Disclaimer: a person who disclaims.

A/N: This is… stuff. Just stuff. The next two chapters of SS are in progress and due for release…. At some date I don't really know. ;)

I'm sick. Ish. This morning, I could barely breathe. Now, barely is an overstatement. Make sense of that if you can.

{Indy says I'm fine. Ash told her she has no idea what she's talking about, and since he's the air manipulator, he is the "expert". Indy said something I don't want to know the meaning of in French, and Ash replied with something mean in Aborigine- which he swears he didn't know a word of until that second. And then the wind started blowing, and the hexes started flying, and I changed my mind about sharing their opinions with my mom.}

I think my sickness is making my muses cranky.

Whatever.


She says she doesn't

Speak French, and

That he should leave before her

Pseudo- father catches him on

Her balcony… again.

He smiles and says he

Didn't know she cared.

She huffs and refuses to

Look at him, but

He can tell she is smiling because

Her eyes are twinkling

A little from the side.

He tells her she is belle

And she makes an unladylike

Sound as she snorts.

He smirks and says that

He thought she didn't speak French.

She rolls her eyes at him

And leans in close.

Her breath is warm on his cheek

As she says, her accent perfect,

"Se perdre marais rat."

She draws back quickly,

Flushing a little

At the close proximity.

Before she turns away,

She sees his face

Light up in delight,

And she smiles again;

'Cause he's cute when he makes that face.

The astonishment fades

To a smirk,

And then, he whispers to her back,

"Bon nuit, ma belle chere."

She whirls around,

But he's gone.

Shaking her head, she

Retrieves his calling card.

One of these nights, she's gonna miss it

And then Logan or Kitty will find it

And then the whole

Almost relationship they have

Will be all shot to heck.

She climbs into bed, sparing her roommate

A glance but nothing more,

And she falls asleep

To find herself

Dreaming of

Red eyes, and

Sharp spices,

And a little café in

New Orleans,

That serves really good gumbo.

A/N: What's sad is that my word count is in the four hundreds, but I know perfectly well that about 150 of that is author notes. Meh. I felt like talking to ya'll.

Translation:

Get lost, Swamp Rat.

The other one should be obvious, and if it's not, how dare you call yourself a Romy fan.

Unless you're not a Romy fan. IWC, why are you reading this?