Savannah Posey (jurisdoctor) wrote in remains_rpg, @ 2016-05-13 22:25:00 |
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After her text conversations with Bishop and Luc, she decided that it was definitely a good idea to pay the Dog Park a visit. She carpooled out with Luc, glad that she wouldn’t have to make the water truck come back for her or try and hitchhike her way home. She wasn’t sure if she was going to be any help or what she could even do but it didn’t seem right not to be there for people who had her back for the past year. They parked outside and they were barely through the gate when she found one of the very people she was looking for. She couldn’t imagine what the other Officers were going through after being abandoned by the man who had led them to this point in life. But maybe a new start would be good. Lord knew they’d had enough struggles over the past year… She said a brief goodbye to Luc, then began walking towards the Hellhounds’ secretary. “Hey Art,” she called out, giving the man a wave. Arthur didn’t know how he felt about Rodeo being gone, or Sarge. The king of the Hellhounds had had his problems, and god knew that Art hadn’t been blindly loyal to any of the people who had left. He was loyal, sure, but he had eyes. But now that Rodeo and Sarge were gone, the park suddenly seemed that much smaller and emptier. Sitting near the gate, Art had camped himself with a broken bike he’d decided he was gone to work on until it ran again that day. His hands felt nearly numb with the work, but the distraction had been welcomed with open arms. Well, until a new distraction rode up in the form of Savannah, the pretty head of LBJ. He smiled, his aviators sliding down his nose a little bit as he stood up and wiped his dirty hands on his jeans. “Hello, Princess,” he said, walking towards the gal. Savannah was, without a doubt, a beautiful woman: big doll eyes with a cloud of blond hair, and a body that Art had colorful words for. And smart to boot. If he’d brought her home to Mama in Boston, Mrs. Jenner would have wanted to know what was wrong with her, because Art never got in with good girls. “You heard, I expect?” Savannah had spent more than her fair time in higher education, but seeing Art manipulate the pieces of a motorcycle in just the right way--well, it looked like rocket science to her. Pulling her eyes away from the bike, she looked at Art with a smile. “Mister Secretary,” Savannah replied, holding the bottom of her t-shirt as she gave him an over-the-top curtsy, then nodded at his question. “Bishop messaged me yesterday. How’re you holdin’ up?” “Uh.” See, the problem was that when Savannah held the bottom of her shirt, Art was able to see the outline of breasts and the top of cleavage, and that was always an issue to a man who loved boobs. Boobs were amazing- they were balls of fat and somehow they were the sexiest thing in the world. Oh, he had heard plenty of jokes about his fondness in the past: mama’s boy, hound dog, all of it. Didn’t matter. It was true. “Uh- yeah. We’ll manage,” Art managed after trying to snap out of it. He gave a grin- the one that make his mouth look crooked and he seemed half his 40 (and some) years. “Nice of you to come out. You here to meet someone? Bishop, Vic, some woodland creatures?” Seeing as how every time Art and Savannah’s boobs were in the same space together, he seemed to take particular interest in them, she wasn’t too surprised when it happened again. But she just smirked as he had his little brain melt down and smiled again once he seemed to come back to himself. “Didn’t really have an agenda. Just thought I’d stop by and check in. Hadn’t seen any of y’all in a while and--” She shrugged. “I can go find someone else to bother if you’re busy.” “Not at all. How about you sit yourself right there, and help me with this bike?” Art offered, thinking as quickly as he could. He liked Savannah, she was a calming presence. A lot of the camp bitches could stir shit up in a heartbeat, but that didn’t seem to be the blonde’s game. He’d set the bike up against a small incline of dirt, an old tarp acting as a space to lay out tools and sit. He offered her the cleanest spot near the toolbox and handed over a pair of gloves and his water canteen. “You ever work on a bike before?” he asked, squatting near the back wheel. The gloves were big but she was thankful for the offering. Even in a zombie apocalypse, she was still the kind of girl who worried about getting dirt under her nails. “I’ve never even ridden on a motorcycle, I don’t think,” Savannah laughed, “So that would be a definite no to your question. Best I could do was change my own oil, back in the day. Everythin’ else, I had Triple A on speed dial.” Moving closer to the bike, she looked at the machine with total bewilderment. “So what’s wrong with it?” “Well, it’s not starting properly, I think something’s loose. I