Who: Charlie and Belle
When: close to midnight
Where: Around the river near the Trading Post
What: Charlie's got a sweet-tooth
Rating: NC-17 (for secks & foul language)
Status: In progress // closed
The last few weeks had been strange. But then again maybe that was normal. Charlie knew that when Mac stormed out that he really was not rid of the crazy woman. Her snide little note proved that. It did not bother him; girls had said and done far worse to his face. He was almost used to the violent backlash by now. And then, out of nowhere, Prissy had been murdered. He was not super close "besties" with the girls at the Palace, but he spent enough time there socializing that her presence was certainly missed. After they found the killer, Charlie was careful to steer clear of the Palace for a while. The last place he needed or even wanted to be was around a bunch of blood-thirsty hell-cats. Not that their anger was unwarranted. He would have joined in the fun had he been a bit closer to the girl.
And then Mac suddenly appeared back at the Lodge. He did not pay her any special mind, though he did notice that she was actually acting civil for a change. If anything, it made him all the more wary. Until the new guy waltzed in. And that explained it all. It was almost relief, knowing that some other poor sap kept the crazy chick occupied.
But what really threw him was the note he received from Belle. He certainly had not forgotten her. If anything he had tried to stay away to keep Mac from feeling the need to pour her wrath out on the girl, and partly because she
did seem like a really sweet girl, too sweet for the likes of him. But he had warned her, hadn't he? And she had answered him with a challenge. Charlie just could not turn down a challenge. Perhaps he would prove her wrong after all?
He set out for the Trading post that night, dressed in jeans and a sea-green plaid shirt with a white sleeveless top underneath, and tried to remember the frantic steps they took to get to their particular spot. Charlie found the river easily enough, but wondered along it for a while before his memory finally picked up on the familiar scene. With his hands shoved into his front pockets, his eyes surveyed the area. Not a soul to be found. There were still a few moments till midnight, and the thought that he might be stood up never even crossed his vain little brain, so he laid down in the grass, bringing his hands up to support his head. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the cool evening air and let the trickling sound of the river lull him into a light rest.