To suggest it had been a bad couple of days would have been a vast understatement. I'd woken up yesterday to discover I was less one roommate and good friend, and while I don't want to assign more importance to one disappearance over another, suffice it to say that the loss of someone who was such a central part of my life was a very big blow. After nearly a year of trying to distance myself from people to avoid getting hurt again, I'd finally started to relax. I got complacent, and Peter disappeared. It felt like a slap in the face.
Maybe that was why, just then, I legitimately thought I had lost my mind. I'd been on the boat since the day before, the house seeming way too empty yet. Hearing my name called, I turned where I'd been standing on the dock in my bikini and shaded my eyes with a lifted hand.
I don't use the f-bomb that often, but seriously, there was no fucking waySo for what felt like a really long time (But was probably maybe a minute, tops), I just stood there and stared at the figure on the beach. Ordinarily,
( ... )
I haven't really ever been on the receiving end of bowling by bikini hottie but then again, I'd never really had the opportunity when Shari and I had physical bodies either; I was too busy feeling sorry for myself and she was too busy thinking I wasn't interested. Near-misses, the whole time.
All of that changed after she and I had died and wasn't that just a weird thing to say? I didn't feel dead though, not anymore, and I slid my arms around her back.
"Is this how you always greet new people? I could get behind it, but I could do without the broken bones."
I was so happy I could kiss him, I thought to myself, and then immediately realized what a stupid thought it was to have; of course I could kiss him. There wasn't a single reason in this world or the other why I shouldn't. If you want to get technical, kissing him was appropriate under the circumstances.
"Oh, shut up," I panted and just planted one full on Peter's lips, for the moment completely oblivious to the fact that we were sprawled across the beach and that Peter probably had no idea what was going on. Well, beyond that I was scantily-dressed. I was pretty sure he hadn't missed that.
Oh no, I hadn't missed the lack-of-clothes. I'm not a prude by any means and I'd seen girls in various states of undress; hard not to when you live in Southern California, but I didn't remember ever seeing Shari like this.
Okay, I peeked in the shower one time. Once. Everyone would have, given the opportunity. I'm not a pervert either.
Right now, though, I was happy to keep kissing her until someone walked by and broke us up and even then, well, they could just get a show. I slid my hands from her back up into her hair.
Snafu's sitting propped in the crook of a dead tree, carving seconds from the day one rolled cigarette at a time, when the stretch of sand between him and the bright water is suddenly a lot less empty than last he checked. He tips his head back so the sun slants out of his eyes and the silhouette gains some features--familiar, but not enough to get him up yet, name on his lips. He perches a cigarette on them instead, replaces it with a new one tucked behind his ear and lights it, watching the guy's head turn all around as he calls out.
It's the name more than the familiar face that peaks his interest: either Shari's a name the kid learned in Melbourne, or he isn't as new as he looks, considering the ugly civvies he's got on. The name finally comes back to him and Snafu reaches up, uses a petrified root to pull himself upright and walk into view. "Phillips," he drawls, dragging the name out into a question--not like he can be assed to remember every poor fuck from all the way back on Gloucester.
I hadn't noticed the guy until he spoke and when he did, it was some kind of low drawl from a part of the country I'd clearly never been to. I'd had the usual trips to Disneyland and to Europe, as a kid, but I'd never really spent a lot of time traveling the USA. What was the point, when California had everything and then some?
Still, it was a good voice, the kind of voice that might tell a story some day, and it took me a minute to actually focus on his face. I didn't recognize him but that was expected; I didn't exactly spend a lot of time wandering freaky deserted islands.
"Last I checked, it was Nichols," I said, keeping my voice neutral. No point in antagonizing him if this 'Phillips' was his buddy. I didn't fuck with people like that.
He just shrugs, "Phillips, Nichols," like it's all the same to him. It kind of is--if he doesn't remember the name, he couldn't have been that attached to the guy. Rolling the cigarette to the corner of his mouth, he looses a stream of smoke and licks the other corner, looking Nichols over, still bugged by his face and trying halfheartedly to place him.
"When'd you get here," he asks, glowering down at those shorts. Long enough to visit the box, surely.
James was still pretty new to the island, but he'd really gotten lucky with snagging that gig at the Catscratch Club. Not only did he get to meet everyone who walked in the front door, but there were plenty of helpful people who both patronized and worked at the club. Plus it gave him plenty of excuses to dress up, which he did even after he'd found out about theme nights.
