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?
