Red Dragon Inn

Red Dragon Inn Home Red Dragon Inn - Dragon's Mark

Welcome, traveler!
( Member login. Not a member? Register here. )

Search    Memberlist    Usergroups    Forum Help   
Gallery    Shop    Jobs    Auctions    Pet Shop    Lottery   
Register    Log in 

One on tha Way

Post new topic   Reply to topic   printer-friendly view    Red Dragon Inn - Dragon's Mark Forum Index -> The Crossroads -> The Caravan Circuit
View previous topic :: View next topic  
Author Message
Mark Low
Gypsy King
Young Wyrm
Young Wyrm

Joined: 25 Aug 2015
Posts: 92
See this user's pet
Can Be Found: Rhy'Din
4721.80 Silver Crowns


PostPosted: Sun Feb 25, 2018 10:54 am    Post subject: One on tha Way Reply with quote

(( Live rp from the inn. Cleaned up the log some just to make it easier to read. Special thanks to Ben for the play.))

It been a while, but tha was how life could be. About a thousand things tah do and only time tah dah twenty. Mark did enough that tha compliants wasn't levied against him, mehbe jist a dirty look from someone who were tah impatient for waiting. But life needed air, needed tah break from tha circle and he were sure Grace was givin' him the look of wantin' a little more outside their little world. Naht that he were complaining, he got the itch tah get out and see some faces which weren't of tha family. Climbing outta tha **** little Honda, he shut his door and waited, one hand atop tha car while checkin' on Grace's progress.

Grace wasn't all that far behind him, but she was definitely moving more slowly in general these days. She was restless at home with little to do but sit around and hear grievances, and when Mark had that wandering twinkle in the corners of his eyes, well, she knew when to take advantage of a good opportunity. So she'd put on a few extra layers and headed out to the car. Lifting herself out of it now, she leaned back a little, arching her spine to stretch it, before she shut the door. Her seafoam hair was getting longer and longer, the loosely woven braid trailed all the way down past the bra-strap line that seemed to be the universal delineation for "sorta long" vs. "very long". Moving around the side of the car, she bundled little fists into the pockets of an oversized sweater jacket that draped her like a shawl, glancing over her shoulder at him to see if he was coming.

Ben came riding up on an '88 Sportster with a medium sized trailer towed along. The song, "Oogum Boogum," was playing at max volume from the speaker system he'd installed. Upon arrival, he pulled off his helmet and took off his jacket, exposing lean muscles and gang tattoos up and down his arms. He lit up a cigarette and let it hang from his mouth as he lifted a cooler from the trailer and carried it into the inn, whereupon his set it on the floor next to the entrance and made a beeline for the bar.

It were impossible tah naht see tha other car and tha real flash entrance of it. Mark smiled tightly at tha fella, though it weren't enough of a hi that he expected a nod, if there was any kinda exchange. When Grace went and gave him tha look he stepped right up tah her. Green Led Zepplin jacket on and underneath some kinda band t-shirt from tha Artic Monkeys. Tha print were all cracked and faded. He put one hand at Grace's lower back as they climbed tha stairs. He were quick enough tha he got tha door fer her, grinning, "Aftah yah, miss."

The music had caught her attention more than the bike had, her head tilting towards it as though to identify the song. And you wear that cute miniskirt with your brother's sloppy shirt...A faint smile traced her lips as she looked down at her own outfit, wondering idly if miniskirts were ever in her future again. Certainly didn't feel like it right now. Smoothing the veiled and veiling layers down over her abdomen, she walked with him towards the door in the stranger's wake. Reaching the door, Grace inclined her head in an overly courteous nod, an exaggerated smile flashing into place on her lips. "Much obliged, Mister..."

"Yah thirsty fer something in particular?" His hand catchin' tha door tah hold it agape fer her. His eyes, kinda a dark mash o' blue, followed her as she went on in. He was wearing combat boots, but they were undone, the zipper at tha inner ankle down to the sole. Dark red with tha laces tucked in. Proper enough.

