fandomhighdorms | Wednesday Morning, the Deck

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Wednesday Morning, the Deck

Jack was bouncing a ball off the furniture and the steps outside on the deck. It was too early to be ~~emo~~ contemplative on the roof, so the deck was the next best place as he sat and thought about things. About Fandom. About the people here. About.... where he would be this time next year.

And if he'd ticked off Karla that other day. Hey, he got pizza out of it, couldn't be too bad.

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Karla dimpled at that. "Yes, legs are good things to have. Yours are quite nice, too."

[A man's white, linen, oversized button-down shirt, and a pair of gray leggings. No shoes.]

"Thanks. Always good to know working out pays off," he said, looking at his own legs. It's a bit warm for jeans, he's starting to think. And of the two, he'd rather stare at her legs.

"I think you've got the right idea with the shoes, though," he said, toeing the deck with a boot-clad foot. "Weather like this, I need shorts on. Especially for the beach."

"Shorts?" she asked. "What are those. But you're right, it's too hot for clothing." She wrinkled her nose. "I already feel like I'm wearing too much. Don't you?"

"I think we both are," he agreed, hands on his hips. "Shorts are...well, if I cut off my pants right about here," he said, holding his hand about midthigh on his jeans, "then they'd be shorts. I mean, they sell them like that, so you wouldn't have to cut yours," he said, looking at her leggings. Very long leggings. "Though, if we hit the beach, we'd be wearing a lot less."

"Good point," she said. "Very good point. Especially about the beach. I think I'll change."

Karla continued to unbutton her shirt as she turned away, letting it slip down her nearly-naked back. However, flowers or not, she was still Karla, so a sight-shield sprang up between the two of them. She was invisible down to her bare ankles, and the charming pile of clothing that appeared there.

"That sounds like a goo-oo?"

Jack was now staring at a charming pile of clothing. And reacting. His pants were suddenly tight. He was slightly speechless.

"I'm a witch," she said, impishly, misinterpreting the strangled noise Jack had made. "Remember?" She came around the edge of the sight shield, vanishing her discarded clothing. She was dressed in a Kaeleeran bathing outfit: a two-piece set made of thick dark fabric: more leggings, though these hugged her hips and ended mid-calf, and a top that resembled a sports bra. There was a flash of dark fabric and pale skin, and then Karla was wrapping a large towel around herself. "Beach time!" she seemed mighty pleased with herself.

"....wow, that's a lot better than a phone booth!"

Oh, Jack, you and your comics. "Where can I get talent like that?"

Look, she's just lucky she's getting coherent sentences out of him, much less having him admit he wants to be a witch.

"Phone booth?" She called in her phone to examine it, to see if that was a function or something. "What is a phone booth, and what is it better than?"

"And as for a talent like that," she said, wrinkling her nose at him. "It helps to be born Blood."

Karla's not questioning her luck or his conversational skills. She might, if she had a better idea (or any idea) what was going on. But this is so new to her as to be unintelligible.

"You've never read comics? With ~~meta for superman~~? He changes in a phone booth from average Joe into a superhero! Because you can't just change in public. People might see."

Or change into a swimsuit. People like Jack would see.

"I need a swimsuit."

"Comics?" Karla asked puzzled. "What's a comics?"

And their trip to the beach is forestalled by the vast gaping wasteland that is Karla's ignorance of comic books.

Jack could explain on the way, but once he got to the water, he'd have a dilemma; he wasn't going to swim with jeans on.

"Oh, man. We're gonna have to fix that. And my pants," he said, looking down at them. And turning away a bit. For no reason. Really.

"What's wrong with them?" she asked, looking at his pants curiously. It's funny how useless knowledge is when you have it, but don't actually link it to your current situation.

Which basically means that Karla should realize what's wrong, but had never imagined that circumstance occuring with or because of her. And therefore had no clue.

"I need to change. I can't wear these to swim in, I'll sink like a stone!"

Heavy clothes are not good for swimming. He shucked off those awesome boots.

"You're...leaving? Going to go change then?" Karla asked, a little disappointed.

"Well, I can't just swim in my underwear," he pointed out.

With words. Pointed out verbally.

"Hmm," she said, thinking. Had Morton been there, he would have taken one look at Karla and began running in the opposite direction, without waiting to hear whatever it was she'd been thinking about. "What do males wear for underwear? I've never known."

"I wear boxers," he said. "Some guys wear briefs, and some don't wear any," he said with a shrug. Common knowledge. There's the boxer-brief option, but that wasn't talked about.

"And all that means...?" Karla poked at him. "You can't just talk and expect me to keep up, you know. I'm from another world, remember?" She liked the feel of his skin under her finger, so she poked him again.

"Well, they're like shorts, but without pockets, and thinner material. Like cotton, or like silk," he said, poking her back. Oh, Mr. Innocent here.

"What do you like to wear?" Turnaround is fair play.

"Depends on what I'm wearing," she answered carelessly, poking him again. "I try to get away with wearing as little as possible. Since you can barely call these lovely little beestings tits--" ~~That is Karla's line from canon, do not blame the mun~~ "--I generally don't have to wear anything up top. Sometimes I wear corsets for the Widow's Weeds, though."

Jack stared at her...assets. "Look fine to me," he said. "But you've got to wear something. Unless you just run around shirtless all the time back home," he said, going to a mental happy place.

Oooh, poking. Wait. No. That was her.

"Well of course I wear shirts, Jack. Jack? JACK!" She gave him a good, hard poke in the ribs,

[Must to bed. night!]

"Just making sure!" he replied, poking her back, as hard as she poked him.

Uh. Not dirty. Well, no, not really dirty. Because if there were dirtiness involved, then the clothes would have to be thrown in the wash and that just wouldn't do, right? Right.

[Niiiiiight!]

His finger hit her shield, causing her to laugh. "I'm not an idiot, Jack."

Wednesday Morning, the Deck

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