Characters: Angrboda/Riley (griefbringer ) & Pothos/Eric (yearnling ) Date/Time: Backdated to the afternoon of September 15. Rating: PG13? There's swearing! Yes! Warnings: Swearing?
The speed in which he both made the suggestion and then talked himself out of it was damn near comical, and made Riley smirk again. “Don’t think me riding on your handlebars would work out well for either of us... unless that’s some sort of metaphor and if so we’re definitely not at that stage of our friendship or whatever the fuck this is yet.” Obviously, he hadn’t meant anything perverse by his statement at all, but Riley had been having a tough time of things and had to amuse herself somehow. “I get that, camping can be a good way of getting away from it all. Almost makes me wish I hadn’t broken down my usual campsite ‘cause then I’d just go there and hang out in the woods, but stupid me figured it was time to start acting like a functioning member of society.”
Drumming her fingers on her legs under the blanket while he made the call, she debated pulling out her own phone and trying Cyrus or Reeve again, but thought better of it when she remembered what time it was. Riley wasn’t often one to stop and consider other peoples’ feelings when she wanted something, but when it came to her kidlets/roommates she was more willing to accept that their world shouldn’t revolve around her. So she let her phone stay in her pocket, and waited for him to finish his phone call, doing her best not to creepily stare until he was done.
“Pretty sure we can wreck that bottle of two buck chuck in thirty minutes, crackerjack,” she responded, her nose wrinkling at his new nickname for her. “Though I might need a bit extra if you’re gonna keep calling me anything-kins.” Was she some cute little pet? “Hey! I wasn’t gonna break your nose, at least not now.” He got a reprieve tonight.
-
Her own campsite? Eric’s mind giggled and he tried to keep it down. The idea of hermiting yourself in the wild here, in Colorado, cracked him up for some reason. Maybe it was the thought of Riley in a fur tunic dancing around a campfire and beating men on their head with a wooden club. The image amused him, something worth sharing if he didn’t expect to get a smack on the face for it. Instead, he just cracked a Joker grin and looked away from it all, feeling very self conscience of being so close. Not that he’s never not close to someone, it just doesn’t illicit feelings usually.
Not that he’s having feelings, his mind clamming up tighter than a mussel on a dry rock. No, Eric doesn’t do feelings. Riley is fun, one of those rare challenges in life. Much like Mount Everest, climbing her ladder is fun and throwing her random bones of mixed emotional meat. Caring, jerk. Things he does well, doesn’t do well. Throwing people off their game is also fun. Which is why his brain took a turn for the stupid and he turned, giving her a cocky grin, “Why, sugarplum, who said it’s the only bottle for the night? I only meant outside, honey buns. I don’t want to give you any ideas, but I might as well as plant one like a tulip in your---” Eric stopped for once, his mind putting on the Intelligence Brakes. No, it’s probably not wise to make an explicitly sexual joke. Not while he’s trying to be a knight. “Garden. Because I really don’t want a broken nose.”
Pulling out the vino, he pauses. Probably should have brought cups, but that’s all in hindsight. He offers it over with a nudge of shoulder to shoulder; it’s hers to open up. “Just so we’re clear, I had an STD test about two months ago, and I don’t have herpes. So we can share. Unless you do, in which case we can’t, because I enjoy not having the herpes.”
--
Yes, she had her own campsite, a special place only one other person (possibly two, since she never did find out if James had ever stalked her in bird-form or not) really knew about. If Eric bothered to ask her about it she wouldn't mind explaining, just there wouldn't be any details provided. She liked camping, being among nature helped her feel at peace, and if she ever got her powers back she planned on making a snow fort and spending winter break pretending to be an Eskimo. Maybe by that time she'd have someone to share crazy outdoor adventures with, but she wasn't betting on it.
It was a silly thing to think about, getting involved with anyone, especially after how her last relationship had gone. Though Riley had been the one to steer Jon toward ending things she still cared about him more than she liked, which was why she didn't mind the antagonistic whatever this was that Eric kept throwing her way. Riley was just going to continue ignoring the fact that things between her and Jon started out with a similar level of sniping. "Sugarplum? Honey buns?" So it was food-based nicknames now, was it? "You hungry or something, calling me sweet shit?" Riley wasn't going to touch the implication that he'd already scored an invite inside. "Your nose is safe, seriously." And not just because her strength was gone.