Ben poured himself a pitcher of Lakefront IPA and downed half of it in a single chug before turning around and seeing the two enter the room. He thought he was alone. With an exhale of two smoke rings, he tilted his head and offered a grin that would send any sane person running for dear life, "Evenin', folks! Got a bunch of free samples in the cooler there. Ribeyes, chuck-eyes, briskets, the whole 9... no, 10... friggin' yards!"

Free... samples? Grace eyed the stranger cautiously. She took note of the gang tattoos but didn't immediately assign them any value -- several people she knew were covered in them. Glancing from him to Mark and back, the point of her chin dipped in a nod. "Thanks," she said in polite response. "Perhaps we'll take some on the way out." Resuming the approach to the bar, the diminutive former-stylist shrugged out of her outermost layers, a long sweater shawl thing and a scarf. Maybe two scarves. Thoughtfully mulling her husband's question, she eventually decided on, "something sweet, I think. I'm sick to death of water an' tea."

"Best meat in Rhydin! No lie. In fact..." Ben eyed them up and down as he took a puff from his cigarette, ".. you're newly weds, ain't ya?" He downed the remaining half of his pitcher before filling up another

There was a tilt of his head to Ben and Mark shrugged. He were tha sort naht tah take tah a stranger immediately, but Ben got a sorta overwhelming voice. He stepped around tha bar to fix somethin' up fer Grace as he spoke, "We was wed at last year's Beltane, iffin you call tha as newly wed." He were wonderin' tah, about there bein' something fer free. Streets said nothin' was evah free, but folks like tah give out promotional stuff. That would make sense, "I suppose yer tha one sellin' meat?"

The carefully draped layers of her outfit -- the long shirt, the multi tiered skirt, the scarves, all did a fairly decent job of concealing her current condition -- or they did until she stopped to climb up onto a bar stool, at any rate. Grace claimed to be five feet tall, but chances were high that was an artful stretching of the truth, and there was just no graceful way to lift herself up onto the platform of the elevated chair right now. The loose and flattering fabrics pulled temporarily tight against the soft rounded shape of a swollen belly, the outline there and gone again as she settled, her feet dangling several inches off the floor, and pulled herself back together. "Not quite a year now, yeah," she said with a smile as wide green eyes strayed to Mark with an affectionate smile. "Well, two if y'count as we were handfasted the year before."

Ben turned his head to Mark, "Always sellin;, but always looking fir new clients! Free samples there, brother. Help yourselves. Who doesn't like a Honeymoon with quality ribeye steaks? Hell, red meat is a greater necessity for a prospective mother, just for the iron content alone. Not to mention, it TASTES... FRIGGIN'... GREAT!" A maniacal laugh followed as he downed his pitcher before filling up another.

Mark cracked a smile at him, a glint of amusement at tha man's enthusiasm. Whut he got tahgether fer Grace was sorta a fruit cocktail. Pineapple juice cause she were sayin' she wanted somethin' sweet. Then some cranberry tah keep it from being grossly so. Then jist a dash o' apple juice, cause apple juice got a way of mellowing out a drink. Jist tah tickle her, he put an umbrella in it and then set tha glass befer her. Him? Well, he jist cracked open a Good Enuf beer fer himself. His attention went tah tha pitcher, "You hittin' it pretty hard, yeah? Or are yah one of those that get it in and outta tha system quick?" RhyDin got all sorts.

Her giggle was high and clear, like the chiming of silver bells. It came because of the umbrella, but also because of the other man. Impressed with how quickly he'd altered his pitch, when her fruit cocktail appeared before her, she lifted it in the stranger's direction as though to salute him. "What makes it the best meat in Rhy'Din?" she asked, her curiosity piqued despite the maniacal laugh. "Thanks, Love," she murmured to Mark for the drink, bringing it to her lips to try it.

