"Dirk?"
Dirk made a noise like a hippo imitating a V10 engine, but didn't move.
"Dirk," groaned Pit, "wake up already."
"Just let me stick to what I'm good at, yeah?" grumbled the dark angel, and rolled over
"Would it help if I kicked you?" Pit was starting to get irritated as well.
"Would it give you any satisfaction?" was Dirk's reply, shifting position a little.
"No."
"Me neither, so bugger off. Why is this bed so hard?"
"Because," said Pit, with the tone a primary school teacher uses to address a particularly stupid child, "it is not your bed. It is the hood of a Lamborghini which has been crashed through-"
Dirk was bolt upright in an instant, ignoring the telltale throb of a hangover as he looked around. What he thought was his bedroom turned out to be the dining room, which had undergone a startling transformation since he had last seen it - a lot of green paper shamrocks were pinned to the roofs, and one wall featured a poster of a leprechaun bearing the most tortured cereal-mascot smile possible. The counter surface was littered in empty bottles and glasses of varying descriptions, and an unidentifiable liquid substance was splattered on the floor - probably a spit drink of some kind.
What was more startling, he discovered when he turned his head, was the massive hole in the wall. And the Lamborghini Reventón stuck halfway through it, the hood of which he was currently sitting on. Somehow, despite the forces required for a car like this to break through a solid brick wall, it didn't have a single scratch on it, looking as though it had walked freshly from the factory.
There was a long pause whilst Dirk tried to correlate all this information.
"...and when did this get here?" he tried, at last.
"How the heck should I know?!" cried Pit, throwing up his hands in frustration. "You're the one who crashed it into our house!"
"Let's not shout, okay?" hissed Dirk, bringing up a hand to his forehead. Here came the hangover - and it wasn't a pretty one, lancing through his brain like a javelin made of sandpaper and hedgehogs. With an effort, he pushed himself upright, slid off the hood of the Lambo and staggered around to investigate it. Might as well do something productive, if only to ignore the massive amounts of ranting from Pit he could foresee.
"Looks new," he muttered under his breath as he inspected it. "Hardly done a few miles, I should think."
"Do you have any idea," Pit was beginning to say, "of how much this is gonna cost us. Wes Weasley will be laughing all the way back home - if we can even get him to do something about this!" Dirk pointedly ignored him and peered through the window of the car, taking in the blurry images of black leather, brown Alcantara and several crates of-
"Holy shit," he cried despite the resurgence in head pain. "It's full of beer!"
"Not to mention," Pit went on, "that somebody obviously owns that car, and we're going to have to do a hell of a lot of explaining when we give it back to them!"
"None of it's even open!" Dirk added, still ignoring him as he wrenched the door open and bent over to inspect the goods.
"And how are we-?" Pit suddenly trailed to a stop, and for a moment there was silence. And then the audible smacking noise made Dirk turn his head around, finding his brother with one hand over his mouth and shoulder shaking in a fit of hysterical laughter. His eyes seemed to be aimed downwards, for some reason...
"What?" was the dark angel's confused question.
By way of reply, because he was still giggling fit to burst, Pit suddenly whipped out the Mirror Shield and held it up.
And right there, emblazoned across the seat of the shamrock-green Speedos that were the only piece of clothing Dirk had on, were the words "KISS ME, I'M IRISH".
-------
Some say you could hear Dirk's scream of horror from five miles away.
whoooooooooooo
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