Re: The Cat: Patrick G/MJ W
[First of all, MJ was more than cute, and she knew this. Second of all, she would never, ever play Rosalind. She was a leading lady kind of girl. Third of all, even the good-looking boys didn't have her hanging from their biceps, just so we're all clear. But that was fine. If he was a jewelry connoisseur and/or gay and/or taken, then whatever. She wasn't that bothered by it. She just knew her place, and no one's meta was going to put her down as the has-been. Also, her ears were perfectly normal where they could be seen under her curls. And the earrings were simple, but cute. She smiled at his wink.] Most unrefined. You could compliment a girl's ankles first. Or her wrists, if ankles are too risque. Who else is wearing nice earrings, anyway? I need to meet her.
[She wasn't at all bothered that he didn't look at her tits. MJ Watson knew she was pretty, but even she didn't like trying to maintain a conversation with someone acting like her nipples were her eyes. Not even when they were cute (the person, not her nipples). Not unless she was topless and about ready to climb on them. Which was obviously not the case here.—She liked his wince though. A boy who didn't react to a circumcision joke was just unreachable, honestly, and clearly had no emotions.] I know you don't call any part of yourself Mr. Johnson, [she told him with an incredulous look.] Now, Magic Johnson, that's a fine name. [She wrinkled her nose at his wink playfully, and went to get him a pint glass. The blonde they had on tap was a citrussy, summer ale, so she served it to him with a wedge of orange split over the lip of the glass.] Dull, blonde, and American, killer. [She pushed it over to him on a coaster. And once she was done putting the orange away, she came back.] No more circumcision jokes, I promise. [She leaned forward.] So, you're Patrick, who hates raccoons, loves forests, and you have a sister who isn't supposed to know you drink beer.