I tell him listen son, it ain't no disaster, there ain't no shame in being beaten by a master
Great. Of course. For the first time in her life she decides to give monogamy a go and what happens? Yeah.
Stalked by magic mistletoe.
Between it and Druitt, it's like the island itself is saying, "Yeah? You want to be good? Prove it." But what the hell is she supposed to do? Stand here all damned day and wait for someone to come by who knows her and Declan well enough to go get him for her? The island's full up with hotass she'd have happily tapped before him. Plenty of chicks and dicks she'd have been thrilled to suck face with. The magic mistletoe couldn't have stalked her in fucking October? It couldn't have picked a day she didn't have a network to inform about Druitt and a bunch of blondes to warn?
"Not on, island," Kate says, for the first, fourth, seriously like thirteenth time today. It's not like she's not looking for it, either. It just keeps fucking sneaking up on her, like Flying Guy when he wants to be an ass. "Seriously not on."
She tries whistling for one of the dozen people in plain sight, but they're all genuine Londoners, completely scandalized by the prospect of kissing a woman they don't know. Let alone a woman in hand-tailored tight riding trousers, calf high black patent leather boots, and a riding jacket that barely covers her ass.
Fuck. This is completely uncool. Apologizing inside her head to Declan and promising she'll make it up to him again, Kate calls out, "Hey, you! A little help here?" to the person passing by.
[OOC: Kate is stalking the island in search of blondes to warn about Druitt and getting trapped by mistletoe. Find her anywhere. Either trapped by mistletoe if you want it, or between mistletoe incidents if you don't. Bring me your blondes, your hotass, your shy folks, her friends, her enemies. Closed. If you meant to tag and haven't had a chance, email me.
Title and cut lyrics from Johnny Lang's Rack 'Em Up]
Stalked by magic mistletoe.
Between it and Druitt, it's like the island itself is saying, "Yeah? You want to be good? Prove it." But what the hell is she supposed to do? Stand here all damned day and wait for someone to come by who knows her and Declan well enough to go get him for her? The island's full up with hotass she'd have happily tapped before him. Plenty of chicks and dicks she'd have been thrilled to suck face with. The magic mistletoe couldn't have stalked her in fucking October? It couldn't have picked a day she didn't have a network to inform about Druitt and a bunch of blondes to warn?
"Not on, island," Kate says, for the first, fourth, seriously like thirteenth time today. It's not like she's not looking for it, either. It just keeps fucking sneaking up on her, like Flying Guy when he wants to be an ass. "Seriously not on."
She tries whistling for one of the dozen people in plain sight, but they're all genuine Londoners, completely scandalized by the prospect of kissing a woman they don't know. Let alone a woman in hand-tailored tight riding trousers, calf high black patent leather boots, and a riding jacket that barely covers her ass.
Fuck. This is completely uncool. Apologizing inside her head to Declan and promising she'll make it up to him again, Kate calls out, "Hey, you! A little help here?" to the person passing by.
[OOC: Kate is stalking the island in search of blondes to warn about Druitt and getting trapped by mistletoe. Find her anywhere. Either trapped by mistletoe if you want it, or between mistletoe incidents if you don't. Bring me your blondes, your hotass, your shy folks, her friends, her enemies. Closed. If you meant to tag and haven't had a chance, email me.
Title and cut lyrics from Johnny Lang's Rack 'Em Up]