The last performer had left the stage, Belize had come out for a few parting words, and the first island drag show was officially over
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Karen's still exhausted. She's sitting in a chair with a glass of juice, her feet in her boots kicking, her boa wrapped around her neck. Her mustache is badly smudged on one side, and her top hat's on at an angle. She yawns massively and hides her face in her hands.
So this is his life now. Patching up skinned knees and chasing around after a five-year-old in drag. Sometimes Rollie just doesn't know how to feel about that.
"You," he says, crouching next to her, "should have been in bed an hour ago. Whose idea was it to let you do this, again?"
"Hmmmm?" Karen looks at Rollie, so tired that her eyes are slightly uneven, and then, without anything else at all, she reaches for him with both hands, yawning hugely again.
"Not mine, that's for sure," says Rollie, hauling her into his arms and then standing up again. Thank god he's in good shape; children are heavy, especially when they're on the brink of being dead weight. "Anyone you need to say goodbye to?"
"All right," he says, and resigns himself to carrying her all the way down to their huts. "Let's get you out of that suit and into your pajamas." It's not going to kill her to not brush her teeth, just this once.
It's been fun though.
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"You," he says, crouching next to her, "should have been in bed an hour ago. Whose idea was it to let you do this, again?"
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ShorHor trots after them, like a horse who knows his lot in life.
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She likes the sound of pajamas very much.
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