(no subject)
If the Island’s rainy season had lasted any longer than it did, Lorne was almost positive that he would have sprouted a set of gills and webbing between his fingers and toes. Thoroughly convinced that it was a fate that he had only just narrowly avoided, he’d probably spent more time outdoors in the past few days since the weather had cleared up than he had the entire time he’d been on the Island. Or at least it kind of felt that way. Today before he’d even managed to get too far he sort of regretted the outing. And part of him was beginning to wonder if he should have been offended.
Sure, his newly acquired shadow was nice enough, after the girlish shrieking had come to a stop, but long before the game of twenty questions ensued. It was sort of like being in the company of an overly excitable puppy dog. Not that Lorne minded the enthusiasm. Much. But if he could have brought it down to a seven or an eight instead of a fifteen, it would have been even better. Better still would have been if all that enthusiasm wasn't completely misplaced.
"You don’t hiss, you’re not nocturnal, you blink." Apparently that last one was the biggest offense of them all. "What kind of Sleestak are you?!"
"The kind that's not," Lorne said. It was about the fifth time he'd told him that, but the guy obviously had some issues with selective hearing. Among other things.
"That's what all the Sleestaks say. Only when they do it sounds more like this: hissssss hisss hissssssssssss."
Lorne blinked.
"Speechless, huh? Been a while since you've heard the mother tongue?"
His silence continued, but only because a second spared to respond was a second less that could have been put to better use. Like, say, coming up with an escape route. Just as an example.
[Timed to early afternoon and set in and around the area of Psych HQ. Tag Lorne or Shawn or both, just make it clear who you want.]
Sure, his newly acquired shadow was nice enough, after the girlish shrieking had come to a stop, but long before the game of twenty questions ensued. It was sort of like being in the company of an overly excitable puppy dog. Not that Lorne minded the enthusiasm. Much. But if he could have brought it down to a seven or an eight instead of a fifteen, it would have been even better. Better still would have been if all that enthusiasm wasn't completely misplaced.
"You don’t hiss, you’re not nocturnal, you blink." Apparently that last one was the biggest offense of them all. "What kind of Sleestak are you?!"
"The kind that's not," Lorne said. It was about the fifth time he'd told him that, but the guy obviously had some issues with selective hearing. Among other things.
"That's what all the Sleestaks say. Only when they do it sounds more like this: hissssss hisss hissssssssssss."
Lorne blinked.
"Speechless, huh? Been a while since you've heard the mother tongue?"
His silence continued, but only because a second spared to respond was a second less that could have been put to better use. Like, say, coming up with an escape route. Just as an example.
[Timed to early afternoon and set in and around the area of Psych HQ. Tag Lorne or Shawn or both, just make it clear who you want.]