Who: Dean, Sam, Scott, Molly, Isabel, Tara, Willow, Aeryn, John Crichton
When: Day 36, morning, immediately after
[Willow]All Around the Campfire...Where: Camp Crash II
Invited: Anyone already at the camp
Status: Complete
OOC: (
It's Jets vs. Sharks. Fight! )
Tara laughed at that, and suddenly realized that the ball was coming towards her. "G-got it!" she managed, stepping up to the ball and trying to hit it with an underhand bump.
And she actually hit it - but it bounced off her forearms, not her fists, and instead of going deep into the center of the other side, it was just barely going to get back over the net - if it would make it at all. "Oops."
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Molly jumped up and hit the ball back even as she laughed. It stung. The basketball was not only heavier but harder than a proper volleyball. But the tension relief and camaraderie would more than make up for a few red marks from over-enthusiastic hit.
"Hey, doesn't matter to me how you are. But you should be open about it and embrace your own sexuality." Molly called back.
She felt her grin fade when she caught site of Hugh Emmerson watching the game from not to far away. He turned around and walked away, towards the trees.
Damn and blast!
He had heard Tommy screaming in his (Hugh's) own voice. Saw what remained of the body he'd been born with. Now Hugh was young again, healthy, capable, and possessed a connection to the ocean and spirit world. All at the expense of Tommy Whitehorse. Tommy, who had embraced his own homosexuality. Tommy who had been a friend of Hughs through similar interests.
Molly wanted to chase after Hugh, but what could she say? And he most likely did want to be alone.
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"Room for another?" Ami called out.
"Only if you don't cheat," George teased.
"Cheat?" Ami asked, innocently. "How could I possibly cheat?"
"You know, that whole 'I move things without touching them," George snickered.
"Oh that," Ami rolled her eyes dramatically and followed up with the batting of her eyes. "Wouldn't dream of it."
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She'd never been much of an athlete at school, but she'd play a game of more or less anything on the beach for a bit of fun and a laugh.
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/A few times,/ she replied, grinning.
Dean scooped up the ball that someone had kicked over to their side of the net. Scott was in the back right corner, so Dean tossed the ball to him. "Ready, Anderson?"
"Yeah." Scott weighed the basketball in his hands. (Way heavier than a volleyball. Oh well.) Consequently he opted for an underhand serve. "One, zero," he called, then launched the ball over the net.
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