"Boy," he tilted his head down as he addressed Mark, looking up with his eyes, "I'm from the brew-city. Beer is water in my land. But ya'll are clearly newly weds," his use of 'ya'll' seemed to indicate a certain amount of time in the South; an odd combination of midwest and southern accents, "The best meat in Rhydin comes from your sources. Mine are indeed all organic yet offered with prices that don't denote 'organic arrogance.' Real affordable meat, And none cuts them better than your's truly.”

"Lemme ask you guys somethin'... when did you get married?"

She glanced from the stranger down the way to Mark on the other side of the bar and then back. Puzzled, she thought perhaps he didn't know what 'Beltane' meant. "First of May, last year."

Mark's eyebrows went up and he laughed, shortly, at the label of 'boy' being applied to him. His amusement sparked deeper, wrinkling the corner of his eyes. He looked at Grace as if to check that she had also heard him. There was the question from Ben, which were but answered moments ago. Mark weren't annoyed, tho, he went ahead and spoke, "Was last Beltane we married." He lifted his beer, giving it a swallow and then he looked back tah Grace, "I asked her first for a hand fastin' and then aftah a year we made it permanent." Grace was nice enough tah say it was in May, and mehbe give that bit more o' detail. Beer fer water in some places. Huh. Tha water musta been no good. That's how tha story usually went.

Brew-city might have been a place on a planet. Maybe all they had was beer. The thought made her smile as she sipped her fruit juice with its bright pink umbrella, nodding to concur with Mark's explanation. "Have you been in Rhy'Din long?"

"Egh, a little while," He nodded to Grace, "A hand fastin'?" he asked Mark with a quirky half-smile, "Do I even want to know what you mean by that? Sounds oddly sexual." He finished his cigarette before lighting up another and topping off his pitcher, "Whatever the case, sounds recent, so help yourselves to as much meat out of that cooler as you want. I hope to gain the business of you and your new family. Nonetheless, can I buy you folks a shot in honor of your marriage?" That grin flared again. Was he trustworthy, or was he a complete psychopath? It may have been hard to tell.

One corner of his lips yanked back, a smirk at tha fella's joke about hand fastin' bein' something sexual. Iffin he had known the man, he woulda slipped back some otha kind o' comment, but instead he were disposed tah laughin' at the little jest. With tha offer o' a shot he nodded, "Fer jist you and me on account o' her carrying my eldest." It were easy tah consort with someone sah social and seemingly near three sheets tah the wind, or jist a bit odd. A gypsy knew a thin' or two about odd.

Mark stepped out from behind the bar, takin a seat by Grace sah he would be between her and tha met guy as much as he could be. All organic. That was whut folks were selling. Somethin' about it bein' healthy or good for the planet was the excuse made fer tha price. Guy said it weren't, though.

“Unless you want to buy me a shot of cranberry juice or something," she said amiably. The glance she cast to Mark from the corners of her lashes was a knowing one, it bordered on coy. Was handfasting a sexual thing? Not strictly, but then, pretty much anything could be made to be sexual if you were doing it right. Amusement sparkling in vivid green eyes like fractured emeralds, she nodded. "An' thank you for it, as well." Both the gift of the meat and the celebratory beverages.

"Ahh. Sorry though, boyo," he winked as he threw on a fake Irish brogue, "But you havin' to be earnin' it, aye? So I'll tell ya what," he poured a shot if Jameson and then placed his grey fedora over it, "I'm gonna bet you that I can drink this shot without even TOUCHING the hat. If I fail, then I buy you the shot. If I succeed, then you buy it. No magic here. Agreed?"
Back to top
View user's profile Send private message
Mark Low
Gypsy King
Young Wyrm
Young Wyrm

Joined: 25 Aug 2015
Posts: 92
See this user's pet
Can Be Found: Rhy'Din
4721.80 Silver Crowns


PostPosted: Sun Feb 25, 2018 11:15 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

"Sorrah?" He looked at Grace as if he were hopin' she could clue him intah whut tha apology were for. Tha man was doing some fast talkin', and Mark knew tha the situation was set jist sah tha he would lose, but he took him up on it anyway. As far as he could tell? Losin' weren't tha bad and he was wantin' tah see tha guy's punchline. "Gah ahead, let's see whut yah got."