Taking the bottle, she raises her eyebrows at his statement. Opening the bottle, she takes a swig, holding out the bottle to him. "I was in the hospital like two weeks ago, if I had herpes I'm pretty sure they'd have told me." This was not the type of conversation she expected to end up having with him, but whatever. "Gotta say, I kinda thought you'd thought of everything until I saw you forgot cups."
-
Still grinning, Eric couldn’t help but continue with the pet names. “What, fairy doll? You don’t like names? I could call you cinnamuffin, sweet cheeks, uh, Hello... Kitty. Stuff like that,” because every girl likes being called Hello Kitty. Who wouldn’t? Eric fondly remembers buying loads of the trademarked cat and companion items for his sisters over time. “Oh, I know! We can call you Fuzzy Wuzzy. Because you try to live in the woods. Like a bear. An angry bear,” he knew he was reaching an unsafe territory but it didn’t stop him. Nothing could. Eric was on a roll. Somethings in life were just too easy for him.
With the swiftness of a sloth, he tapped Riley’s nose before taking the bottle out of her hands. Lips pursed on the rim, he couldn’t help but give her a long sideways glance (more of a sideways stare, really) before speaking. “What did you do, break some poor guy’s face?” Managed to come out of his mouth before realizing that, two weeks ago there was the riots and a lot of his supernatural friends were injured. Places broken into, people scared, all that. good terrifying jazz. Eric has been spared most, if not all, of it. He stayed inside, played his video games, read his books, and pretended he wasn’t a super special kid. Outside his immediate friends, no one knew. They weren’t aware of his jealousy or his ability to make you yearn for someone. All they knew was that when he went to parties, people got laid or lovesick. Sometimes both.
Picking his words carefully for once, Eric was slow to speak after taking a draught, “Maybe, and it’s theoretical, but maybe... I forgot them on purpose so I could share your taste.” Oh, that might get him a broken nose. Too bad. It would probably be worth the pain and blood.
-
Now he was just trying to get a rise out of her, and despite knowing this Riley was letting him. “No to doll, Aimon calls everyone that and it’s fucking annoying. If you’re gonna nickname me it better be all special and unique to me alone, otherwise I’ll tell everyone I know your nickname is now something like shitsnacks.” And no matter what he thought, Riley wasn’t letting him call her Hello Kitty. Not just because it sounded like the type of thing a paedofile would say while leering at a kidlet, but because she just plain didn’t like it. “Fuzzy Wuzzy? That the best you can come up with?” The old children’s rhyme popped into her head, and Riley just had to ask. “Fuzzy wuzzy was a bear, and all that?”
Even though she could see Eric’s hand moving to bop her on the nose, she didn’t move or lean back. Part of her wanted to see if he was really going to do what it looked like he was planning, and the other part was debating the pros and cons of hooking up with him just to see what it’d be like. That second part was soundly vetoed when he opened his mouth and made a snide comment that for once she couldn’t appreciate. “No... four guys came into the Sports Complex and beat the shit out of my coworker and I.” Riley explained, her words coming out quieter than before. “Got bashed upside the head with a rock, they kept me in the hospital for observation. Then they kept me longer because I kept trying to leave before they wanted me to.” Like most people, she disliked hospitals.
That... was not a response Riley had been expecting, her face openly displaying her shock. “Huh.” Reaching up to lightly scratch her neck, she couldn’t hide her confusion. Was he just screwing with her or if there was a grain of truth behind it? There was only one way to find out. “And how’s that working out for you?”
-
Nodding, “Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear, Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair. Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn’t fuzzy, was he? Did you know Fuzzy Wuzzy was made up by British soldiers about a tribe of warriors who were fuzzy?” This was one of his favorite rhymes as a kid, everyone loved Fuzzy Wuzzy the magically furless bear who invaded your childhood and made you feel snuggly at night. “You’re probably not furless... and I’m only guessing that because you go out like a caveman and hermit in the woods. Hermit.” A gentle chiding, but nonetheless, he now had to come up with a good name. “To be honest, I think I like sugar plum, like the faeries in The Nutcracker. Or we could just call you Nutcracker, since that’s what you’d probably do to me if I put Hello Kitty stickers on your front door one night while you were sleeping.” Then sit outside your window and watch you sleep.
