It was difficult to get into their room without the dog alerting Beast to her whereabouts, or avoiding catching him on the way there, or having him just waiting on her, so she'd resorted to asking Lee to give him a quick chore so she could have her own opportunity to be sneaky.
She'd felt the need to reciprocate the pocket trinket, if for no other reason than he'd have his own reminder to carry around. Hers was a dog tag on a short, 8 inch ball chain, stamped with their names on one side, the date she came to PFT and met him, this past Christmas and a space left their anniversary, to be added later.
If someone you knew and trusted to a reasonable extent approached you (not just once, but three times and counting) telling you that because of what you are, he could stick you in the arm with some shit from a bottle and for six hours, you could shapeshift into a car/truck/whatever-the-fuck-that-half-of-me-is, would you be excited or apprehensive?
For once in my life I think I'm a bit fearful of jumping into something different with both feet. I've never been one to have an all encompassing fear of the unknown, but the thought of this almost petrifies me.
This particular point of view of the world I grew up with and have had for 24 years, which I know means I'm still quite young, but suddenly seeing things from the point of view of a car? Would it just be a car or more like the others? I wouldn't even know where to begin.
Yeah, I know I'd have help with me, but something about it seems quite personal, and I don't want to ask Viper this stuff, and Jesus, it would feel weird to even ask Beast something like: "How the hell do you do this!?" Would he even be able to tell me?
And then there's that little matter of Viper divulging he'd insist on driving me, to hell with racing at first. It suddenly becomes pretty clear to me what someone meant when they blinked at me and said 'wow' when they heard Viper'd let me drive that time I bought him dinner. Not that I don't trust him, but how the hell do you give up control like that to somebody else? Admittedly it would be easier with Beast. I'm kind of fond of moving around on my own, thanks.
This whole thing just seemed a joke and didn't become real until Jack posed that question during his visit and the answer was so...matter of fact. I hadn't even thought about really until then. Some little voice in the back of my mind just thought Viper was blowing hot air, I guess.
I think I need to talk to my truck before I consider this any further. Sometimes even a tough chick needs the shelter of her other half's arms to consider things that sort of scare the daylights out of her.
Stretched out on a lounge chair out on the patio, snuggled under a blanket with Beast, Rusti mused quietly on the day, thinking that Christmas hadn't been quite so fun since she'd been ten or so. She still had yet to weasel out of Beast what it was he was supposed to be surprising her with, but she could wait just a little bit longer for the moment, since she was comfortable, and any weaseling might involve a wrestling match.
She turned her head slightly and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Merry Christmas, Beast."
((As a mental note for the mun, in case she has to remember, for whatever reason...and just because it's 3 AM, she's sick and bored and wacky.))
Beast - a WWII German MP-44 rifle (now in all its respective pieces, in a sturdy cardboard box, including a note that reads "Some assembly required. ;)") and a case to go along with it, and extras that don't really need listed. :P
Viper - A slot car track, complete with little slot cars that look like his kids, one that looks like what Rusti plans on her mustang looking like when it's finished, one of Midnight's old black and gold #2 body and paint job (to wreck, of course) and a picture of a black and silver dodge viper slot car with a ransom note: "The hobby shop dude *knew* who this was for the second I picked this one up and I think I got robbed so I could bring it home instead of him making you go and get it yourself, so if you want this car, you gotta work for it, Hot Rod, I saved you from a fanboy moment *and* played 'stupid girl' to do it, I'm attached to it now. Here's your first clue: I have arms, but I can't hold, I lean way back when I unfold, I'm a favorite retreat when work is through, it's in me that you'll find your next clue. Have fun hunting, it should keep you busy for a little while anyway!"
Shadow - A box full of fun kitchen gadgets that she's sure he probably won't use, but should entertain him anyway, and some old, old Emeril episodes for shits 'n giggles.
Sable - gift certs to both Cold Stone Creamery and Baskin Robins. The gallon bucket of ice cream, and the cravings may be gone, but the gag lives on...
Everybody else - Little stockings full of random goodies; mostly candy, but also includes nice pens, gift cards to restaraunts, and other randomness that came to mind.
brought on by a brief conversation after unintentionally being caught dancing by someone besides Beast.
What's with these guys being worried about getting a beating from their women, either in the literal or figurative sense? Shouldn't you be able to turn your guy's head back away from whatever's distracted him without lifting a finger against him? I know that I would never want to fear Beast that way, and I would never want him to fear me. As a matter of fact, if I ever had to worry about that kind of thing from him there wouldn't be an 'us'. Fear of your girl's disappointment should be way more than enough.
Try stopping him with that single geisha-look next time instead of raising a fist. It's a far more effective weapon.
And to the retard who caught me...for God's sake, don't announce yourself if there's a next time. Much less tell me that the incredibly risque song I was singing was your favorite club song back in the day. Can you say "let's make a tomboy completely weirded out"?
...I mean, I know I'm cute and all, but you don't get to imply that at me unless you're Beast. ;P
And it didn't last nearly so long as Karr's. She was already at the nurses' station, her bag slung over her shoulder, trying to get the big german-type woman to hand over her release papers to sign a little faster. Ms. Giselle, however, is having none of it.
She stood in the situation room with the human members of the Team, staring in disbelief at the television screen, at the smoking building it displayed so grotesquely. Her heart dropped into her stomach as, while the camera crew filmed and Dan Rather babbled on, another plane swung around the towers and plowed into the second. No accident. Not anymore. And now there were reports of two other planes. One crashed in a field, the other into the Pentagon. All those people...America's security...nothing would ever be the same fom here on out.
Anger, fury followed the disbelief. The Navy SEAL frothed, chomping at the bit, but her face remained impassive, unreadable. The Team standing around her, looking to her for her first decision as team leader. She turned away from the screen as people started to jump out the windows to get away. She couldn't watch anymore. Her fingers dug into the leather of one of the chairs in the room as the newscaster gasped and announced the towers were going down.
All those people. Innocent people. It wasn't war-time, how dare they? Well, it's war time now. It would be nice to have been able to change the minds of the ones that orchestrated this, but as it stood, life continued on. She straightened, letting go of the chair with effort and made a call to SkyOne's pilot.