Trying to trick the king and queen of the local so-called Tricksters? This promised to be entertaining. Her smile spread, her anime-wide eyes dominated her face, and they turned on the Butcher now, expectant.

He grinned at Mark, "I did already. I already took that shot. Do you believe me, or don't you?" He pointed down to the hat which covered the shot.

"You wantin' meh tah move tha hat fer yah, brother?" He said brother with a little bit o' playful jab to his voice, his hand hovering ovah tha top of the hat. Mark got one eyebrow arched like he were askin' tha meat dealer iffin that were it, iffin he really wanted him tah make tha move, "More then happy tah oblige so you won't be the one touchin'."

"Then go ahead, amigo. Do you believe I did it or not ?"

"I believe if I move tha hat tha you get your shot without touchin it," and his hand dropped, gripping tha cloth wave the top of a fedor got. Up, tah see how much a magician this fella was.

From Boy to boyo to amigo in the space of thirty seconds, Grace smiled to herself, sipping her juice. This butcher fella had run through rather a lot of faces in the course of this particular pitch. She shifted on her barstool, trying to find a poistion that was comfortable. Her feet didn't reach the footrest on the stool, much less the floor, and this wasn't great news for her ankles. Dragging another barstool out from the opposite side, she lifted her feet and rested them on that. There.

Grace might have a tipsy husband to contend with if the man was any good at his tricks. Maybe Mark didn't mind, but Grace hadn't passed him a disapproving look just yet.

There was a loud thud on the roof followed by the sound of scuffling, limbs scrabbling atop the roofing tiles for purchase. One or two were knocked loose, grating against the other tiles the whole way down until they cascaded over the edge to smash in the snowy yard below.

Whut? Mark flinched, looked at the ceiling tah where there were a sound, like a tree branch with some weight had downed itself tah the roof.

The littlest gypsy jumped in her seat, peering up at the roof. Her gaze seemed to track the noise all the way down.

A moment later there was a shout, followed by some swearing, and a heavy thud sounding from the front lawn.

“Oi, stay there," he moved out from behind tha bar swiftly, he were gonna have tah wait fer tha man's punchline. Mark weren't sure whut was goin' on, but he wasn't gonna wait tah fine out. He stepped out tah the porch real prompt, one hand catching his hip as his gaze gave a look around tah events.

Grace stayed there, more because the thought of moving when she'd just gotten comfortable was... not appealing.

Cane stepped around the man who came out on the porch, catching the door with one meaty hand before it closed. Though his jacket was blessedly free of moisture, it was obvious he'd taken a tumble into the snow. His hair and neck were wet, along with the entire left side of his jeans. As he stalked toward the bar, the moisture popped and sizzled, evaporating with the sudden spike of his core body temperature, leaving him completely dry by the time he'd fished a beer from the cooler.

The dragon hatch opened just far enough for Salvador to slither through it and alight onto a rafter. He crept along them, stalking quietly after the Cajun from above. Rolling off the side of one over the bar, he hung, then dropped lightly to land, knees bent, behind a stool. When he rose back up, he slid onto the seat, grinning wildly at Cane.

Don't mind Grace while she stares, watching the man on his way across the bar's floor and then behind it. And then she might have actually squeaked, a soft startled sound, because she was so busy watching Cane she hadn't heard or noticed Sal.

Tada! The startled squeak he heard had him looking only even more pleased with himself.

Apparently it were naht an arrival tha was cause fer a lot of concern. Tha being settled? Mark moved back inside and took his place beside Grace with a smile an' a shrug, mouthing tha word "RhyDin."

The tiny gypsy girl who was occupying two stools and hardly big enough for either one of them fell silent, which was significantly better than going into paroxysms of fangirl glee. She knew -- or rather, recognized---Cane, both from the Circus performances and from that time she'd almost gotten to braid his hair during the Beltane festival. Sal she couldn't place, and maybe that startled her as much as the fact that he'd appeared seemingly from nowhere. There was still a grey fedora on the bar that either did or didn't have a full shot of Jameson's underneath it, and... oh, good. There was Mark, returned from his investigation of the porch. Relieved that it apparently hadn't been anything more serious than that, she sipped her fruity punch and settled her bright green eyes on Mark. "Did you see anything?"