“...Really?” his ears couldn’t believe the story he heard, and felt increasingly guilty over it, down into the pit of his stomach. What was intended as a joke was... not so great, actually. In fact, it brought around a flood of feelings akin to protection and wanting to punch someone’s face---breaking his ‘no violence’ rule in life. “Well, um, I’ll take that as a definite no, you don’t have any communicable diseases,” Eric muttered, unable to look at Riley for the moment, shame now setting in. He knew sitting on his ass and avoiding the riots were one thing, but he hadn’t known anyone to have really been hurt. Not like that. “I’m sorry,” came quietly, like a whisper, low enough that he hoped she hadn’t heard.
A welcome change of topic! Sort of. “Well,” he breathed, looking at the open mouth of the jug before tipping it her way, “It was going well, until I probably insulted you, sugar plum, but now I’m not so sure. See, I could... I could make you want me with more carnal desire than a... than, god, Jane Austen and that one guy, but I’m broken like you, and quite honestly, where’s the thrill in that? I mean, I do love a good kitchen wench, and you’d look fetching in a French maid costume, or lederhosen...” Nudge, nudge, wink, sly grin.
-
The fact that he knew that entire rhyme, as well as the story behind it, earned Eric a few points in Riley’s ‘cool kids’ book. Not that she kept one of those books, but if she did, he’d now have extra points next to his name. “Nah, you’re right, I’ve got some fur. Never did understand what guys see in chicks that wax everything, no offense if you’re into that.” Though if he was into that it then she would most certainly be judging him. “You could call me any of those, I wouldn’t mind. Hermit, sugar plum, even nutcracker. Though if you go with that last one then I’ll need to change my rule about going for the nuts when I’m fighting guys outside of sanctioned MMA fights to make up for it.” Nut shots weren’t allowed in sanctioned fights, and Riley had a tendency to avoid them on principle anyway. “And yeah, I’d definitely whack you one if you put stickers on my door.”
Instead of responding to his ‘really?’, she just nodded, her good hand drifting down to hover over her midsection. “Yeah, I ended up with a massive bruise on my face, a few cracked ribs, and some nasty bruises. Doctors were worried I might develop a brain bleed, but that didn’t happen.” Riley didn’t see any reason for Eric’s continued awkwardness, since her annoyance over his initial joke on the situation had faded as quickly as it flared up, but he obviously felt bad and that wasn’t helping her mood all that much either. Nudging him with her shoulder, she smirked. “Well, none that you’d get from drinking from the same bottle as me.” Riley mentioned, snagging the bottle from him again and taking another sip.
“You didn’t insult me, it’s not like you knew about it,” she pointed out, shrugging. “I’d stay it’s still going decently, but that might change if you keep assuming the worst.” His announcement over what his abilities did caused her to choke on the wine. Less the powers themselves than the comment about her looking fetching in a French maid costume, or lederhosen. “Y’know, if you think you have to rely on powers to make me wanna let you in my pants then you must not be as confident as you act.” And that was all she was going to say about that.
-
Oh, if you like that rhyme, you should hear his rendition of “A Whole New World” from Disney’s Aladdin. He, much like many young adolescents, have remade it into a much more... perverse version. That mostly likely would trio him of any extra cool points in any books, it’s not the loveliest song ever, but. When you‘re fifteen or even seventeen, singing it on the bus full of classmates heading to a function. Drove people nuts. He might have started singing it if Riley hadn’t made such an honest and open comment about her parts. It stopped him right up, turning a light pink the cheeks. Regaining some mental traction after a good pause, "No I don't care what that looks like, assuming you aren't a blue waffle or something. I have feelings about why some people enjoy it, uh, waxed, but I'm not partial to one particular grooming standard," he said, a floundering try on the female hair... issue. Really, now he was just trying to not imagine Riley in her buff, the only thing drawing him back was the unspoken potential assault on his family jewels. "No!" he yelped, flaring his nostrils in shock and feeling the impending horror he may one day face. "We're going with sugar plum. I'm not risking it for me or any of my brothers out there, unless they absolutely deserve it."
