Teleported to Plastic Beach [Gorillaz]

Panic

You quickly opened the door. You knelt down, face to face with a sleeping Stuart, his arms hugged tightly around his pillow. You poked his forehead and cackled. "Wake up," you whispered. He groaned and stirred.

"Stuart, " you whispered again, he shook his head and groaned once more. You frowned and stood up. You gazed at the ceiling and back at him, you saw a remote control on his nightstand. You smiled cheekily and took it.

"Hey, hey, that guy from Germany called. He said they want their spaghetti sauce back, " you shook him vigorously, he woke up groggily and took the remote from your hands.

"Ello? Ello?" His eyes flickering. "I can't hear yew, Möller." He sat up, he yawned and massaged his temples.

He...what? "Wait, you traded something for a spaghetti sauce?"

"Y/n? Wha' are yew doin 'ere?" He asked, squinting his eyes.

"Oh right, get up and get dress, Murdoc says we're going out, " you clasped your hands together. You smiled widely at him. You slowly walked away and said, "And that's a remote control, " and walk out.

~

"Can I get something from the store too?" You begged as you sat down beside Murdoc who's been smoking a cigarette.

"No." He bluntly answered. You grunted.

"But why though?" You arched an eyebrow.

"Love, the only useful thing you can do is to tell my band's future. And not once did you even said anything about it." He replied, swiftly glancing at you.

You smiled bitterly at him. "Can I at least get five underwear?" You muttered. Your face became red as a tomato, you didn't have the nerve to look at him.

Murdoc coughed, almost choking at the cigarette smoke. "Wot?" He choked.

"You heard me," you whispered. You glanced at him and pursed your lips. "Underwears, I need them. I can't borrow Stuart's boxers forever!" You exclaimed.

"I don't wanna have a yeast infection." You muttered again.

Murdoc cackled in a fit of laughter, his laughter echoed around the living room. He wiped a tear and sighed. "You borrowed some of his boxers? Now that's a show."

"Uh, I don't think everyone uses that phrase anymore, Boomer." You gave him a look.

"I can't understand everything you just said." He complained. You smiled awkwardly at him and didn't bother to explain it.

You sighed, hearing the waves surrounds you. "Murdoc..." you called. Slouching down the seat.

"What?" He answered.

"Have you read my letter?" You smiled lightly at him, hoping he did.

"Hm," he nodded. You pursed your lips and stare at him.

"Uh...I don't blame you for being...bad." you slowly said. Taking a small glimpse from the green man. He blew out a cloud of smoke and glanced back at you.

"Then who?"

"I don't know. But I don't blame you, I know you don't either." You fiddled with your fingers. He went silent.

"It's alright, love. I wasn't angry about you accusing me." He said. Stepping onto the cigarette butt.

"Yeah, right." You sarcastically nodded. You rolled your eyes and smile at him. "So are we friends, pickle man?"

"Hell no." He chuckled and stood up.

"Dang, but I'm your fan," you smiled. Already getting the joke. He walked around the couch and turn around to face you.