He'd gotten used to the new haircut, at least, and the more he saw it, the more he liked it. Of course, whenever he saw Eostre, he couldn't help but smile a little and this time was no different.
... And she was wearing what Chris recognized as Mike's shirt. Huh.
"Hey," he said, smiling warmly as he approached her. "Is it laundry day or did you just have a lot of fun last night?"
He can't decide if he's relieved to see Chris or not. He supposes there are pros and cons on both sides. Well, hell.
"Oh, lots of fun," he says, folding his arms over his chest (breastsbreastsbreastsbreasts) and arching an eyebrow. "So much fun I got blown fucking clear out of my body. Or something. Fucking island, Cutter, I tell you."
Chris's smile immediately vanished, replaced by a mixture of shock and confusion. Eostre had never called him Cutter that he could remember and had certainly never used that sort of tone with him, even when she was scolding him.
"Eostre?" he asked, his voice coming out a little squeaky.
He quirks a smile and shakes his head, scuffing a bare foot idly across the ground. His hair brushes the sides of his jaw when he moves. It's really incredibly distracting. Not as distracting as the fucking breasts.
Chris stared dumbly for a long moment, his confusion growing by the second as he gave Eostre -- or, the person who looked like Eostre anyway -- another once over.
Maybe it was a clone? But, a clone who knew his name?
"I'm not much for guessing games," he told her, his voice still wary. God, this had to be an Island thing in some way. He only hoped Eostre was okay.
He cocks his head on one side, strands of hair brushing against his cheek in a way that actually isn't all that unpleasant. "Give you a hint," he says, smiling thinly. "Dead boar."
Chris's eyes nearly bugged out of his head at that and he took a step back.
"Holy shit," he breathed, his voice completely disbelieving before his lips curled into a slow smile. "Mike? What the fuck are you doing in Eostre's body?"
"Yeah, you know, I was kind of wondering that? When I woke up and had tits?" He chews moodily on his bottom lip and scuffs a bare foot against the ground again. "It's one of those weekends, I think."
He had to bite back a laugh then and took a tentative step forward, head cocked to the side as he studied Eos-- Mike carefully.
"Not bad," he said appreciatively, nodding as he made a half circle around her-- him. He stopped then and crossed his arms over his chest. "So. How's it feel to be pregnant?"
"Know what? Fuck you." He steps forward and kicks Chris swiftly in the shin. "Don't fucking look at my girlfriend that way, man." Not that he minds, frankly, either way, but there are appearances to keep up.
Chris let out a yelp at the kick and immediately stepped back, breaking into a fit of laughter as he tried to hold him off, hopping away on his good leg.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
"You didn't answer my question," he said, his smile nearly splitting his face, eyes mischievous.
He steps back, folding his arms again, scowling in a way that implies amusement under the surface. But the question... he knows it's meant as teasing, but still.
"It's different," he says, his scowl fading a little. "It's... really, really different."
Because how else to describe it? It's not like anything else he's ever felt. It's being more.
He relaxed his posture when Mike stepped back, his smile unfading as his hands dropped and he neared him again.
"Can you feel it?" he asked and eyed his stomach as though it might look somehow different all of a sudden. It didn't, of course. It still looked like Eostre who, of course, was never sore on the eyes, but it was still weird knowing Mike was in that body.
"Yeah," he says slowly, and reflexively places a hand over his belly. "It's... it's really hard to describe. It's like being... bigger. More. Full." He shakes his head, suddenly frustrated. He doesn't have the words. He glares up at Chris again. "You're never letting me live this down, are you?"
Chris watched Mike touch his stomach -- his, her, whatever -- and raised an eyebrow. More. Full. Somehow, Chris had the feeling that Mike didn't mean he just felt fatter. And Eostre certainly didn't look any fatter. Not really.
He broke into a laugh at the indignant tone and looked up to meet his eyes. "Oh, fuck no, man," he said, already shaking his head. "How often do you think this is likely to happen? I'm milking this one for all that it's worth."
... And she was wearing what Chris recognized as Mike's shirt. Huh.
"Hey," he said, smiling warmly as he approached her. "Is it laundry day or did you just have a lot of fun last night?"
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"Oh, lots of fun," he says, folding his arms over his chest (breastsbreastsbreastsbreasts) and arching an eyebrow. "So much fun I got blown fucking clear out of my body. Or something. Fucking island, Cutter, I tell you."
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"Eostre?" he asked, his voice coming out a little squeaky.
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"Nope. Guess again."
He's actually almost enjoying this.
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Chris stared dumbly for a long moment, his confusion growing by the second as he gave Eostre -- or, the person who looked like Eostre anyway -- another once over.
Maybe it was a clone? But, a clone who knew his name?
"I'm not much for guessing games," he told her, his voice still wary. God, this had to be an Island thing in some way. He only hoped Eostre was okay.
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"Holy shit," he breathed, his voice completely disbelieving before his lips curled into a slow smile. "Mike? What the fuck are you doing in Eostre's body?"
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"Not bad," he said appreciatively, nodding as he made a half circle around her-- him. He stopped then and crossed his arms over his chest. "So. How's it feel to be pregnant?"
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Oh, this was going to be fun.
"You didn't answer my question," he said, his smile nearly splitting his face, eyes mischievous.
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"It's different," he says, his scowl fading a little. "It's... really, really different."
Because how else to describe it? It's not like anything else he's ever felt. It's being more.
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"Can you feel it?" he asked and eyed his stomach as though it might look somehow different all of a sudden. It didn't, of course. It still looked like Eostre who, of course, was never sore on the eyes, but it was still weird knowing Mike was in that body.
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He broke into a laugh at the indignant tone and looked up to meet his eyes. "Oh, fuck no, man," he said, already shaking his head. "How often do you think this is likely to happen? I'm milking this one for all that it's worth."
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Not that he blames Chris. Not that he could. Would he pass this up? Hell, no.
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