Relief flooded in when she changed topic. Really, he had no idea how to console or use any of that appropriate deeper emotion set of feelings in situations like this. "Thank the whatever, I was kind of worried that you have the herpes," he said with a chuckle, "Would have to go beat up the guy who have it to you for preventing me from sharing your mouth."
Her remarks about him not being confident hurt like a punch to the gut. Eric rarely used them on himself (or for himself) and thought himself quite abundant in the Flirtation department. Usually worked. Faking hurt, bottom lip thrust out, he whimpered at her and sniffed, mimicking a sad sad puppy. "You don't like my charming good looks and unique sense of personality? Why, I'm hurt!" Not really. "I would never touch you so you wanted to play Eskimos In The Winter with me. Well, that's a lie. Not intentionally. I wouldn't use my magic touch, just my magic fingers - and yes. There is a difference." -
Was he blushing? Oh, that was just fucking adorable. To think, the guy who openly talked about that Fifty Shades of Grey crap was getting all flustered over her casually mentioning that she didn’t go Brazilian in that department. Riley would be taking a lot more pleasure from this if she wasn’t certain that he’d probably enjoy a little teasing. Not that what he did and didn’t enjoy concerned her, but she wasn’t going to risk possibly making a comment that he could twist around on her any more than he already had. “Nope, no blue nothing down there, which kinda pisses me off because I would look fucking boss if I was all blue again.” This she knew for a fact, at least if the ABC party that took place last April was any indication. She’d gotten quite a few compliments on her blue body paint and towel-dress look. “Though, if anyone throws a Halloween party I’ve got a fuckton of blue paint I plan on using to make me look like my former self again.” It struck her after she said it that there was no reason to tell him all that, but whatever. “Fine, sugar plum it is then, but no changing your mind. You picked it, now you gotta stick with it, even if people start getting the wrong idea or something.” She could already think of a few things people might assume if he called her that publicly.
Honestly, if he had even made any sort of overture that reeked of offering sympathy she would have slugged him one, hurt hand be damned. She hadn’t wanted sympathy when it happened, and after the fact was even weirder. “Aww, you’d beat up someone if they gave me herpes?” she practically cooed in a tone so sweet it was cavity-inducing. “That’s fucked up.”
She hadn’t meant to hurt his sensitive feelings, not really. Riley was just calling it like she saw it, in her usual blunt manner. His bravado was sort of a turn on, but she’d never tell him that, he already had a big enough ego. “Never said that, and quit putting words in my mouth.” Shifting so that she could properly side-eye him, she helped herself to more wine before continuing. “That’s good, since if I did find out you tried anything like that I’d break those magic fingers of yours before you could even blink. If anything happens between us it should be ‘cause it just does, no powers bullshit.”
-
Eric blanched, oh god, blue vagina screamed his mind before remembering something about a few northern gods, not his pantheon obviously, came in blue. Still, as a red-blooded Greecian, the concept of a human body being any other color but a natural skin tone was a little, er, off putting. Shaking his head in a vehement NO, Eric took the bottle from Riley and took a good few second swig, cheeks puffing up before he could swallow it all down. He needed it, to get the idea of a blue vagina out of his mind. Off his mind, really, because some nagging part wanted to know if it tasted like blueberries. “I’m so good on never being blue, that’s your thing, you keep it,” he said behind his sleeve, wiping the corners of his mouth clean of any dribble. “Sugar plum it is. I can live with that.”
But, can he? Pet names... he’s treading thin ice. Maybe losing his ability to make others yearn put him in the position of knowing what liking someone is, well, like. That amusement and intrigue. He knew it could all end so easily, which is why he decided he’ll just enjoy this ride. “Damn right! Giving someone herpes and not foreseeing the future? This is why we need oracles still. To figure this out, so I don’t contract an STD from someone who got it from another.” Yes, because it’s all about him.
Which he’s failing at getting across, because she’s playing his game back oh so well. Eric is a little intimidated, but he resolves to stay steadfast---and then completely falls backward into a pool of confusion. She’s saying his lines, stuff he’s supposed to bring up. “No, I’m---no, you’re taking words from my mouth, you’re... no, I don’t think so. You’d like my hands, I’m fucking amazing with them, I can give you references. I can. Plenty. Lots of satisfied customers. Yeah.” He can’t even go down the ‘if it happens’ lane without feeling like an ass, so he clams up and chews on the sleeve of his flannel. Unfair.