The Deck; Saturday Afternoon [05/11].

[howareyanow]

Well, now, this weather put a bit of a damper on Wayne's vague plans of possible having a Burning Bush Party tonight to take care of that glittery shirt, now, wasn't it? Not that he'd been expecting much, considering he didn't have anyone's Facebook (and fuck Facebook, anyway), and the talking cat had suggested he make flyers if he wanted to let people know, but fuck if he was going to make flyers. He was just going to head out into the woods, maybe get a bonfire going at that old camp ground he remembered passing during his quote-unquote-Wilderness class, have a couple beers, a couple smokes, and if that was it, well, then, that didn't seem like a bad night. If anyone else happened by with pert'near the same idea, then that would work, too.

Not good bush party weather, though. Not good weather for anything much but crops, realleh, but if Wayne was going to allow himself to be cooped up inside for much longer, he was going to get a little stir-crazy. Seemed to be space enough out here on the deck where he could stand underneath something and have a dart without getting wet, though, so that was good enough for him.

Not much to do, realleh, but there was fresh air. Beat just stickin' in his room, dicking around on his phone all day. But if it stayed this quiet, he might wind up doing a little bit of that. Pull up the good ol' hockeyfights.com, and there's an afternoon well spent.


[[ open deck is open, of course! *mods plenty of overhangs and dry space or whatever, idk, why not?* ]]

Comments

[chirpchirpchirp]

"Guess I couldn't," Vette agreed, and then grinned and shrugged (a lopsided shrug, so as to not disturb Miss Dozy), and picked up one of her blaster barrels to inspect the inside. "Knowing is half the battle and all that."

She threw a grin his way.

"And you've said the other half of the battle is going to score me crepes, so I figure I still come out on top, here."

[howareyanow]

And, briefly, Wayne gave a squinting sort of smile back.

"Can confirm," he said. And now that that had reached a satisfying conclusion, he turned his attention to those guns.

"Quite a couple of pieces you got there, Vette," he noted. "Don't suppose they....shoot lasers, by any chance, do they?"

Because if he was standing there, talking a blue alien, and she didn't even have laser guns, well, then, what the fuck were they even doing here?

[chirpchirpchirp]

"Technically they shoot supercharged plasma," Vette shared, "but everyone just kinda calls 'em lasers anyway. Everything neat is lasers, right?"

She took a moment to put one of her blasters back together, and then made sure the safety was on before holding it up for him to see.

"No firing it off in here, I am not running for a fire extinguisher, but you don't strike me as being that reckless with a weapon anyway."

[howareyanow]

"That's a Texas-size 10-4," said Wayne, doing a sharp turn toward Vette, paired with a stiff step forward for a better look. "No bein' reckless with anything that could lose you limb, little digits, or life. That includes, but is not restricted to, weapons, animals, heavy machinery, fire...." He squinted. "...and women."

[chirpchirpchirp]

"Especially women," Vette agreed brightly. "But yeah, that's a pretty solid list."

She turned the blaster over a few times so that he could look at all the shiny bits (so many shiny bits), and then held it out for him to take. Less because she trusted him, and more because she trusted her ability to kick his ass before he could figure out which shiny button was the safety lock. "You'd mentioned hunting before. You shoot?"

[howareyanow]

Wayne knew his way around a gun for sure; never handled a space gun before, but he liked to think he could figgur it ouwt if he wanted to. Weren't no reason to want to at the moment, anyway, especially since Vette was perfectly correct about being able to kick his ass. Not because of any lack of prowess of his own, of course, but it was pretty easy to win a fight when the other person wasn't likely to fight back.

His dart dangled from his lips as both his hands were preoccupied with inspecting this shiny (so shiny) little piece here.

"I shoot," he murmured, that dart bouncing but balanced expertly as he talked. "Rifles and shotguns, mostleh. Just for huntin', though...."

There was a pause, and he, seemingly satisfied with his inspection, offered the gun back with both hands.

