CALL ME OUT

[bootyhunter]

CALL ME OUT:

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Currently writing Dandy (Space Dandy) / Rex Splode (Invincible) / and Simon Laurent (Infinity Train)

bootyhunter / himbomb / incelligent



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*Note: Sakamoto Tatsuma (Gintama) kaihentai and Asher Millstone (How to Get Away With Murder) moneyballer available on request



Also voicetesting Mike Wazowski (Monsters Inc) googlybear / Eddy (Ed, Edd, n' Eddy) edboy / Reagan Ridley (Inside Job) madcryentist / Abdul Ali (Squid Game) aitbaar / Portia Davenport (Search Party) portialain / Elliot Goss (Search Party) confabulous / Fleabag (Fleabag) feminitwit / Johnny Bravo (Johny Bravo) pretteh / and Joel Hammond (Santa Clarita Diet) screechy

Comments

[incinerhater]

[Due to the nature of his fire-related comebacks, he has absolutely used that one.

The line about pornography gets Flambae's eyes to narrow. God, so Roman is the worst kind of person. Sonar may be close to at least one of the members of this strange family, but somehow, even his bullshit boob talk is more tolerable than this. At least he's being completely sincere about the slop he's into, which makes him predictable.

Ugh. Which means in the off-chance that Roman does try to flirt with him if he gets sloppy or drunk, he'll be blindsided! Disgusting.

At the mention of defense and his abilities, Flambae nods.]

You are making it sound like you would like to watch.

[Those orange eyes narrow again.

Oh, yeah. This guy is definitely into voyeurism.]

I will do whatever it takes to return you in...

[Was he supposed to say "good" shape when the man looks like that.]

If you panic, you know...

Dropping you will be a whole lot easier than escorting you out of there.

Wherever... Fucking there will be. Somewhere in Manhattan.

[jokes on him manhattan is fucking huge ok la boy]

[cratetraining]

[It’s the sort of trash talk that’s just par for the course at Waystar Royco. Dry explanations of business deals and shareholder numbers don’t get the point across the way sex and vulgarity do.

Roman’s uniquely vulgar even then; he can sense the judgements being made as he follows that sexual thread and it feels correct somehow. He meets Flambae’s gaze with a bit of noncommittal coyness.]

Maybe. What, don’t wanna show off?

[This guy does seem to like the attention, and Roman can’t help wanting to feed into it a bit. Plus, there is some morbid part of him that does want to know what a real fight for these people looks like.

The last comment gets a small scoff out of Roman.]

I’m not gonna freak out. Heights aren’t shit, we’re working in a fucking skyscraper.

[He leans back in his chair a bit and gestures at the window. His attitude does not change at how blatantly Flambae is a fucking West Coaster.

…okay, Roman did go to college and work in California for a good while. Is that an insult he can use or have reclaiming rights on or whatever?]

Besides, your brain does this thing where you get hyper-focused when shit hits the fan so you’re too busy to freak out, y’know? It’s basic psychology.

[incinerhater]

Sure, man.

[Said to the cadence of “Sure, Jan.”

Flambae meets Roman’s gaze with a coy look of his own, making eye contact but doing his best to remain nonchalant and flippant. He does love to show off, though, and Roman would not be mistaken to assume that.

So, he gets up off and out of his weird little perch.]

I have a feeling you would be singing a very different tune if we just…

[Here, he tests his limits again, giving Roman a playful shove to the rickety shoulder. Flambae’s clearly fucking around, but the force he’s capable of using is the looming, unspoken threat in the room.]

Pushed you out of there, hm?

[He cocks his head towards one of the giant glass windows, then circling Roman’s chair like a predator does its prey.]

So you like to be carried?

You do have very short legs.

[cratetraining]

[The corners of Roman's mouth twitch up slightly when Flambae jokingly threatens him. Obviously he won't fuck up his job via defenestration, but the point is that he could.

Roman knows that should probably scare him, but it feels more akin to a buzz keeping him interested. Because Roman's still in control, or because it could be ripped from him at any point?

Eh, his sense of danger's always been a little fucked. Buffer, taller kids in boarding school would have a similar shtick of encircling him like a pack of roided-up fight dogs, and he'd laugh them off too.]

Yeah, no shit? I'd be dead, genius.

[Of course, those kids would just beat the shit out of him anyway. Might as well make a game out of how fast he could piss them off. Which is why he claps his hands together sarcastically impressed at that one.]

Wow, tall people have all the fucking zingers. "Can y'even fit on them rolley-coasters you own, lil' guy? Doh-hoh!"

