Fic: When Words Become Superfluous
Jan. 30th, 2016 10:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: When Words Become Superfluous
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling, ensemble
Word count: 2665
Rating: PG-13
Author's note: trope_bingo (wildcard): A kiss to save the day. Silly little thing. It's pre Mann vs Machine, with a hint of this. The curse on the Red Sox is a real theory, said to have originated when Babe Ruth was traded to the Yankees. (it's referred to as "The Curse Of The Bambino.")
Hey, Hazmad, I heard your entries and packing were stressful. Have some ScoutPauling smooches to make it better. She betaed it, too.
"I came as fast as I could, what's the—"
Her heel caught in a hole that hadn't been there earlier. She pulled up, only to have it break off entirely, and be lost deep into the woodwork.
Miss Pauling pushed her glasses up as she surveyed the damage of the common room. The room was in chaos. She could only stare at the number of bullet holes, the craggy pieces that was the left wall. What was left of the polka dot red and white curtains was just a few smoking strands of battered fabric. She'd picked those out just days ago to try and make the place look a little less like an abandoned rat hotel, and more like a home. They hadn't even lasted a week.
Three bulbs in the hall were shattered, while one loose one hung just above Scout, flickering, and clinging to a single cable, threatening to fall and shatter at any moment.
And in the middle of the common room, Scout was still talking. Several cans of Bonk lie strewn about, just beyond the path he was pacing. He didn't have a single scratch or bullet wound on him. Which couldn't be said about the few mercenaries around him. Spy's usually pristine designer suit was covered with gunshot residue, with spent shells rolling around on the floor around them. The ones that weren't embedded in the wall, that was. His shoes were smudged with blood, though it apparently wasn't from Scout. Perhaps he'd had an earlier appointment.
"Hey, Miss Pauling! You here for the show? The gun show, that is," Scout said. Before he had a chance to flex, Scout quickly ducked down just as a red laser beam landed on his shoulder.
"Hey, Sniper, you're a piss-poor shot. Get it?" He ducked again as two shots made an outline of his shoulders.
"Too slow!" Scout stuck his thumb out and gave Sniper a one finger salute. "Magnify this in your big fancy gun!"
On the couch, which was far more threadbare than it had been this morning, Demoman had his head in his hands. "He won't stop. He just won't stop. Like the beasts of hell, he just keeps comin' and comin'. That tongue of his must be cursed. It's the furies, sendin' me to hell before my time!" Demoman gripped his Scrumpy and took another desperate drink. Every single grenade from his uniform had been pulled off and used. His clothes were covered in smoke and ash, even his face was smudged. After this much destruction, he hadn't landed a single hit. She hadn't seen him this shaken in years.
"You want me to shut up? Hell, I'll just keep talking, just to show you! Unless you give me eight thousand dollars."
There was a momentary silence.
The remaining men looked to each other, and laughed. Save for Pyro, who it was unclear if they were man, woman, human, sentient rainbow, dragon or what they were laughing at. Pyro, was as ever, a mystery.
"Eight thousand dollars? Boyo, I use that much to wipe my ass. I use that much to light my cigars."
"Fine, it just got upped to, wait for it, eight million dollars," Scout said. He did a bunny hop, avoiding bullets which missed him more every second. Sniper must have been growing tired, or simply running out of ammo on whatever roof or attic window he'd found for a perch.
"See, I can drive a hard bargain too," Scout said. He winked. "Speakin' of hard--"
Thankfully, before he could finish whatever embarrassingly bad innuendo-laiden joke or pick up line he had in mind, another shot cut him off.
Demoman slammed the cap of his bottle of Scrumpy on the floor, and tried to stomp it to the floor, as if it were nothing more than a cigarette butt. "Spy here had to play god. 'Oh, teasin' the boyo won't hurt anyone' now we'll be payin' through the nose!"
Scout cupped his hands about his mouth to make his voice go even farther, like a makeshift megaphone. "You all started this, sayin' I couldn't stop talkin', sayin' I was a pain in the ass, and it's better just to tune me out. Well, here it is! I ain't goin' to stop anytime soon, so you best just get used to hearin' the sound of my voice!"
Spy slammed his gloved hand to the wall. "It was a fact, not a dare, you imbecile!"
"Whoops, too late! Now you better start gettin' into your pocket books. Oh hey, you know what I ain't talked about recently? Tom Jones! He's a real bang up guy, that Tom!"
"Men, it's time to get into your pocket books. I'm sure that I'll have to donate extra in stead of Soldier, as two bottlecaps, some lint and raccoon fur does not count as a million dollars. Nor does a dirty cardboard box. Egh, fine, I'll donate two million."
Pyro held up burnt confetti and glitter in their outstretched gloved hand.
Spy sighed. "Make that three million."
He pulled out his leather wallet, all filled with fake IDs and spare cash and traveler's checks. At the very edge, there was a faded sepia picture of a familiar looking woman. Noticing her gaze, Spy pushed the picture down with his thumb, until only the edge could be seen.
