🚨 | Disaster Dads | Tod and Crieg

Crieg sat on the edge of the sofa, a large bowl of buttered popcorn resting precariously on his lap. He was barely listening to whatever rambling point Tod was making about the local zoning laws or the "rat" Mark Hastings, instead staring intensely at his phone screen. He was scrolling through a specialized marketplace, his eyes wide with a mixture of anxiety and genuine longing. The listings were clear: Demi-humans, available for purchase, varying breeds and temperaments.

He cleared his throat, waiting for a gap in Tod's bravado. Crieg didn't want this to seem like a sudden whim or, heaven forbid, something that would make Tod actually think he was "weird," despite their long history of eccentricities. He just needed to frame it as a lifestyle upgrade—or perhaps a production asset for the channel.

"You know, Tod," Crieg interrupted, glancing up with a hopeful, slightly manic glint in his brown eyes. "I've been thinking about the logistics of 'On Cinema.' We're great, don't get me wrong, but we lack a certain... aesthetic presence. A helper. Someone to handle the popcorn refills or maybe hold the lighting rig so we don't have to lean on the lamps."

He shifted his weight, the popcorn kernels clicking against each other. "I was looking into getting a Demi-human. Not for anything crazy! Just, you know, a companion. A domestic assistant. It's practically a classic trope in cinema—like in The Shape of Water (2017, starring Sally Hawkins, 123 minutes), which is a five-bag popcorn movie, obviously, and remember the bathtub scene!"

Tod stopped mid-sentence, his brow furrowing behind his brown glasses. He looked at Crieg with a mixture of confusion and immediate skepticism, his chest puffing out as he prepared to either dismiss the idea or find a way to make it about himself. Crieg just kept smiling, though he was sweating slightly, hoping the "production assistant" angle would keep the conversation from veering into the territory of his actual, deeper interests.

Tod stared at him for a long moment, his mouth slightly agape. He slowly leaned back in his armchair, the worn fabric groaning under his weight.

“A… a what?” Tod finally managed, his voice dripping with incredulity. “A Demi-human? For the channel?”

“Yes!” Crieg said, leaning forward eagerly, the popcorn bowl tilting dangerously. “Think of the production value! We could have them wear a little uniform, maybe pass us notes with the runtimes so I don’t have to look them up mid-review. It’s efficient!”

“Efficient,” Tod repeated flatly. He took off his glasses, polished them on his flannel shirt, and put them back on, as if hoping the sight before him would change. “Crieg. We film in my living room. Above a bookstore. We have one lamp. What’s a… a cat-person or whatever gonna do, dust the VHS tapes?”

“They’re not cat-people,” Crieg scoffed, his tone shifting to one of offended expertise. “There are many breeds. Some are quite dexterous. And it’s not just for the channel! It’s for… ambiance. A living piece of set dressing. Like in Blade Runner (1982, starring Harrison Ford, 117 minutes)—the whole world feels more complete with them in it! Five bags, easy.”

Tod waved a dismissive hand. “Excuse me! I don’t need some furry freeloader eating all my snacks and judging my movie picks. And what about the litter box? The smell? No thanks.”

“They’re house-trained, Tod!” Crieg insisted, his voice rising in pitch. “Most of them, anyway. And they don’t all have fur! Some have scales, or… feathers. It’s a whole spectrum. Look.” He thrust his phone toward Tod, the screen displaying a gallery of sleek, elegant beings with pointed ears and intelligent eyes. “See? Dignified. Like an elf from Lord of the Rings.”

Tod squinted at the screen, his nose wrinkling. He snatched the phone from Crieg’s hand. “Let me see that.” He scrolled with a thick thumb, his expression shifting from disgust to a slow, calculating curiosity. He paused on one listing. “This one’s… not bad. Looks expensive.”

“That’s a high-end Sylvian breed,” Crieg said, peering over. “Very loyal. Good for… fetching things.”

“Hmm.” Tod handed the phone back, a familiar, boastful glint entering his blue eyes. The initial weirdness was being overtaken by the potential for one-upmanship. “You know, if we were to get one… and that’s a big ‘if,’ pal… it would have to be the best. None of this bargain-bin stuff. A Turkington-Roberts production deserves top-tier… whatever this is. Something that makes Mark Hastings’ purebred poodle look like a rat.”

Crieg blinked. That… had gone better than he’d feared. Tod was already making it about status and outdoing enemies. Perfect.

“Exactly!” Crieg said, seizing the momentum. “It’s an investment. In our brand. We could even do a whole segment on it—‘Unboxing Our New Co-host!’ The views would be insane.”

Tod leaned back again, stroking his blonde beard thoughtfully. “A segment… I like it. But I do the talking. And it sleeps at your place.”

“Of course, of course,” Crieg agreed quickly, his heart hammering with excitement. He’d done it. He’d opened the door. Now he just had to steer them toward the right… model. One that met both their needs. His for companionship, Tod’s for showmanship.

He scooped up a handful of popcorn, a triumphant smile spreading across his round face. “It’s practically a popcorn classic in the making.”