[The voice Roman puts on is too cartoon-ish to be recognizable as a specific freakishly tall CEO.]

Asking if I like being carried first, though...you this much of a gentleman with all your clients or just the ones you set a fire on?

[incinerhater]

[Has he ever wanted to be? It’s a dark question, one he would not ask without proper introduction or even a more appropriate setting, but considering Flambae’s own history and callousness, it’s something he wonders about certain people.

Well, even if it’s something he wants, he’s not getting his fucking wish! Ever since WetWipeBoy/WaterBitch has joined the team and been cleaning up messes with his belly button blowhole, staying at the top of the leaderboard has been tricky…

At the use of the hokey voice, Flambae frowns, his nose wrinkling with distaste. Roman looks and sounds like a muppet turned happy tree friend, which, again, he is trying to keep him from becoming! Also, it could be a drag to either Ernie or Bert which is equally offensive… Tongues made of felt or no, those stringy-haired(literally) puppets are gay icons.]

I am asking because you are continuing to act like a little freak, [Cue a disdainful, exaggerated gasp as he folds a pair of long arms over that broad chest, although… They are not really covering anything.] and I was wondering if maybe you could have a normal feeling or something.

That and some men are very difficult about it, but I take my job as a hero very seriously, so…! I do not care if you have built up some burly, big man-chichi bearing image-

[Then he shoots another look over in Roman’s direction, stopping himself.]

What the fuck am I even talking about, look at you. You are smaller than Beyonce! But then again, considering her freaking gigantic mark on pop culture…

[Chai did I lose track of this tag I need to be banned from writing lengthy dialogue forever-]

We all are.

[Screw being a hero this is what he is serious about.]

Do not make a big stink about it, or I’ll let your long face hit the window of a glass building on our way out.

Okay?

[cratetraining]

[It’s at least a little more Statler and Waldorf than Bert and Ernie. So the bitchiness at whoever thought that was a good one is more appropriate. Maybe. Roman and appropriate usually aren’t put together in a sentence.

Flambae definitely isn’t the first person to call him a freak, so he’s weirdly comfortable with the statement, tilting his head slightly against the palm of his hand.]

Pshh, who has feelings?

[He says it like whoever does is a huge loser.

Roman kinda just lets Flambae ramble about his physical and cultural stature for a second since apparently he is going somewhere with the Beyonce thing. Even if Roman did have enough real music opinions to refute that one, he doesn't have a full-on death wish.

Somewhere Kendall is hit with the sudden urge to talk about Jay-Z]

Hey, I’m not brain dead. Making people think I’ve got a big dick is pretty low on the priority list compared to making sure I still have a dick at all, y'know?

They tell you that the fucking Bomber-man is after us or something? If we upped security every time some Party City douchebag sent us death threats, you'd be the one buying me clothes.

[incinerhater]

[His twists into something of a half-crescent as he seriouslyy considers the first very unserious remark.]

Babies.

[Flambae cocks his head to the side and then back.]

And little bitch babies, of which you are the second.

[The line about having a dick gets a pair of slightly raised eyebrows, although... Consider it a momentary mid-raise as opposed to anything truly incredulous. The guy does have the adult voice of someone who may have potentially been castrated in his youth, so... There is that.]

I believe the name he actually goes by is "Bomboclaat?"

[Here, Flambae shakes his head, looking (frankly) disgusted.]

Which is crazy, seeing as he is not Jamaican... At all. Like, what the fuck? Look up your fucking meme-y ass front name bro, hello!

[It's spelled Flam-*bae for a reason, so we know exactly what year he coined it, but in the hero's defense he does actually speak a considerable amount of French.]

Also because... I mean, I am sure at this point, he knows what it actually means, but...

[cratetraining]

[Oh, considering the status of his dick? Roman should be flattered.

His eyebrows furrow with slight recognition, because yeah, he’s lurking on Twitter enough to recognize that as an old meme, albeit he had no clue it was Jamaican. That does make the face he can put on the letter threatening that “Logan Roy and his vile family stand as monuments of corruption and need to be toppled” even funnier.]

And he thinks I’m not woke enough? Glass fucking houses, I tell ya. What does that even mean—

[Roman starts typing it in, and his face crumples with amusement as a hyena-esque giggle escapes his closed mouth.]

No fucking way. I’m supposed to be scared of Maxipad Marley over here? He sounds like a fucking moron.

laughs ghoulishly having watched more of the show

[incinerhater]

[Maxipad Marley is so funny but he absolutely does not want to give Roman that, so he'll... Be... Kind of serious.

For a second.]