"You're such a dick," Cane rumbled, tipping the mouth of the bottle toward the Spaniard in accusation. Never mind the murderous expression, there was a level of fondness laced throughout the tone giving the impression that he took no offense to being thrown off a roof. "I think my shoulder's dislocated." The beer was used to indicate his left arm with the sort of nonchalance that implied this wasn't cause for alarm.

"You love me," Sal countered, unconcerned. Straightening up, he beckoned the Cajun closer with a gesture. If the arm really was dislocated, he could fix that, and it was clear by the way he was visually examining it from this distance that he was thinking about it. A glance was spared to the mirror, aside. He didn't know either of those other two people and was not at all curious enough about them for his attention to linger. Back to Cane.

Two men and a girl... A tiny girl with a belly that couldn't be missed. They were each given a moment of consideration, the homicidal expression waning into casual neutrality. The sharp curve of a smile slashed across his face a moment later. That would have to do as far as hellos were concerned -- his boyfriend was promising pain and relief all at once. How could he refuse? Cane lingered long enough to grab a Badsider out of the cooler for Sal, then moved around to join him on the other side of the bar. After setting the beers aside, he removed his jacket gingerly and set it aside so Sal could do his thing. Cane was perfectly capable of fixing the problem himself, but he allowed Sal to do it for the same reason he let Aoife take a straight razor to his beard: intimacy was more than taking off one's clothes.

"Jist a fella but all seems tah be in order. Nothin' tah be worried for," he leaned in, kissin' her on tha cheek tah let her know jist how all right it all had come tah be. Mark were shouldered right on up tah her, still standin' tho he propped one foot up on tha bottom rung o' his barstool. "Yah doin' alright?"

Grace thought she was doing a relatively good job of hiding or at least minimizing the belly, but... the way she had her short little legs stretched out onto a stool in front of her, her ankles crossed, well... yeah. The belly was slightly more obvious at this angle. She answered the aerialist's smile with one of her own, and then reverted her gaze to her husband. She tilted her cheek into his kiss, one hand lifting to run the backs of her knuckles lightly over his belly. She nodded readily.

“I'm alright," insistent, if only because Grace didn't want to go home just yet, her wide green eyes were directed up at him still. "You remember that show we went to a couple years ago, not last Beltane but the one before?" She tipped her chin in the direction of the blond man shucking his coat somewhere down the bar from them.

The others at the bar continued their conversations whilst Mark and Grace talked now that the commotion had passed.

Mark were givin' a good ol stretch tah grab his beer from befer and then tip it on back for a hoppy swallow. One elbow was atop tha bar, lookin' at her and then towards tha commons. She mentioned a show they gone tah see and his eyes followed tah whom she indicated. His eyebrows met each other, half a wrinkle, tryin' tah figure the face and then relaxin' his into a smile when recognition came tah him, "Oi, tha the one?"

She nodded. "Mhm. The blond." She whispered, leaning into him. Just in case it needed clarification, which it honestly might. Since the payoff to the wager was never coming, Grace leaned forward suddenly and swiped the fedora off the bartop. There sat the shot of Jamesons, full and undisturbed. She leaned forward, balancing precariously on the edge of her barstool, snagged it with her fingers and dragged it closer. "Y'may as well drink that." she said to Mark. "I would, iffin' I could."

"I know, and then yah would be all sloppy steps fer meh," he chuckled, pickin' up tha shot. There were a pause, his expression naht too keen at tha fedora in her hand. Was jist a second, but sometimes seconds was all you needed. He threw back the shot and then kissed her, all whiskey and Led Zepplin jacket when he did sah.

