Who: Bobby & Siobhan
What: Being dead has its advantages.
When: 3 PM
Where: By the water
Rating: Low
Puck was late. At least, as far as Bobby was concerned, he was. He'd banked on the imp rolling out of bed from his latest romp, getting dressed, and going in search of food sometime in the early afternoon, and now it was three o' clock, with nary a peep from Puck's trailer. Granted, Bobby had been hoping for slightly more than a peep; he'd spent a week's pay on the strongest itching powder he could find, and sprinkled it in every pair of Puck's boxers, and damn it, that was worth at least a frustrated scream or two. It didn't seem like that was going to happen, however; at least, no anytime soon.
Sighing, Bobby leaned back on his elbows and dipped his toes a little further into the creek running past the carnival site. He couldn't feel the water passing through his feet, except when he spent the energy and concentration necessary to make himself solid, but there was something about the act that was comfortable, familiar.
"Come on, lover boy; hurry the hell up," he grumbled. "I'm bored."
What: Being dead has its advantages.
When: 3 PM
Where: By the water
Rating: Low
Puck was late. At least, as far as Bobby was concerned, he was. He'd banked on the imp rolling out of bed from his latest romp, getting dressed, and going in search of food sometime in the early afternoon, and now it was three o' clock, with nary a peep from Puck's trailer. Granted, Bobby had been hoping for slightly more than a peep; he'd spent a week's pay on the strongest itching powder he could find, and sprinkled it in every pair of Puck's boxers, and damn it, that was worth at least a frustrated scream or two. It didn't seem like that was going to happen, however; at least, no anytime soon.
Sighing, Bobby leaned back on his elbows and dipped his toes a little further into the creek running past the carnival site. He couldn't feel the water passing through his feet, except when he spent the energy and concentration necessary to make himself solid, but there was something about the act that was comfortable, familiar.
"Come on, lover boy; hurry the hell up," he grumbled. "I'm bored."