Francine Peters (
thatsamilkshake) wrote2009-05-17 01:55 am
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From the beach to...well, they were *heading* to Teddy Roosevelt... - Late Saturday Night
"Can you believe it?" Francine giggled as Katchoo tugged her along by the hand. "Arthur? He was so sweet though - he even offered to build me a castle."
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"At the time!" insisted Katchoo. "Geez, you goofy broad, who did you think I was walking with right now?"
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Of course, this meant any witty retort she'd been about to formulate was derailed pretty thoroughly by sudden proximity and the odd (except not really) accompanying inability to remember exactly how to breathe.
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What she did say, Cartoonist and his wonky chronology anyway be damned, was "Afraid, hell. Francie, I look at you . . . and I see the meaning of life dancing in your eyes."
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"Would you hate me if I kissed you?"
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Whatever the hell had been going on this morning, it didn't make anywhere near the kind of sense this did.
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NO DOORBELLS.
The conveniently-placed trees were good too, though, for tall people to balance against when they leaned down towards short people.
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Or maybe it was both.
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Maybe Francine pressing her lips down without a fear in the world except that this would have to end at some point was the result of somebody's eyes turning gold, too, or maybe it was that she'd never done anything righter in her life and she never would.
Or maybe it was both.
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And if she was kissing Francine like she might never get a chance to do this again, that could have something to do with a fear that this could end and never happen again.
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There might have been a flash or seven of something that looked like the skyline of the New Mexico desert at sunset, though, or an air mattress surrounded by cinnamon-scented candles, or maybe it was Hawaii, or Houston. It wasn't the location that mattered so much as the fact that it was the two of them in all of those possible futures.
That sound could have been Katchoo's breath catching, or it could have been the sound of something clicking into place like it belonged there, or . . .
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