"Sniper, your plan of going several miles away and shooting was a failure, as per usual," Spy said.
That'd explain the shattered windows.
"Bloody twitchy wanker won't hold still," came over an unseen walkie talkie.
"You know what? I'm tired of waitin', you all talkin' around here and actin' like I don't even exist. It just got higher. Eighteen mill, in cash, I ain't takin' no checks!" Scout said.
Spy swore profusely under his breath in a long stream of French. She'd taken enough French to get the gist.
"You know, he's probably not the person you should call 'spawn of a whore,'" Miss Pauling said. It hadn't taken her long to figure out who that woman in his wallet reminded her off.
"I fuckin' heard that! Keep your dirty French mouth away from my ma! In fact, in fact, I'm raisin' it to a hundred and eighty million, just for friggin' that!"
"I'll have to liquidate some assets, this will take time," Spy said, his voice growing strained and terse.
"Two hundred and eighty million! And I raise a million for every stinky French word!"
"Merde." He unsheathed his knife, and stared down Scout with the sort of look that few men ever lived through.
"So be it, then," he said.
"Oh, you wanna tangle, you frickin' frog? Pretty hard to take me down when you can't sneak up behind me, huh? Huh?" Scout moved, his back to the wall, always just ahead of the red laser pointer following him around. The faded yellow flower wallpaper on the walls had so many bullet holes that it looked like they'd been invaded by a swarm of insects.
"You know this won't actually change anything, right? Scout not shutting up isn't an emergency, it's another day ending with y. If you kill him, he's just going to come back and be louder because you pissed him off," Miss Pauling said.
"Everyone has their limits," Spy said.
"And his mother? Is killing her son on those limits?" Miss Pauling said dryly.
He considered the knife, and the figure etched there. A woman she only knew from files, and Scout's constant mentions that he should take Miss Pauling back to me someday.
The door opened behind them, and promptly fell off its hinges. Medic looked back with mild curiosity. He preferred human destruction, but buildings falling apart could keep his interest for a few moments as well.
"Ah, Scout not shutting up again? He does this quite often, near every day. There's methods, might I suggest--- In fact, if Miss Pauling will just allow me to his Respawn data--" Medic began. There was a shining glee in his eyes, the sort that always meant she'd have new messes to clean up.
"No," Miss Pauling said. "Not even a chance, Medic."
While there were rockets, and lingering violent patriotism around, like a sticker that said Support America's troops and America, home of the brave plastered on the walls, and a hole in the wall that could only be rockets, Soldier himself was absent.
Heavy and Engineer were also absent.
"There's the rest of the mercenaries? Did they die?" she said.
"Heavy and Engineer went and got ear plugs and are playing chess outside. I would join them, but this looked more fun. Besides, chess is not a three person game. As for Soldier, Scout told him that communists were going to take over the capital."
Miss Pauling sighed. "Of course he did."
"Hey, I know how to talk my way out of a situation, Miss Pauling, ain't nobody who can't say I don't do that!"
"That's the problem," Miss Pauling said.
Medic was looking on with a sadistic kind of curiosity. He'd pulled out a scalpel, and was looking thoughtfully at Scout, as if figuring out where to make the first incision.
She tightened the belt about her purple dress, and took one last breath before she stepped towards the wall, where Scout was currently doing a Russian step dance against the wall, missing every bullet from Sniper that came his way.
"I'll take care of this," she said.
Scout dropped dancing as she neared. He kept moving, filled with an anxious sort of happiness that left him unable to be still, like an halting courtship dance of his own making.
"Oh, hi, hey, hey, Miss Pauling--just takin' on a dare here. The guys are just horsin' around. They aren't goin' to pay me, they're all too cheap bastards to ever do that. Except for Spy, that guy throws money around like you wouldn't believe. Anyways, nice night, eh? In fact, if you aren't busy, you and me---"
"Your filibuster plans aren't going to work," Miss Pauling said.
She stepped in front of the window, both blocking any shots which might come from Sniper, or any of the other men. With his back to the wall, Spy couldn't sneak up behind him, and he couldn't risk shooting him without her getting hit in the progress.
"Whoa, holy crap, you sounded super Super heroine there. I could just see you in a cape. The Assistant Girl, maybe? Eh, it could use some more pizzazz. I'll think of somethin' I promise."
"Scout." She gripped his loose red shirt and tugged him down so hard that he momentarily stopped. "Shut up."
He remained quiet as stood on tiptoe to meet his lips. She hadn't taken into account her glasses, which rode up, pushing against his face. She supposed it was a testament to how long since she'd actually kissed anyone. For moments he was too stunned to even move. But in seconds, he made up for it, his hands brushing through hair gently for a few moments, before moving down to trace along her back.
Gentleness, and pleasant feelings were not what she had been prepared for. She'd thought to take one for the team, with a quick and sloppy kiss, full of bravado for something that never quite lived up to his bragging, just as so many other thins about him.