"And capping the tail ends of wormpickers when they're trespassin' up on the properteh."

[chirpchirpchirp]

"See," Vette took her blaster back and set it back on the little table with the other one, "I was following you just fine right up until that last bit. What in the world is a wormpicker?"

[howareyanow]

"Wormpicker is," Wayne stated, "thankfully, exactly what it sounds like. It's a bunch of degens who go stomping through your fields an' all over your crops to....pick worms."

[chirpchirpchirp]

It was Vette's turn to work on her squint, now.

"... I'm trying to think of a single reason to do that," she admitted, "and I am coming up completely short."

Not much fishing on Nar Shaddaa.

Or Ryloth, for that matter.

[howareyanow]

"They stomp the fields," Wayne explained, "and your crops, picking worms, and then turn around to go sell 'em to bait shops and gas stations for fishermen to pick up and use for bait. Mostleh city folk, mostleh. S'only people I can think of that bother with fishin', but can't even get their own bait, fuck."

[chirpchirpchirp]

"Aren't there... other places with worms? Can't they go dig in the woods? Why do they have to tear up someone's livelihood for worms?"

Because they were lazy, and ploughs did all the hard work of breaking the earth for them, Vette.

"Some people really do deserve a blaster bolt right up the business end, sheesh."

[howareyanow]

"That's what I said," said Wayne, who then seemed to take a moment to squint particularly hard at Vette before looking away, thoughtfully.

"One time," he offered, "it got so bad with them stompin' all over our beans, y'know what I did? I went out into the field, and I went and dug me up some holes, real deep ones, 'bout two meters, give'er take. Stuck a skunk in each one of 'em. And you can bet, we didn't have any more problems with wormpickers for the rest of that years."

[chirpchirpchirp]

Vette gave a delighted little gasp at that.

Because pirate.

"Pit traps! Pit traps!" You'd made her day, Wayne. "What's a skunk? Is it big and vicious and made of teeth?"

[howareyanow]

Wayne nodded, pleased to to discover that his squinting appraisal had been correct.

"Not even remoteleh," he said. "They're small and cute and...release a defensive spray from their..." He paused, since this next part didn't seem very polite, especially in front of a girl, but it was okay, it was...scientific, "anal glands when they get all riled up."

He nodded again.

"And that'll make you stink."

[chirpchirpchirp]

Was it bad that Vette's first reaction to that was to gasp with delight.

"I want one." A beat. "There are a lot of people at home who deserve a good skunking."

Not that she could get back home, but it was the thought that counted.

[howareyanow]

"Just be careful," Wayne advised with a nod, "not to go and get yourself skunked in the process. That's just not a good time for anyone."

[chirpchirpchirp]

"Oh, getting myself skunked is not part of the plan at all," Vette assured him. "That's where a professional animal handler comes in."

A pause.

"Or someone I really don't like who doesn't know better."

Either/or.

[howareyanow]

"So which should I think," asked Wayne after a moment, "if you were to come to me asking for help on that?"

He did consider himself a professional animal handler, after all, that was just one part of being a farmer, and it wouldn't be his first skunk-pit rodeo, neither, but all that could just be presumptuous.

[chirpchirpchirp]

"That depends on how good the crepes are," Vette decided. The way she was grinning probably suggested it was the former, rather than the latter.

... She really appreciated this conversation, ridiculous as it was.

[howareyanow]

"Well, then," said Wayne, thoughtfully, "I guess I better make some fucking good crapes, then."

[chirpchirpchirp]

"I have faith in you," Vette decided. "If only because your pancakes were so good, you've actually got me calling them pancakes, now."

Even if they would always be flat, in her heart of hearts.

[howareyanow]

Wayne would have liked to think it had far more to do with his excellent prowess at clear and consise debate than the success of his culinary endeavours, but, sure, why not, he'd fucking take that, too, with a firm nod and approving grunt, figuring there was hope for her yet.

Not that she'd given him any reason so far to doubt it, even with being blue and an alien.