(no subject)
The sand was warm beneath his knees, the majority of the day before him, and his brains were almost entirely his own.
Life, Crichton thought, was pretty good. Add in the fact that when evil alien hybrids came to town, his beautiful wife could kick more ass than Xena sat on, and life would be hard pressed to improve.
Even Harvey had granted John a reprieve over the last week. In the unnatural quiet, John talked to himself, and was happy to extend the conversation to any inanimate object in sight.
"Yes, sirree," he said, spreading a wet, sticky, and very fresh dinosaur skin out on the sand, "in a few days time, you are gonna be the hottest pair of pants this island has ever seen. And..." He gave his own backside a hearty clap, "it's seen some hot ass in its day."
He continued his merry and life affirming work, racing the sun to its zenith for optimum leather tanning conditions, and occasionally considered the fact that he didn't know how to sew. He did consider that his wife would sooner brain him than attempt so domestic an act herself, which led him to his next mission: find a seamstress, preferably one who wouldn't be prudish about a certain skintight quality to their finished product.
As a shadow darkened the skin at his side, John squinted up at his visitor. "Hey. You sew?"
[ooc: he's very cheerful, don't worry, he won't be crushed to learn he's completely failed tanning 101, and will in fact be only too happy to tell you he used his own urine for the procedure]
Life, Crichton thought, was pretty good. Add in the fact that when evil alien hybrids came to town, his beautiful wife could kick more ass than Xena sat on, and life would be hard pressed to improve.
Even Harvey had granted John a reprieve over the last week. In the unnatural quiet, John talked to himself, and was happy to extend the conversation to any inanimate object in sight.
"Yes, sirree," he said, spreading a wet, sticky, and very fresh dinosaur skin out on the sand, "in a few days time, you are gonna be the hottest pair of pants this island has ever seen. And..." He gave his own backside a hearty clap, "it's seen some hot ass in its day."
He continued his merry and life affirming work, racing the sun to its zenith for optimum leather tanning conditions, and occasionally considered the fact that he didn't know how to sew. He did consider that his wife would sooner brain him than attempt so domestic an act herself, which led him to his next mission: find a seamstress, preferably one who wouldn't be prudish about a certain skintight quality to their finished product.
As a shadow darkened the skin at his side, John squinted up at his visitor. "Hey. You sew?"
[ooc: he's very cheerful, don't worry, he won't be crushed to learn he's completely failed tanning 101, and will in fact be only too happy to tell you he used his own urine for the procedure]