The fedora was abandoned in a heartbeat, fluttering to the floor as she reached for Mark instead, one hand following the angular slope of his jaw, the other clutched somewhere in the lapel of that Led Zepplin jacket. The taste of whisky on him was strong, made all the stronger still for how long it had been since she'd tasted any. When the kiss broke, she laughed. "To be fair I might be all sloppy steps anyway. Maybe you have to carry me," she joked, eyebrows jumping above eyes that were bright like a cartoon.

"You are gonna have sah many babies. All tha babies," he grinned, nudging her lips with his own. Mark wanted a softball team, one tha even got backups. She were joking about him carrying her and he wrapped one arm around her, fingertips dancin' jist at her hip, "Mehbe tha can be arranged. I got no constitution tah tell you otherwise.”

She laughed, that Christmas bell peal of high crystal notes coming together. "Let's get through the one and see what's what, yeah?" She cautioned him, though she was still charmed by his enthusiasm. Charmed by the way he flat out admitted he couldn't tell her no. "I'll keep that in mind," she said conspiratorially, waggling her expressive brows for good measure. "Do you think the meat's safe?" Their new acquaintance had been...interesting.

"One? Pfftttt... yah got more than that." A hand waved tah dismiss her concerns fer tha one. There was the question about the meat and he bit his lower lip, "I never get a feelin' good fer anythin' free. Tell you whut," He twisted, elbow on tha bar and smile full and ready fer her, "I'll eat it and then pick you up anythin' yah want. I'll take tha bullet. S'jist me iffin we do it tha way."

Grace's brows drifted upwards, skeptically. She didn't precisely object to his baseball team dreams, but it wasn't like she was particularly huge. She eyed her own swollen belly skeptically, but the corner of her mouth twitched as she bit down on a smile. Composing her expression, she shook her head. "Nah, not you. Make Quinn try it. Isn't that what security is for?" She grinned despite herself then, finishing the last of her ever so elaborately mixed fruit juice.

"Tha man survived a thin' or two. What's some questionable meat fer him?" Mark agreed with a chuckle. At tha last loud sip o' her drink his eyebrows ticked upward, "You ready fer the trek home, mah queen?" Lone smile for her, and he got whut some say was love in his eyes. A level o' softness meant fer her, it come out in his eyes and boyish smile. Mark didn't mind bein' a bit foolish fer her, even if they was out where folks could see.

"Do we have to go home?" she asked, and those vibrantly green eyes were beseeching. The Queen enjoyed her throne, perhaps, but the gypsy in her itched to run, to escape, to be somewhere else, at least for a little while. A grin was forming on her lips, the glint in her eyes like emerald chips turning mischievous. "Up for some roadside adventure?"

"Yah want adventure?" Mark weighed it in his head, lookin' at her as if she were askin' fer somthin' kinda odd. Bein' as she were, home was tha better place, but he got near no way to put those eyes of hers tah a no. Sah, he o' course relented, nodding towards tha door. Fer as far as thirty minutes can take us, we'll jist gah somewheres."

Grace grinned brightly, affectionate in her triumph. Quitting her job had put an end to her day to day movement, and her restless soul was longing, teased as it was by the Northern winds. She nodded immediately. "Forty five minutes, you mean," she pressed her luck with a smile that was practically angelic, curling little fingers back into the lapels of his coat.

"Oi, when did your mouth get tha kinda trouble tah it?" He looked away and then back tah her, admitting that she as much had her way with the outcome when he said, "Gah on, then, get yer booty in tha car sah we can launch." Somewhere, at the end of his show of being put upon were a smile.

"...'Bout two years ago," she replied in a nonchalant singsong, grinning, plenty pleased with herself. Her brows rose at the second half of his declaration. "Oi," she said, mimicking him in a tone that was spot on, if two octaves higher. "Thought you were going to carry me?"

"Yah meant tha?" He looked shoked but went ahead and stepped tah tha side of her, "You're about impossible, yah know? A man needs his back," but he bent down, anyways, scooping up her legs with one arm and her back with the other. It were all wedding and threshold style. He pretended fer a second tha he was overwhelmed, "Tha weight be tah much!" One bad step faked giving away before he straightened and continued in a walk. "Yer naht beyond whut I can carry." Grace had been such a tiny thin' tah begin with. He liked tha there were something which seemed delicate about her, something that seemed tah fit intah the edges of him.

