WHAT'S LOUIE MY KILLA? [pacey]

[ELLIOT NATHAN YEAGER]

Thinking about it, being born was pretty crazy. You were there for it, but you didn't remember it. You had to take other people's words for how it went down. That was pretty trippy to him, so he told Pacey, "Let's not talk about it anymore, birthing freaks me out." Yeah, even thinking about being popped out of his mother's vag was discomforting. He pitied the child whose parents believed honesty was the best policy when it came to telling the truth about where babies come from. He would much rather be thinking about resting and days of rest and Jesus. Jesus didn't involve talking about his mom's vag, so that was cool. The boy nodded to Pacey when he asked if it was illegal for him to be a lazy fucker. "Yeah, man. The truant officer's gonna get you. And then make you plow fields and shit." That's the least lazy you can do as a person, go to a farm and start plowing away. Unfortunately for the Earth boy, looked like if he ever get caught lounging around his house he'd be taken to do some hard labor. It was a tough world.

The big question here was Swiss cheese. Where did it come from? What was it made of? He supposed the people in the country it's from would know, and that meant fleeing to Europe was even a better idea. These cheese mysteries would haunt him until he died if he did not figure them out. "We're going to have to flee to Switzerland then. And I'll rub it in your face once you see that it really is windmills and goats and cheese." It begged the question, though, who came up with the idea for cheese? Who came up with the idea for any food that came from anything? He didn't pay enough attention in history to figure that out. "Pacceeee, I'm trying to help you," Yeager whined when his friend said they needed the trees more. "What if they arrest you for chaining yourself to trees and put you in prison and your forced to be some guy named Dora's bitch and make friendship bracelets for him out of your haiiirrr?" From all the prison shows he watched, that was a likely outcome. And Pacey was just too cute and innocent for jail, they'd tear him apart! It was just not a good place for kids like him. Not even kids like Yeager, because he was so fine that he would end up as somebody else's bitch. He was glad he had never even spent a night in the drunk tank.

With how Pacey said it, Yeager felt the need to defend himself. He held up a hand. "No, no, you don't understand. It's more than that, okay. She force-fed me grass. I was in the sixth grade. They all said bitches love Shakespeare. Bitches don't love Shakespeare." It was a traumatizing thing for a young kid to go through. But hell, he had been in the sixth grade reciting goddamn Shakespeare. That girl should have been impressed! Of course he was just projecting his issues on the author, but he had every right to in his mind. After having to read him all through high school, he was done with the guy. "I'll be your ghostwriter," he said about Pacey's soon-to-be bestseller. Whenever it came to completion, that is. "I mean, English is one of the classes I passed last year, go figure." Math was surprisingly one he'd failed. He was usually pretty good, though his best had always been science. English was close up there as his favorite subject, and he liked it enough (when it wasn't Shakespeare) that he felt he could make a good ghostwriter.

He couldn't help but laugh when Pacey did, pushing the kid back when he told Yeager to drop on his knees. The truth was friends should most likely not be allowed in public together. Or at least they could only go into stores one at a time. Yeager held up his right hand. "I swear on my honor as a Vogue subscriber that I will no longer tape my shoes." Then, he made grabby hands for the shoes Pacey had picked and said, "Ooh, pretty." He wasn't too good with the descriptive words, but when he liked something at least it was obvious. He cradled the shoes in his arms like a small animal and stroked them. And he was proud to say that he was straight as he fawned over these shoes after declaring that he must give head to his friend, but if he wasn't it wouldn't have even mattered. He was raised in an "alternative" household, he was open to a lot. "Seriously, I have to do a favor for you or something in return. Like...what would you want most in the world? I'm your genie, man." Like Christina Aguilera in a bottle, except he wasn't blond and didn't have his nose pierced. But he was close enough.

[PACEY LUCAS BAEK]

As two teenage guys (albeit two teenage guys who were going shopping, which was not the most masculine of extracurricular activities) there were probably better things for them to talk about than birthing. God, that was weird. He tried to think of more normal, teenage dude topics, but mostly he just came up with sports, monster trucks, and girls. None of these things interested him at the particular moment in time, so instead he just said, "Like that video in Health class. That is not shit that I needed to see." His poor, poor innocent mind had been so terribly traumatized by that video at fourteen. Birthing was gross. "Dude look at me, do they really think I can plow fields?" he asked with a look of mock horror. Really though, Pacey had some muscle so he would probably do alright, but he wasn't cut out for manual labour. "Can't I just like... buy those dudes like fifty tractors or something? Or whatever you use to plow fields, man, like I know." Pacey was definitely a city boy.

Though Pacey had never been to Switzerland, he had been to a great deal of other places, and had enjoyed most of them. He would have probably enjoyed all of them if it weren't for something bad that he ate while in France one time with his parents, but that was besides the point. The prospect of going to Switzerland specifically wasn't any more exciting than any other European country -- he didn't have the same attachment that he might to his parents' homeland of South Korea, or to Australia because accents -- but it would still be fun, probably. Plus, anything with Yeager involved was always a riot. "Okay dude. Do you have a suitcase big enough to fit a person in? Smuggle me over." He was playing, of course. Pacey could certainly afford the plane ticket, there was no smuggling involved. Plus, suitcases didn't seem as comfortable as they made it look on cartoons and shit. "Then hopefully if I go to jail, I'll save some trees in the process!" he said, laughing. Pacey would be scared shitless of jail if this were a serious conversation. "And how much experience do you have with being in jail, anyway?!" Yeager spoke like a man who could only know from experience.

