It is my personal opinion that Vincent should not have anything with the word ‘sugar’ in it.
I’m not sure why the girls thought a critter that crawled around in their shirts was a good thing, but then I like to stay out of people’s personal life.
Now most men—in a situation where they are called upon to discern the difference between the two—can tell the difference between a shirt and a bra and they aren’t that smart—at least in said situation. Little fucker couldn’t.
I pity Tifa and I don’t even have any of those.
And if anyone reads that, I’ll fucking kill them.
Now, a sugarglider is just your usual run-of-the-mill stupidity. What I want to know is this: who’s the dumbass who gave Vincent an armadillo?
I arrive to my own damn plane and I find Vincent firing bullets like fucking crazy, each and every one flying right off this weird ball.
Then there was the cat.
Holy fuck, the cat.
That stuffed yappy thing on the mog looks downright friendly after Vincent and the cat. Vincent wanted to pet it; it sat there, just out of reach. Sometimes it would meow at him and still stay out of reach.
He ignored it and it went over to him, sat on his book, and bashed him with its head for an hour.
The thing didn’t want in or out of a room—ever—it just wanted to fucking wander around in the doorway.
It bitched at him while he was trying to sleep, and when he woke up, it sat on him—and I’m not allowed to say where.
Thing jumped on the table, jumped on the controls, bitched, cuddled when we didn’t need it to. It jumped on his lap and purred when he was about to get up, followed him into the bathroom, bitched some more, cleaned itself in the WRONGEST places in public—‘the more the merrier’ it seemed to think’—and wouldn’t stop bitching.
I wish it’d figure the difference between my leg and it’s fucking scratching post. And I wish Vincent wouldn’t act like it around it. I almost caught the two hissing at each other! Okay, it was hissing, and he was drawing his gun, but it’s the same fucking thing, right?
The dog… where’d they get this? I thought they’d go through tons of dogs, and I’d have to go through great danes, shaggy mop-things (I already had a real mop, I don’t need a barking one) and a fucking ugly annoying chi... chih... whatever them fuckers are called.
No, they come back from the rescue shelter and bring this black thing with a tentacle.
Wasn’t exactly the cutest fucking thing in the world, but Vincent said he liked it.
The weird—the really fucking weird—part about it was that it was the perfect fucking thing. Who knew?
Just like Vince, a little off, maybe, but fun. Well, not when it peed on my leg, but we taught it not to do that pretty soon.
You know, it’s nice having someone who’s smart and takes orders and doesn’t talk back—other than Vincent I mean. It comes when you call it, it’ll go away if you tell it to, it doesn’t really bitch much, except when it’s hungry, but who doesn’t?
Besides, it’s exactly what Vincent needs. It’s a real man’s sort of pet. No wussy, girly crap pets for him, a tough-assed— when it grows up, it’s just a puppy now—lean, mean, um… dog.
Now, if I could get it to stop hogging the covers… I’d have to teach Vincent not to do first. Ah, why bother?
I found the snake too; I think its in love with the dog’s tentacle. I’m not going to ask; I’m not going to think about shit like that. Besides, I’m not dumb enough to talk to a snake and expect it to answer back! Who am I, Cloud?
What, Vincent staying in my room’s a great idea! Why the fuck would I write that in here?
Now if I could only convince these idiots to leave the paint job on my plane alone.