The smell, the random toilets stuck in the sand, somebody apparently stuck inside...for a minute it's just like being back in New York. Especially the smell. Dairine doesn't see how it can even be attached to anything, but those things seem to take the stink with them anyway.
"There's a life form," Spot begins, in the middle of a conversation about paradox and the polyverse and the Bermuda triangle, but really, Dairine's already kind of figured that out.
"On it," she says, setting the computer down on the sand and yanking the mop out of the handle. (Slicing it with the lightsaber would be cooler, but also probably overkill.) She yanks the door open. "You okay?"
"Bless you," he breathed, climbing out and into the fresh air, his hands dropping to her shoulders -- a hot red head, which was totally a bonus -- and gently shaking her, just to fully express the depth of feeling behind his gratitude.
"I could've died." And okay, maybe that was kind of dramatic, but he felt totally justified. He'd just spent a whole day trapped inside a chemical shit-trap. If that wasn't a near death experience, nothing really was.
"A day, I think. I could see the sun go down through the crack between the doors," he said, managing to pull himself together enough to let go of her. To be honest, his reputation was the furthest thing from his mind, right then. If he came off looking like a douche, he'd have to deal with it later.
After a moment, he asked, "So, are we on a beach, or am I delirious from the fumes?"
Dairine has a feeling this could go from lifesaving gratitude to hysterics in a matter of a few seconds. It's not her fault she sucks at the welcome speech stuff. But she shakes her head--"No, you're really on a beach. Uh, how are you with surprises?"
"It kind of depends on the surprise," he admitted, after a moment of careful consideration. Puck wasn't the cautious type, but he had a feeling this wasn't a sexy surprise -- obviously his favorite type -- so there was a damn good chance he wasn't going to like it.
"Okay," Dairine says, not that she has any real choice. People before this have thought she was crazy, or playing a practical joke, but she still has to tell the truth. "The good news is, you're on a pretty nice tropical island with great weather and free food. The bad news is, there's no way off." She eyes him, cautiously, to see how he's going to take it. Probably--statistically speaking--disbelief is coming any second.
"There's a life form," Spot begins, in the middle of a conversation about paradox and the polyverse and the Bermuda triangle, but really, Dairine's already kind of figured that out.
"On it," she says, setting the computer down on the sand and yanking the mop out of the handle. (Slicing it with the lightsaber would be cooler, but also probably overkill.) She yanks the door open. "You okay?"
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"I could've died." And okay, maybe that was kind of dramatic, but he felt totally justified. He'd just spent a whole day trapped inside a chemical shit-trap. If that wasn't a near death experience, nothing really was.
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Of course, so could emerging to find you're stuck on a magic island, so what the hell's she supposed to say now?
"You're welcome," for a start. That smell is lingering. "How long were you in there?"
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After a moment, he asked, "So, are we on a beach, or am I delirious from the fumes?"
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"Just lay it on me," he decided, "I can take it."
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