just need to find it- which means basically taking the whole damn engine apart, and putting it back together again,” Art explained. He went slowly, taking the parts and putting them on the canvas as he explained each part. So long as he kept his eyes on the bike he was fine- but the moment Savannah spoke, his eyes were back on her and distracted until he came to his senses again. Savannah, to her credit, mostly just tried to stay out of the way and not jostle all the different pieces. The last thing she wanted to do was mess up Art’s ability to reassemble the motorcycle’s engine. By the time Art was done checking the engine the sun had moved in the sky, and his hands were sore. But he still stood up, helped the little lady up and got onto the bike. She purred to life. “Well. Want to ride a bike?” he asked, squinting up at her, his glasses up on his head. “I have no idea how you did any of that,” she said with a grin, “But it was amazin’. And seein’ you guys ridin’ around has made me curious. Do you have a helmet I can wear?” “Mhm,” Arthur said, leaving her side for a moment to go into the circle of RV’s parked nearby. His, a replacement for the one that had been destroyed in an attack months before, was nearest. He grabbed a helmet from underneath it, using his shirt’s end to wipe off the top and visor as he walked back to the pretty woman. He got onto the bike first, kicking her into life. She wasn’t his bike, just a broke one hauled in for the sake of parts. But fixing was better than thinking about Rodeo and Sarge. “Ready, Princess? Your steed awaits,” he shouted over the sound of the bike. “Does that make you my Knight in shining armor?” She teased as she first put her hands on Art’s shoulders to steady herself as she straddled the bike then moved them around his waist once she was settled down onto the seat. The thing was, well, there was a whole lot of vibration going on and for a woman who hadn't had sex in six odd months… Well. Grip tightening on Art’s waist, she called out, “Ready,” her strained voice easily mistakenly for nerves. Art couldn’t hear her very well over the rumble of the bike, but he could feel how she’d moved her hands around his waist, made him feel warm under his collar. But he kicked them off, taking them to the nearest, safest road he knew. A road to nowhere. It wasn’t a long ride- a straight shot actually. To a random point in the distance where it seemed hotter and dryer. He turned smoothly on the road, taking them right back to the camp. All in all it was maybe 30 minutes- maybe a little more. He didn’t want to risk their lives on a bike’s first run, after all. Stopping in the camp, Art killed the engine and looked over his shoulder. “Okay- bike ridden. That off your bucket list now?” Savannah let out a long exhale once the bike was turned off, her cheeks flushed, though she was sure that could have been from the wind rushing in her face for the past half hour. “Yeah, that was really--somethin’,” she said, letting out another shaky breath. A really vibrate-y while pressed against a man something. She was a little stiff as she got off the bike, but once she was back on flat ground and had her helmet off, she was feeling more clear-headed. Thank God for fresh air. “Thank you for takin’ me.” Arthur helped with the helmet- he allowed his fingers to brush through her blonde hair, to get it away from the velcro bits, and the static-prone pads. He dropped it easily back onto the canvas where they’d sat earlier, one hand still on her slender shoulder. A tactile person by nature, Savannah unconsciously moved into his touch. In a movie, he would have kissed her deeply and taken her right on into his RV. But because it wasn’t a movie and there was no swelling of orchestral music playing in the background, he did no such thing. “Glad to have done it. You ever want another ride, you let me know. We’ll take my bike and go somewhere that isn’t nowhere.” Still standing far too close, and with her eyes wider than normal, she nodded and smiled. “Yeah, sure. Maybe when things’ve calmed down a bit. What kind of not nowhere did you have in mind?” Okay, okay. Art could do this. He could say something smooth that would win the girl and get him laid. He knew how to be a badass on a bike, now he had to be Don Juan. There was no firelight or Cherry with a bruised heart, this was the Princess in the light of freaking day. “Well, there’s my RV. LBJ.” Yes. Very smooth. The big grin at the end totally helped. Savannah’s eyebrows raised slightly. “You sure all you're offerin’ is a motorcycle ride?” She asked, her tone light but still teasing. God knew she hadn't gotten any if forever and she practically just had a sexual experience on that motorcycle… But she didn't want to read into anything more than she should or project her dry spell feelings into a situation where it wasn't called for. Arthur leaned over the handles