And since he felt he was going right along with their plans (he still wasn't ready to admit that he was going to be on his own), he'd decided a trip to the beach was definitely in the order.
"Well, hello," James said with a small wave as he stood to see who was shouting. He'd gone with a more beach friendly look--trunks, towel, sunglasses and beach hat--leaving his Team Rocket uniform with some other things he'd collected in the crash room. "Just looking for company are you?"
I'm not really sure what this guy meant by company but since I just arrived, I guess it wasn't really too bad an idea to ask the guy what was going on.
"I'm looking for Shari Cooper. Do you know anyone named Shari Cooper?"
Oh goodie! A game! James loved games. Except for when Jessie or Meowth cheated, which come to think of it, was most of the time. James pondered for a moment. The name seemed familiar, but he'd seen lots of them in the past couple of days.
"Okay, give me a hint," he replied. "What color hair does she have?"
That was an easy enough question and I smiled a little, thinking about Shari's hair. She'd probably tell you about her smile (Best Smile, I hear) but I always loved her hair.
Comments 62
Maybe that was why, just then, I legitimately thought I had lost my mind. I'd been on the boat since the day before, the house seeming way too empty yet. Hearing my name called, I turned where I'd been standing on the dock in my bikini and shaded my eyes with a lifted hand.
I don't use the f-bomb that often, but seriously, there was no fucking waySo for what felt like a really long time (But was probably maybe a minute, tops), I just stood there and stared at the figure on the beach. Ordinarily, ( ... )
Reply
All of that changed after she and I had died and wasn't that just a weird thing to say? I didn't feel dead though, not anymore, and I slid my arms around her back.
"Is this how you always greet new people? I could get behind it, but I could do without the broken bones."
Reply
"Oh, shut up," I panted and just planted one full on Peter's lips, for the moment completely oblivious to the fact that we were sprawled across the beach and that Peter probably had no idea what was going on. Well, beyond that I was scantily-dressed. I was pretty sure he hadn't missed that.
Reply
Okay, I peeked in the shower one time. Once. Everyone would have, given the opportunity. I'm not a pervert either.
Right now, though, I was happy to keep kissing her until someone walked by and broke us up and even then, well, they could just get a show. I slid my hands from her back up into her hair.
"Happy to see you too."
Reply
It's the name more than the familiar face that peaks his interest: either Shari's a name the kid learned in Melbourne, or he isn't as new as he looks, considering the ugly civvies he's got on. The name finally comes back to him and Snafu reaches up, uses a petrified root to pull himself upright and walk into view. "Phillips," he drawls, dragging the name out into a question--not like he can be assed to remember every poor fuck from all the way back on Gloucester.
Reply
Still, it was a good voice, the kind of voice that might tell a story some day, and it took me a minute to actually focus on his face. I didn't recognize him but that was expected; I didn't exactly spend a lot of time wandering freaky deserted islands.
"Last I checked, it was Nichols," I said, keeping my voice neutral. No point in antagonizing him if this 'Phillips' was his buddy. I didn't fuck with people like that.
Reply
"When'd you get here," he asks, glowering down at those shorts. Long enough to visit the box, surely.
Reply
I paused for a moment, voice choked. I'd almost said that I'd been dead, but that wasn't going to make the kind of first impression I wanted to make.
"I was in California, in a city, and now I'm here on a beach. Did that happen to you?"
Reply
And since he felt he was going right along with their plans (he still wasn't ready to admit that he was going to be on his own), he'd decided a trip to the beach was definitely in the order.
"Well, hello," James said with a small wave as he stood to see who was shouting. He'd gone with a more beach friendly look--trunks, towel, sunglasses and beach hat--leaving his Team Rocket uniform with some other things he'd collected in the crash room. "Just looking for company are you?"
Reply
"I'm looking for Shari Cooper. Do you know anyone named Shari Cooper?"
Reply
"Okay, give me a hint," he replied. "What color hair does she have?"
Reply
That was an easy enough question and I smiled a little, thinking about Shari's hair. She'd probably tell you about her smile (Best Smile, I hear) but I always loved her hair.
"Long, with layers?"
Reply
Leave a comment