Ch'yeah! He's a moron, no kidding.

[Flambae scoffs, looking down at the ground.

The guy has a weird laugh. So many things about him are annoying,but in a way that's kind of curious.

Like there's something missing, some tidbit of gossip that Flambae isn't privy to.

...That tidbit is just. Whether he is being properly flirted with or not, who is anybody kidding.]

Couldn't even have bothered to look up his fucking name on Google, or... Chat JeepBeepBeep-

[He means ChatGPT.]

Or whatever the fuck people are using nowadays to find their bullshit information, but that also means he is the kind of moron who will kill you without thinking and pay for that mistake for the rest of his motherfucking life!

I will make sure you sure you leave the event tonight alive, but...

You could take things a little more seriously. Watch out for freaky people, and... Don't kiss anybody unfamiliar on the mouth. Okay?

[The rest of the dialogue is muttered:]

Or anywhere else for that matter.

[Would it even matter anyway, considering how fucking lipless this crowd is...]

[cratetraining]

[Hell if Roman knows whether this is actually flirting or not. Honestly, he's still kind of on the fence as to whether he wants Flambae to think he's genuinely funny or if he just wants to piss off the guy for his own amusement. The latter's probably safer; there's nothing more pathetic than failing to get someone to like you.

Yes, this is more on his mind than the idea that the period bomber might actually manage to kill him. He does give a little credence to the concept when Flambae starts explaining that the moron part does make the guy dangerous.]

Fine, only hand and dick stuff. I'd like to leave alive and not having "murdered by a guy named cuntrag" on my obituary.

[He's flippant about it, but he's about as genuine as someone with his general attitude can get about this sort of thing.

Roman still kind of doubts this guy is a legit threat, though, and he's his usual self by the time the news network dinner actually rolls around. It's mostly lower C-suite people and heads of both ATN and the various other news departments with slightly more centrist leanings that Waystar-Royco owns chatting up each other, the various conversations blending into a walla of random numbers and corporate hazing as per usual with these.

Notably Roman's the only actual Roy in the room; his dad and Shiv are at other engagements, and Kendall's probably at a club somewhere being convinced not to tweet out his location. Tom's around somewhere, but he only barely counts.

Eventually Roman gets bored of pretending to pick at the canapes and sidles over to the minibar for something sour and alcoholic. It's easy to figure out where Flambae is even without the slutty Hot Wheels jumpsuit given he's fucking tall and carries the aura of a guy who considers himself way hotter than everybody in the room, so he's tried to stay at least within twenty feet of the guy without looking too obviously chaperoned.]

[incinerhater]

[Whatever he had to say in response to that statement, he surprisingly kept to himself, also because hearing Roman say "cuntrag" in his cartoonish, nasally voice really disgusted him enough to keep him from wanting to continue the conversation.

The truth is that dying is one of the things that would probably be most likely to make Roman's life remarkable in any way, especially if he was the only one of his siblings to die at a young age. God knows how many bastard children Roman's (most likely) horny old father sired, but out of the ones that the public seems to recognize, which includes the dead-eyed woman, Kendall's coke buddy, and another seemingly useless old man, he's... Somehow even less of a standout, public image-wise.

Suddenly, Roman's insane manner of speaking makes sense. Is it a way to get people to pay attention to him? Pathetic, if true.

Flambae certainly stands out at the dinner. He's clad in a navy suit that's far too expensive for how fucking unremarkable it is, with some of his long hair tousled around his shoulders in a half-up, half-down style, far too casual and relaxed for this hoity-toity business get-together. What also stands out is Flambae's typical 5'o'clock shadow, as everyone else on the floor is either clean-shaven or rocking a full beard, and that's totally overlooking the man's impossible physique.

He's definitely gotten stared at in ways he doesn't quite appreciate, but he would believe he's persevered this evening, actually paying attention to the details Robert is feeding him, as well as surveying the crowd and entrances for newcomers or anyone who seems unaware. Knowing their supposed offender, he's probably going to crash through a glass ceiling or some shit, also because it's a predictable political statement, but who knows, maybe he's considered taking his medication today.

Flambae has allowed Roman to, badum tch, roam about as long as he's within the firestarter's line of sight. When he sees the man approaching with a drink in hand, Flambae frowns and then snorts.]

The attempt on your life better be starting soon.

[He is not happy! As can be determined from the state of his furrowed, fuzzy eyebrows.]

Every wealthy motherfucker in this place has a serious case of Hello Kitty mouth.

[The liplessness... It disgusts him. He says, as a man with somewhat thin lips as well...]