trading stories l for dannymesser
Xander Harris wasn't a picnic guy but when asked what he wanted to do, the originally sarcastic option seemed oddly plausible. So, Central Park was the plan, a cliche little red riding hood basket sat next to a black blanket Xander had set down in the grass. It had taken five tries to finally lay it down completely flat.
His shorts sat above his knees and the sleeves of his button down were rolled up. Running a hand through his hair, he looked up into the sun. His red cyclops sunglasses replaced his usual eye patch.
Checking his watch, Xander stretched before sitting down on the grass. Sitting turned to laying as his lack of sleep from the night before was catching up with him. Nightly patrol was taking a toll on the non-slayer. So, he laid back, a hand on his forehead, eyes resting.
He just needed a moment. Besides, Danny was due any second. And he had sandwiches. And wine. Wine seemed right for a picnic. He would've brought beer. Beer was him. But, he was trying to be not him. And not him stayed awake in the afternoon and drank wine at sporadically planned picnics with possibly attractive New York cops who probably would send them to an insane asylum if he knew what they really did and what they had went through.
But, alcohol was going to help that.
If they were really going to swap war stories.
His shorts sat above his knees and the sleeves of his button down were rolled up. Running a hand through his hair, he looked up into the sun. His red cyclops sunglasses replaced his usual eye patch.
Checking his watch, Xander stretched before sitting down on the grass. Sitting turned to laying as his lack of sleep from the night before was catching up with him. Nightly patrol was taking a toll on the non-slayer. So, he laid back, a hand on his forehead, eyes resting.
He just needed a moment. Besides, Danny was due any second. And he had sandwiches. And wine. Wine seemed right for a picnic. He would've brought beer. Beer was him. But, he was trying to be not him. And not him stayed awake in the afternoon and drank wine at sporadically planned picnics with possibly attractive New York cops who probably would send them to an insane asylum if he knew what they really did and what they had went through.
But, alcohol was going to help that.
If they were really going to swap war stories.