of the bike, looking at her with the pretty blond waves and the big eyes. She was a porcelain doll made out of steel: you couldn't be breakable in this world. Just look at Maggie- rag doll with a pretty smile and sad, sad eyes. Wandered right into the desert never to be seen or heard from again. “How much do you want offered, let’s start there,” Arthur said, his Boston accent seeming even thicker as his confidence grew. “I’ve got a lot to give.” Back in her heyday of being a single woman, she wouldn’t have second guessed Art’s motives, so it was much to her surprise that his words and the damn look he was giving her made her feel flustered and confused. Cheeks pinkening slightly, she felt herself holding back a smile as she said, “Are you hittin’ on me? ‘Cause I gotta admit, Art, I’m out of practice. So if you’re offerin’ somethin’ in particular, you might just wanna go ahead and say it so I can stop makin’ a fool of myself by wantin’ more than you can give.” It was a terrible feeling indeed to think a man was trying to bed you -- and having expectations about said bedding -- when that wasn’t his motive at all. Art looked around, to see if anyone was around. He walked towards her, the bike no longer a safety net between the two of them as he leaned down and kissed her right against the mouth, with Savannah all but melting against him. It was like their clashing accents: the kiss didn’t fit right at first, it needed some time to find rhythm. But Arthur kept at it, pulling back when he was good and ready. “Offering that, Princess.” Art said, pulling back and looking damn proud of himself. “I told you I was outta practice,” Savannah murmured once he’d pulled back, her cheeks flush and her breathing heavy. Even just a kiss had her light headed. It felt like she was drunk and every part of her was telling her to go for more, more, more, until-- “I’m gonna kiss you again,” she said, slowly moving in, giving Art plenty of time to pull away. She didn’t think she was reading it wrong this time, but life could be funny like that. Okay, so kissing Vannah was a very nice. Better than nice, it felt like he was sliding into place and a calm overtook him. He put his fingers into her long hair, held her nice and close. And when the kiss had it’s natural end, he breathed in deeply and took in her scent. He could have taken her back to his RV then and there, or at least asked, but he also recognized something: this woman was not one of the camp bitches. She was a lady. She was respectable. “You ever seen Gone with the Wind? You know the part where Rhett doesn’t kiss the girl? I’m feeling like that, but in a far less of a dick way. You’re a special lady, Savannah. I’m going to kiss you again, and then I’m going to figure out a way to show that.” Savannah’s eyes showed an inkling of confusion at Art’s words. She was quite certain that she’d never seen the movie in question, or if she had it had been ages ago, though she knew enough about pop culture to know that one of the most iconic moments in cinematic history spawned from that movie. Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. “But you are kissin’ the girl,” she responded after a moment, finding it easier to focus on that than any compliments he was giving her. Even though it was coming up on a year since she’d lost Gray, she was still more bruised up about it than she liked to admit. It wasn’t just that she was out of practice with kissing. After being held at arm’s length for so long, a part of her didn’t know how to step any closer. “I’m using it as a loose guideline,” Arthur said, gently letting go of her before stepping back. Was grinning all the while, bothering his lower lip and remember how sweet she’d tasted. “Look, you’re a princess, right? Gotta brush up on my Prince Charming. That alright with you?” Savannah combed a hand through her hair, looking away bashfully from his gaze. A princess and her Prince Charming, looking for their happily ever after in the zombie apocalypse. How did he fit such big ideas in that head of his? A head that was usually preoccupied by bikes, boobs, and booze. “Only if you get the little tassel shoulder pads,” she teased, looking up at him through her eyelashes, biting at her bottom lip to stop herself from smiling too much. She may have been out of the game for a long time, but she couldn’t give it up that easily. If he was saying things like he was going to be her Prince Charming, she was going to make him work for it. “I can work on that,” he said, trying to lean against a nearby woodpile, and nearly jumping a mile when it moved. A few bits fell off, and he scrambled to put them back together again. But when he got it to balance, no longer ready to topple, he grinned at her and began to walk away, backwards. “Get ready, Princess. Gonna climb up that pretty hair into the tower and sweep you away,” he said. Then he turned around and left. |