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WHO: Venkman and Stantz
WHERE: Their place at Xavier's
WHEN: Today
WARNINGS: idek
SUMMARY: Shenanigans
FORMAT: quick

"YOU WOULD drop the ball!"

Venkman sat antsy on the couch, shoving Doritos into his mouth. He had been watching the AFC championship and New York was getting trashed. He had a habit of eating when upset, and boy was he upset.

"USELESS!" he shouts, throwing the remote on the ground during the commercial break and turning for the fridge. This game was leading him to drink.

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Venkman looks offended, he nearly spills his beer upon opening it.

"Ray, if you don't like football, you're not American." he says before taking a big gulp of what tastes like leopard piss. "Take a break from that, will you? Pretend to be interested in normal things for once. We'll order a pizza. Hot wings. Anything, your pick."

At the promise of food, Ray seems to perk up, eyes taking on a glow not unlike that of a dog who has been promised a particularly juicy bone.

"Pizza?" He scratches his chin, thoughtfully. "Gee, Pete, that's real nice of you to offer, but it's getting kinda late and if I stop now, I'll never finish this by tonight."

Very briefly, his eyes became furtive and sly.

"Now, if you we were talking those neat cinnamon dunking sticks instead of wings, then I might be able to multitask."

"That's the spirit!" he said, slamming his beer down on the counter and reaching for a nearby phone to place an order. Two meat-lovers pizzas (yes, two), and one of those, and he did quote, neat cinnamon dunking sticks.

He hung up, just in time as the game started back up, and he was suddenly in a trance again by the TV.

He's beaming, smiling despite himself. It doesn't take much to get on Ray's good side; Venkman is just lucky that he's a) known Ray for so long, and b) knows how to push his buttons. It'll be very easy to watch something so boring as a sports game when he has pizza to take his mind off the general weirdness of burly men tackling each other for balls.

...Wait. What if he makes me watch the after-game commentary?

Frowning, Ray taps the side of his cheek with the end of the screwdriver.

Jeeze, that'd suck... Takes me back to the days when Dad tried to make me watch the game with him.

Venkman's football-trance was lifted. He was hearing Ray again. But not just hearing Ray. He was hearing him in his head.

"I bet he had no trouble getting your sister to watch it-GO, GO GO GO---AH!"

He stopped mid sentence once the Jets had the ball, only to lose it again. Venkman slammed the counter with his hands.

"What happened to my beer..." he said, turning for where he left it on the counter. There was definitely anger in his voice.

Ray blinks, alarmed, and winces at the harsh sound. "'scuse me?"

But internally, he's thinking:

Jeeze, Pete, if you like Allison so much, go marry her. It's bad enough you're all she ever talks about when I call her."

"That'll be the day." he says with another gulp of beer, turning back to the television. "Too bad she only sleeps with other women, now."

"COME ON!! It kills me that these men get paid so much, but they can't even hold onto the ball. Hell, I bet you could do a better job, Ray."

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