"I know," she lamented, running one hand over the expanding circumference of her waistline. "I miss my feet." She paused, looking suddenly, rather animatedly, concerned. "I do still have feet, don't I?" Laying her head on his shoulder when he pacified her, Grace was suddenly put in mind of that first night, after Mason had gone home and he had insisted on pancakes. She smiled fondly, kissing his collarbone. "Tomorrow, I will make you pancakes." But not, she wanted it to be clear, before there had been adventures.

"Nah pixies run off with them. I saw them, all ten little piggies and the foot stink and everythin'. Yer feet naht gone without you." His smile fer her, walking carefully for tha door. Was harder tah carry someone than one might think, but there was also tha worry o' it being Grace. Mark crouched a little and shifted up quickly, bouncing her up a few inches sah he could get a bettah grip befer continuing. "Yah know you always promisin' them on a sunrise that don't come." This, o' course, were a tease. She got pancakes to him on more than one occasion, but a little melodrama was good when it came to gettin' whut you wanted. Back met the door tah shove it open as he twist-carried her outside.

The retaliation came in the way she halfheartedly pushed at his shoulder. "Hey! I'll remember that," she warned him, frowning imperiously. "Good job not letting the pixies run off with my feet, but still..." she trailed off, unable to think of some good invective to follow that up with. Possibly because she was in her man's arms and absolutely getting her way. Instead of finishing up her threat, Grace grinned like a lovesick fool, a middle school girl staring at her highschool varsity football crush. She sighed dreamily, laid her head back down on his shoulder. "I love you, y'big ....big...." she couldn't even think of a good playful insult, pregnancy brain was a thing. "...weirdo."

Weren't hard tah be big fer Grace. Mark woulda only been okay as far as football players went but, he got her. He got her in his arms and tha hold was steady enough tah believe in. He carried her down tha porch, his chest grumbling with the sounds o' a near silent laugh. "Yah? Well, you're the one that plucked tha heart of a weirdo sah mehbe you're a weirdo groupie." Eyebrows bounced with a grin. He stopped at her side of the car and bent, givin' her moment to catch her feet beneath herself. Mark made naht one word about losin' some breath and his knees crackin. Got more than a hundred pounds from tha door tah tha car. He needed a high five.

If by 'more than a hundred pounds' you meant a hundred and two pounds, yes. Blame the softball team. Mark totally got a high five. Grace found her feet, steadying herself against his shoulder before she let him go. "A weirdo groupie?" she queried doubtfully. "I dunno. Pretty sure you have to be into more than one weirdo to qualify as a groupie..." Not that there was any shame in that. Be into all the weirdos in the world if that was your thing, the girl had no judgments there. She'd had a lifetime of judgment heaped on her shoulders for having the audacity to be married once before already. Musing along this theme, she looked away from him deliberately, playfully. "...Maybe I need to find me some more weirdos..."

"You got a whole collection at camp, sah nah more for you," he countered, opening her door. Once she was in, he hunted round tah the front of the car and then slid in. The heat was cranked up and the gas pedal pushed tah hurry along the defrost process before they peeled on outta there.
Back to top
View user's profile Send private message
Display posts from previous:   
Post new topic   Reply to topic   printer-friendly view    Red Dragon Inn - Dragon's Mark Forum Index -> The Crossroads -> The Caravan Circuit All times are GMT - 5 Hours
Page 1 of 1

Jump to:  
You cannot post new topics in this forum
You cannot reply to topics in this forum
You cannot edit your posts in this forum
You cannot delete your posts in this forum
You cannot vote in polls in this forum

Powered by phpBB © 2001, 2005 phpBB Group

Dragon's Mark Producer - Rob Portinga
Original site design © 2005 by Nomad  •  Forum design © 2005 Isaura Simon