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

[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.