(no subject)
WHO: inthebone and bestdamncaptain
WHAT: A romantic outing. Also some discussion of murther, but, I mean, morbidity is par for course on a date with Death's direct descendant.
WHERE: Stark Memorial Gardens, and later possibly a restaurant-like institution.
WHEN: Backdated to the evening after this log.
WARNINGS: Culture clash? oh god I don't know
She'd agreed to meet Kirk in the gardens. She wasn't entirely sure why, but he was, she supposed, amusing; and it interested her that he inspired such loyalty in someone like Sulu. And there was also the matter of the body he'd found here, not so very long ago.
The gardens, for that matter, were a good deal nicer than anything in Ankh-Morpork. Rolling grounds; calm, clear bodies of water that you could probably stick your bare hands in without having the skin eaten away by the time you'd managed to pull them out again-- which you could pull your hands out of again, easily, feeling barely a hint of suction; and a conspicuous absence of any of B.S. Johnson's explosive lawn ornaments.
She sat on the edge the utterly sedate fountain he'd told her to go to and amused herself, while she waited, by watching the real, live, apparently healthy ducks flapping about the lake as if they'd never heard of water pollution eating a bird's legs away. Which they hadn't.
WHAT: A romantic outing. Also some discussion of murther, but, I mean, morbidity is par for course on a date with Death's direct descendant.
WHERE: Stark Memorial Gardens, and later possibly a restaurant-like institution.
WHEN: Backdated to the evening after this log.
WARNINGS: Culture clash? oh god I don't know
She'd agreed to meet Kirk in the gardens. She wasn't entirely sure why, but he was, she supposed, amusing; and it interested her that he inspired such loyalty in someone like Sulu. And there was also the matter of the body he'd found here, not so very long ago.
The gardens, for that matter, were a good deal nicer than anything in Ankh-Morpork. Rolling grounds; calm, clear bodies of water that you could probably stick your bare hands in without having the skin eaten away by the time you'd managed to pull them out again-- which you could pull your hands out of again, easily, feeling barely a hint of suction; and a conspicuous absence of any of B.S. Johnson's explosive lawn ornaments.
She sat on the edge the utterly sedate fountain he'd told her to go to and amused herself, while she waited, by watching the real, live, apparently healthy ducks flapping about the lake as if they'd never heard of water pollution eating a bird's legs away. Which they hadn't.