"I didn’t come up with the name!" He hollered down the hallway as Junior shuffled off scratching his ass. Snapping shut the laptop he put his wallet and his phone into the top drawer of his dresser. He wouldn’t need them in the past. His dagger he thrust in his boot, his god’s hair waistlet and puzzle checked, and then he was ready to go! Rock and roll! "Hurry up Ugly!!"
"I’m coming whoreface, these fucking pants take forever to get on!" He reappeared in the doorway, the stunning picture of someone who was about to get some kickass cupcakes. "And a much better name would have been cocksock. I’m calling it that now." His shit eating grin was back on his face as Junior all but skipped into the room and linked arms with Bamf. "Ready to spend 4 hours straight in the kitchen?"
"That’s cause you buy the tight ones Assmouth!" He hollered. They were so completely inconsiderate of who else might be home and might, worse, be sleeping. "Cocksock, codpiece, I don’t care so long as you see that it’s real." He shoved the other’s shoulder. "You fucking wish." He snorted. "Alright," he started his typical pre-jump countdown, "ten, nine, eight, sev—- JUMP."
Bamf had trouble aiming, that was no secret, but when they found themselves groggy on the lush green hillside he suspected they might actually be on target this time. A village sat a little ways down the hill reeking of feces and piss and cheap beer and, sure enough, it looked Medieval. “Ha!” He grinned. “I got us here!”