He tried to imagine a sixth grade teacher telling an entire class of impressionable eleven-year-olds that bitches loved Shakespeare. He was pretty sure that most sixth graders didn't even know what the hell Shakespeare was, other than some old timey English shit, but for obvious reasons kids didn't really like old timey English. "Dunno dude, bitches would probably be mad impressed now if you could recite Shakespeare to them," he said, trying not to think about what it must be like to be force fed grass. Once he'd dared his older cousin to eat a blade of grass and that alone had made him throw up, though he wasn't sure if that was just because he'd made himself believe that it was bad or if it was actually really bad to eat the stuff. They had been kids at the time -- he thought it was forgiveable. "Damn straight you will be! And it'll be the best book ever." Pacey didn't actually know if Yeager was any good at English or not -- they were in different grades, had different classes -- but he figured that he'd make a good enough ghostwriter. This wasn't a serious idea anyway, though maybe one day he really would publish this book... and it'd be great.

It was actually really amusing that his friend was a Vogue subscriber. Yeah, Pacey might have had the money to be able to afford this shit more, but Yeager was infinitely more dedicated. Pace would never even be able to come cloes to that kind of passion for clothes, that was for sure. "Good. If not may you be stripped of your honour and your Vogue subscription." Pacey would never do that, though, but he did hold the shoes up over his head for a second in taunting. Unfortunately Yeager was quite a bit taller than him though, and he knew that, so after not even a few seconds he relinquished the shoes. Yeager looked like some kind of doting mama or something as he cradled the sneakers in his arms, and Pacey just shook his head. "What would I want most in the world, huh?" he asked, tapping his chin a little in contemplation. "Dude. Dude... Can you get me a date with Carly Rae Jepsen? 'Cause that would make my life." The singer was actually way older than him, though, despite the fact that she could have passed for around the same age -- so that would probably be a bad idea in practice. It was especially true with that baby face of his -- he didn't want to make her look creepy or something! Miss Jepsen was very pretty, though. She could call him anytime.

[ELLIOT NATHAN YEAGER]

Yeager mentally paused for a few moments when Pacey brought up the video. Not the video they showed in the fifth grade when they separated the boys and girls to learn about why their armpits smell so bad, but the video. The one that should have been rated X for content, because it was totally uncensored. "We must never speak of that," he said in a hushed tone. He could watch any horror movie, because that shit was fake. Watching a human being pulled out of a woman with forceps? There was nothing even he could say about that. "Before that they're going to feed you protein bars and make you gain muscle mass," the Water boy said informatively glad to be off the subject of birth and imagining just...birth. "White privilege has gotten you so misinformed." He shook his head, even though Pacey was right about the whole tractor deal. And he was of Asian descent, so it was said mostly for the irony. Because Pacey had the moolah.

Yeager cast his friend a disbelieving look. He was good at the whole deadpan act, he believed he got it from Richard who had married the opposite of him in every way. Sometimes the only way to deal with Lucas was just to stare at him until he stopped talking. "Nuh-uh, you'll pay your own way. Gee, I'm not taking time out of my day to go looking for a suitcase that you can fit in. Not that it'd be hard but..." Poor little Pacey, emphasis on the word little. He was like Yeager's little nugget, though he himself was not the paragon of manliness. He just liked to think so. "I don't know if being anally raped is worth a few trees," Yeager said as if seriously thinking about this. He wasn't, because he preferred not to think of anal rape on a daily basis and he wasn't going to talk to anyone who did. "I know what I'm talking about, I've seen Oz." The boy watched enough prison shows to believe that he knew what he was talking about. Luckily he'd never been bad enough that he needed to go to a scared stiff program. His parents raised him right.

Even though Pacey spoke encouraging words, Yeager didn't know if he wanted to try again. He was severely traumatized, as most things in childhood did to a person. Were he forced to eat grass at seventeen, he wouldn't have been so bad off, but going through something like that in middle school had him not talking the entire day. That had been noticeable by his parents--it wasn't often that he closed his mouth, and extended periods of that happening was often concerning. "Maybe I was aiming for the wrong demographic," Yeager said. "Holly Martin wasn't the most sensitive type. Not very smart either. But god she was sexy. By eleven year old standards, you know." All he'd wanted to do was kiss her cheek, he'd been rather innocent back then because he didn't have a clue. And he supposed those were the good old days. "We just need to market it right, and then bam, we'll be on Oprah and she'll be like, 'And you get a free shopping spree, and you get a free shopping spree!'" He pointed in random directions for emphasis, bags swinging from his arms. Was it bad that it was his dream to be on Oprah? Nah, he didn't think so, every boy dreamed of that day. Too bad she was cancelled.

Yeager took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "You would never," he said, slowly opening his eyes. Strip him of his Vogue subscription, that is. He didn't care about honor, honor schmoner, but goddammit he was not going to live without Vogue. As he crooned to his new pair of shoes, he watched Pacey consider the thing that he wanted most. He was imagining it would be something ridiculous, and he would try to think of some way to troll his friend. But when Carly Rae Jepsen came up, he snorted. "Who do I think I am?" he snorted. But then he thought about it and said, "Hey, you know what, I could work something out. I mean, c'mon, singers need to connect with the fans more. Like when Taylor Swift took this high school kid to an award show. Maybe Carly would do something like that." He paused for a moment, looking away and tilting his head. "Then again, that guy had cancer. Do you have cancer by any chance?" It seemed a lot more likely that this date with Carly Rae Jepsen would happen were Pacey diagnosed with some sort of illness. He could get a pity date. Or maybe she'd go out with him because he's just so damned cute.