Sometimes Spike wonders if he lost his touch. If he's used up all his adventure, all his danger, and now all he has left ahead of him is a nice, sedate life. Almost settled
( Read more... )
Rogue had had her hands shoved in the pockets of her jeans as she trudged through the jungle foliage towards Spike's hut, thoughts turned more deeply inward than she was usually inclined to let them. Which was why it took her a few moments to catch up with herself. Her lungs were burning before she even realized she was running, muscles protesting from the hard work they'd already done that day. She backtracked mentally.
A gunshot. Right.
She came careening out of the trees, sneakers hitting sand, and she skidded more than a yard until she came to a stop, ready to run again.
She managed not to, staring incredulously at Spike and the exploded melon.
Spike looks over from where he's sitting on a stool he dragged out from inside the hut. The gun is in one hand, still smoking. He looks, if anything, surprised by the running.
"You look like hell," says he, the caring boyfriend.
She stared for a another moment before straightening, still panting, trying to catch her breath a little. She made a few abortive movements in a couple directions, both toward and away from him, before she whirled toward the nearest tree, stalked closer, and let out a fierce noise of intense frustration before roundhousing it, shaking two coconuts loose, which did not hit her on the head but bounced harmlessly away over the sand on the opposite side of the tree.
She leaned heavily against it, ignoring the very slight dent in the bark, back to him, and covered her face with one hand.
Pull it together, get a grip. Pull it the heck together. Get a damned grip.
Comments 92
A gunshot. Right.
She came careening out of the trees, sneakers hitting sand, and she skidded more than a yard until she came to a stop, ready to run again.
She managed not to, staring incredulously at Spike and the exploded melon.
"..."
Reply
"You look like hell," says he, the caring boyfriend.
Reply
She leaned heavily against it, ignoring the very slight dent in the bark, back to him, and covered her face with one hand.
Pull it together, get a grip. Pull it the heck together. Get a damned grip.
Reply
Then he stands up, absently scooping up a coconut as it rolls past his foot, and makes his way over to extend the other arm and lean on the tree.
"...bad day?" he ventures.
Reply
Leave a comment