’s (upstairs neighbor #2) cat piano
21. Adderall
22. Four noise complaint notices
23. Three marbles (purple, red, and brown)
24. One fidget spinner
Now Bacon didn’t want to necessarily get hurt or die for this cause, he doesn’t even truly support it, but it was the funniest option after he ran for mayor two years in a row as a republican conservative who lives and dies for his country. He spent six years in the military (allegedly) and made his way through college with straight As (allegedly), landing in the legal field (allegedly). In reality he’s 18 and streams minecraft on twitch. He didn’t win many votes but he did get an interesting email from a high up political figure.
And so he dragged his friends into it too. A fun roommate outing! He ignores Planet screwing a lid onto a PVC pipe.
They’d stopped by the gates, just far enough away from the gathering of people to not be associated with them but also to watch. The people around them are… interesting, with American flags as face paint and other patriotic paraphernalia. Weird, but his name is also Bacon.
“So… when are we breaking in?” Planet tightens the bolt of the PVC pipe somehow threateningly.
Bacon checked his watch, a Barbie themed pink abomination that was gifted to Bacon as an apology from Spoke for ransacking their apartment and stealing every family heirloom all three of them ever owned, and it struck 12:53.
“Um, now I guess?”
“Sweet!”
Planet throws the pipebomb at the door of the White House, the impact causing it to detonate and the front to cascade in with the rumble of the explosion, probably doing horrible horrible things to the mob crowded around. The detonation results in multiple along the edges.
He watches for a few moments, only after the destruction does he turn back to Bacon, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him slightly, “The liberals never lose, Waffles, we need to build a nether portal.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Planet places down the base obsidian nonchalantly,
“Planet, are you tweaking?”
Reaching up and placing the last few pieces,
“Planet.”
And taking the flint and steel from his inventory to ignite the structure.
“Planet!”
He grabs Bacon by the sleeves and pulls him with them through the portal.
Bacon grips his head at the nausea that invades his brain, weren’t they missing someone?
“What about Jaron?!”
“What about me?”
Hell is hot, but Jaron sits in heaven and on the floor with a laptop and a tub of ice. Bacon stares.
“Is that Nancy Pelosi’s laptop?”