"Thtwldbemarm," came the mumble, in a distinct Irish lilt that Parker might find rather familiar. The mumble came closely followed by a much-more-awake, "Oh Powers."
Parker gave him a horrified look, then a relieved one, and then shivered again. "Oh thank God. Your accent's not cheesy any more." She shuddered, rubbing her arms. "Tell me we didn't throw our clothes off the cliff?"
Ronan glanced around, standing up unconcerned for his own nudity. "Looks like we got some distance on them, but I think they're all okay," he said, after spying their clothes strewn about some distance away. He began to make his way over to what look like his boxer-briefs.
Parker had by now started to process what she'd been up to this weekend. She picked her way after Ronan, muttering "ow ow ow" under her breath while looking for her shoes, and violently hoping no one was out with a camera. She found one, and then her skirt. A start.
"So... um. Sorry I tried to kill you?" She rolled her eyes. "Why do I always go evil on these weekends? Why?"
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"So... um. Sorry I tried to kill you?" She rolled her eyes. "Why do I always go evil on these weekends? Why?"
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