fandomhighdorms | The Pool, Friday Evening

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The Pool, Friday Evening

It was date number three and that was just so very oh em gee and Jean might need to call Kitty or maybe talk to Emma about how well this was going. Because Jean was a moron.

Though, maybe radio counted as number three...

No, no. This was the date.

So there Jean was, in a bikini, waiting for the most innocent date ever.

[[Jean is there for Fancy Feast. But post is open.]]

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Two piece! Two piece! Oh, Tybalt didn't have to weep over this whole 'dating' thing being entirely hopeless, after all!

And, Tybalt noted as he made his way into the pool, she wore it very well.

Tybalt, in the meantime, was wearing a swimsuit that didn't manage to cover much more than Jean's bikini did. Because that was just how the Capulets rolled.

"Lady Jean! Good e'en! I trust t'is treating thee well?"

Oh. Well.

You didn't see speedos that much in highschool. At least not any she'd been to.

"It's good!" Oh god, stop looking, Jean!

Between the Speedo, the sacred heart tattooed to his chest, and the fact that his legs were probably nicer than half the population of the island's? She was probably done for.

He hoped.

"T'is good news, then," he decided, stepping up to her and reaching for her hand.

Ever have your hand kissed by a resident of Verona in a Speedo, Jean?

Not until now. Maybe because Romeo wouldn't wear one and she'd never met him, though.

"How are you?" She said, looking down coyly. At least, she assumed this is what coy looked like.

Looking down, while they were both in this particular state of dress, did very little for convincing Tybalt that she was anything remotely near coy at the moment, really.

"I've no call for complaint," came the reply as he released her hand, offering her that sly, almost feline grin of his.

The predator once again had his prey in sights. Pussycat was hungry. There was a lovely mouse in a bikini, just standing there, begging to be pawed at.

"And the water? Hast thou found occasion yet to make thy way in? Or didst thou wait for my presence, as well?"

Oh, poor Tybalt.

Jean grinned and shook her head, grabbing his hand now and tugging. "I was waiting for you!"

Well, Tybalt certainly couldn't complain about the fact that Jean wanted to get wet, could he? Wet women were like God's gift to... well... To him.

Thank you, God.

"Well, then I find myself flattered and humbled that thou would put thy swimming on hold for my sake," he mused, following along.

No, Tybalt would never be humbled by anything. But at least it sounded nice.

And she actually believed it too. God help her.

"Well, that was the point of the date, right?"

"With water so calm and inviting, I daresay most ladies would have given in to their temptations, and would be quite wet, meeting their man upon his arrival," Tybalt noted.

Oh, so dirty.

Bobby was in a rather good mood after, well. Being stuffed full of pudding, pretty much. So he'd headed down to the pool with, well, the intention of checking out whether it'd make a good ice rink, because even if they were scary sometimes after a month he kind of missed his powers and-

Okay. Okay. The plan had DEFINITELY not involved seeing Jean and, and, and SOME GUY wearing VERY LITTLE CLOTHING.

"Jean!" he yelped. "What are you doing?"

Sure hope they weren't planning on getting in that pool, as he now had the answer to that question about whether it'd make a good ice rink.

Edited 2009-08-08 01:50 (UTC)

"Bobby!" Oh, the shriek of a scandalized teenage girl. Dogs were wincing.

As were cats. Or, at least, the prince of them.

Tybalt's hand went to his ear, and he hissed a little between his teeth before...

Realizing that the pool had frozen over.

"Uhm," he said. With all of the eloquence that his Capulet roots and high-brow Veronan upbringing would allow.

SOME GUY wearing VERY LITTLE CLOTHING and who even more importantly, WAS NOT NAMED SCOTT SUMMERS.

"What's going on here?!"

"I'm on a date, Bobby," Jean snapped before stomping on over in a way that did not work in a bikini.

Oh, it certainly worked from where Tybalt was standing.

Hello, Jean in a bikini.

"Bobby... the penguin?" He glanced at the pool. This place wasn't mad. Tybalt was. Yes, he remembered now. Talking frogs and all. He'd gone crazy while he wasn't looking. "I suddenly find myself questioning if we'll be in need of that cooler now, Jean."

So much for swimming. And his brain. Both were pretty much flushed out the down the drain, now.

Bobby was sadly too flustered and also too used to thinking of Jean as a sister to appreciate the... stomping.

"Bobby the penguin," he confirmed with a nod. "Does Scott know you're on a date?" he asked Jean pointedly.

"Why would Scott need to know?" Other than the obvious attraction they didn't talk about, like, at all. OMG.

"Scott?"

Tybalt didn't know of any Scott. Clearly. But whoever he was, he sounded like a pansy.

Tybalt figured he could take him out in a fair duel. He could take him out twice if the duel was less fair and he turned around to pull the trigger first.

"Because he's- and you! and he-" Bobby babbled, "and he," he pointed at Tybalt. "My head hurts," he complained.

Jean crossed her arms over her chest--also bad with the damn bikini--and glared. "Why?"

"Because you're not supposed to go on dates with non-Scott-shaped people!" Bobby said defensively. "Heeeey what happened to the pool?" AS IF HE DIDN'T KNOW.

"T'would appear to be frozen," Tybalt replied. Still one with the eloquence. The eloquence, and the ogling of Jean with those arms over her chest.

Which really helped the eloquence along some. Truly.

"BOBBY." Oh, he was in a world of trouble. "I'm am going to--" She made a noise of frustration and stomped out of the room. The door slammed shut behind her without any help, sadly.

"...Meep," was all Bobby managed to say as he watched Jean go and then turned back to Tybalt with a wide-eyed look.

There was a very irate Capulet in a Speedo, attempting to burn a hole through Bobby's skull with his eyes, yes.

"Thou art a dead man, Sir Penguin," Tybalt shared, about as pleasantly as he possibly could, before turning and stalking toward the door.

He would kill Sir Penguin later, when he was wearing pants, perhaps.

Psh! Tybalt had nothing on Scott. On many levels.

"...Sir Penguin?" Bobby muttered, momentarily distracted from his fear of the wrath of Jean.

...Well, or Tybalt. But mostly Jean.

"Man, I wish I'd brought my ice skates," he said wistfully, staring at the frozen pool before sighing and melting the ice.

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The Pool, Friday Evening

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