your local weather forecast. (teamstormy) wrote in warrantlogs, @ 2015-11-26 22:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | npc: raine, npc: skye |
WHO: A couple of unfamiliar faces.
WHAT: Maybe discussing plans and plots. Maybe not.
WHEN: November 26th, afternoon.
WHERE: Ganymede, Galileo Bay.
WARNINGS: swearing, n/a.
"So where do you think they took the priest?" Feet kicked up on the buggy dashboard, Ganymedian sun shining down with lovely warmth, the man who turned his bearded face up to the clouds above seemed content. His hands were tucked behind his head, dark curls waving slightly in the breeze. A passing couple paused to admire his biceps. "I mean, I'm not saying he should be on our list. But that takes balls, right? Impersonating a priest! I mean, would you impersonate a nun?" An interesting mental image, to say the least. Conservative from head to toe, no colour or fashion sense to speak of. Could it be done? Certainly. Would it want to be done? The woman at his side was conflicted. She waved a flippant hand. "A nun is nothing. If we're talking balls here, ISSP. That's like, gold-plated balls. Titanium balls. Five balls in one. Can you imagine?" She could, vividly. "No, no, no," he protested, squinting down at the woman next to him. "Please, being an officer would be easy. All you have to do is swagger around, wave your baton, harass some innocent civilians. Maybe get a toothpick to really commit. Being a priest or a nun is much harder. You'd have to make people buy that you're a woman of virtue." He grinned back up at the calm clouds drifting overhead. Oh. "How many balls you packing right now, since you last checked?" "I mean, two, but I'm happy to let you confirm for me…" "Even better, how about—" one booted foot lashed out, knocking into his against the dashboard "—I shove 'em back inside from where they dropped and pull them out of your throat, how's that?" Another kick, half-hearted. "Funny guy." He pressed a hand to his broad chest. "You wouldn't! You wound me. I feel wounded!" His arm swept down to wrap around her shoulders, hauling her snugly against his ribcage (and she bristled like an angry cat accepting its fate). "No but let's get serious, here, Skye. We should be keeping track of all these new guys. Right? I mean, you agree with me, right?" Petulantly (uselessly), Skye mashed a hand into the softer part in his side. "Keeping track was, by the way, my idea," she protested with little convincing heat. "Let me do the thinking, alright, bozo? You can stand there and—" some hand waving went here "—blind people with the sun off your pecs or some shit." "That reminds me." He reached down and dropped a bottle in her lap. "Can you oil me up? I don't want to get a tan and end up looking like a Ganymedian guido. I mean, unless we're going to go in undercover costumes when we go to meet Virgil." He perked up. "Wait — can we?" The answer was not immediate; she was too busy being scandalized by the request, looking to the bottle as if it contained something more heinous than the suggestion of oiling him down with her bare hands. Not that she hadn't done it before. A little bit. Sorta. Damnit. They had oven mitts somewhere. One hand came up, palm intending on connecting with his face. "First of all, vomit. Second of all, vomit, we're not going in costumes." Pause. "You already know what you're gonna wear, don't you?" The cogs were turning, she could hear them. Face pushed aside, he didn't seem terribly phased by her refusal, regardless. "I may have something special picked out," came his mysterious reply. "I think you're gonna love it." She snorted inelegantly. "If it's sequins, I'm leaving you out on the curb with the trash." Here Skye squirmed, adjusting to nestle herself in a manner that was more to her liking: her curly head tucked up right beneath his chin, his heart up against her ear. Yes, much better. "As for Virgil." Serious talk now. "Let me do the talking." "Yeah, yeah." He grumbled and wove his fingers protectively into her hair. "But if he's an ass, I may have to punch him, alright?" Her laugh was a scoff; punching the big bosses, okay. A beat. Grudgingly: "I'll take off the sequins." "Fuckin' right you will." Ah, comfortable now. Another nestle. "Think our guy will do the job?" "I'm sure he will. After all, he knows we don't mess around either." He smiled out at the waves ahead of them. "Do you think the RAC liked our present?" Skye's face split into a grin. "Oh, Raine. I'll bet they're over the moon." She was definitely the funny one. |