The Fannings House

Clyde sat up in his room at midnight, lying awake.

Clyde sat in his bed, his hair ruffled from an uneasy sleep. He looked out at his frosted window, running his long fingers througher his messy hair, causing it to stand up a little. He was stripped down to a pair of black sweatpants, showing off his thin upper body and broad shoulders. Clyde's hunched shoulders went straight as a thought occured to him. "Damn. I need to get Wallace a gift."

[CLYDE FANGIRLS. UNITE! if there are any.]

[[*raises hand*]]

[8D YES! THERE IS ONE!]

(Pretty... *hand raise*)

[[He's so funny. I can just imagine him in that position.]]

[-raises hand- |D]

[So can I, Kels.

CLYDE. CLYDE YOU ARE LOVED!]

[[YES, YES, HE IS!]]

[YES! MOAR!]

[[YES. PLEASE, MORE.]]

Clyde got off of his ruffled bed, and marched into the hall, humming Mission Impossible quite loudly. He reached for the hallway closet, and opened it, "Oh. Shit." Clyde was attacked by an avalanche of assorted games. His eyes darted about, scanning over each game board's bright cover. He started searching through the pile of them for one that suited Wallace.

Five minutes later he gave up, and pushed them all back in, just taking the one closet to him. As he began humming his back to his room, Clyde read the title and bursted into quiet laughter. Clyde's bare shoulders shook, and he used his long fingered and free hand to cover his mouth to muffle it. He wouldn't want his sister to wake up.

He got back into the ruffled mess of a bed that resembled a nest, throwing the game into a corner of the room. Clyde sighed heavily, his shoulders loosening into his matress as he drifted back into sleep.

[[HEEHEE. ]]

(HE MOVED.)

[yes. CLYDE CAN ACTUALLY MOVE.]

[hawt.]

As Clyde's shoulders went tightened and loosened up in his sleep, a little white line on his left shoulder blade showed up a little more then less. It was a scar from a biking accident.

Clyde was standing on a short ladder propped up against the wall, hanging a strand of popcorn. The Fannings always went out of their way to show up the relitives who came over and their decorations. Clyde began to hammer a small nail into the wall, which afterwards he'd have to plaster and paint over the hole, but he pricked himself. He looked down at the spot of red on his thumb, and sighed. Using the crook of his elbow to push the hair out of his eyes, he focused on it more. Clyde shrugged and licked his thumb, continuing work.

The doorbell rang.

Clyde sighed at the sound of silence. No shuffling feet towards the door. His family must have already filed out of the house for the morning already. He got up slowly from his bed, yawning. Clyde made his way to the door, running his fingers through his messy hair. He opened the door, unaware he was shirtless. "Oh. Hey dude."

Wallace barged right in, looking around. "Who's home?" The question sounded more like a statement.

Clyde loudly yawned again, slamming the door. In a cranky, groggy voice he said, "I guess you are? What's up?"

"Goodness, Clyde, it's almost the afternoon," he scolded. "I think I'm having a panic attack. I'm going to die, they're going to take me away..."

"Dude, it's only noon... Wait, Clyde," Clyde's voice turned full of worry for his friend. "Who is going to take you away for what?" His laid back face twisted into one of caution and worry.

(ACTION ENSUES.)