What had been an act of self preservation turned into a surprising highlight of her day. Her lips tingled as she pulled back. Scout looked dazed, his gaze far off and starry-eyed as he seemed on the verge of teetering over. He leaned against the wall, and tried to make it look casual, and not like he'd almost swooned in her arms.
She blushed, remembering again why she had never signed up for an Honeypot mission. She was no good at untangling herself, at stealing kisses and then walking away.
The seconds ticked by, and Scout still didn't say a single word. She hadn't pulled away, either. She looked up to him, thinking that maybe this was a mirror, his dazed glance and hers. The second kiss aligned without desperation, her glasses righted, snug in his arms. It was a nice feeling, being pulled against him and wrapped in his arms. Warm and sturdy without being too bulky.
"Sweet Mary, Mother of God, she managed to make him shut up. Silence, sweet silence! The lass has magic powers."
Whoops and war cries filled the room. Demoman took another celebratory drink, or five. He lifted up his Scrumpy in a toast.
"Soldier isn't here to say it, so I'll say it for him: The lass deserves a medal," Demoman said.
Medic had disappeared sometime before, though she couldn't say exactly when, given that her lips had been occupied. Without destruction and violence as options, his interest must have waned.
After the kiss, the closeness, and feel of his lips, everything seemed different. She'd dismissed so much of him as empty bragging. Now she could only reassess that perhaps in at least some areas, he was only speaking the truth.
She'd have to look into this more deeply.
Miss Pauling tapped Scout's nose. "Now, be good. Don't make me kiss you again," Miss Pauling said.
"Talk about the entire history of baseball? Sure, Miss Pauling! Can do!"
Demoman let out an anguished moan and reached for another bottle of alcohol. "Death, take me soon. I can't take anymore of this livin' hell!"
"This could take all night," Miss Pauling said.
Scout couldn't help but grin at that.
"You know, I can keep going until I get a knock out," she said.
"You already are a knock out, but hell, I'll keep playin' until I hit 40-love," Scout said.
"That isn't even the same sport, or correct terminology!"
"Oho, you goin' to teach me about sports stuff? I dig this, I dig this a lot. You take me out to see some games, I'll take you to Fenway and teach you why the Yankees suck and the Sox are the best team around."
"Wait, this means he'll never shut up unless he's kissing her. We've got to dedicate our lives to making sure these two lovebirds never separate, or we'll never know a moment's peace again. Just imagine if he got his heart broken, we'd never hear the end of his bleatin'," Demoman said.
"Honestly," Miss Pauling said. She looked back at the men, who were each nodding in solidarity.
"I'm down with that. Hell, I'll even wave the fees, except for Spy. The frog bastard's gotta pay up for what he said about his ma."
"You know, I could tell her what he said instead of fining him. Wouldn't seeing your mother stomp here, all angry and yelling at him be much more satisfying than draining his bank account?" Miss Pauling said.
Scout's face lit up. "You know, it really would! Thanks, Miss Pauling! You have the best ideas," Scout said.
"Speakin' of which," Scout said, grinning slyly. "You know there's a curse that's on the Sox? Happened when we traded Babe Ruth, supposedly, but me, I think we got cursed by a wizard---"
He broke off as she pulled him down to her lips again.
-
"A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous."
—Ingrid Bergman
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling, ensemble
Word count: 2665
Rating: PG-13
Author's note: trope_bingo (wildcard): A kiss to save the day. Silly little thing. It's pre Mann vs Machine, with a hint of this. The curse on the Red Sox is a real theory, said to have originated when Babe Ruth was traded to the Yankees. (it's referred to as "The Curse Of The Bambino.")
Hey, Hazmad, I heard your entries and packing were stressful. Have some ScoutPauling smooches to make it better. She betaed it, too.
"I came as fast as I could, what's the—"
Her heel caught in a hole that hadn't been there earlier. She pulled up, only to have it break off entirely, and be lost deep into the woodwork.
Miss Pauling pushed her glasses up as she surveyed the damage of the common room. The room was in chaos. She could only stare at the number of bullet holes, the craggy pieces that was the left wall. What was left of the polka dot red and white curtains was just a few smoking strands of battered fabric. She'd picked those out just days ago to try and make the place look a little less like an abandoned rat hotel, and more like a home. They hadn't even lasted a week.
Three bulbs in the hall were shattered, while one loose one hung just above Scout, flickering, and clinging to a single cable, threatening to fall and shatter at any moment.
And in the middle of the common room, Scout was still talking. Several cans of Bonk lie strewn about, just beyond the path he was pacing. He didn't have a single scratch or bullet wound on him. Which couldn't be said about the few mercenaries around him. Spy's usually pristine designer suit was covered with gunshot residue, with spent shells rolling around on the floor around them. The ones that weren't embedded in the wall, that was. His shoes were smudged with blood, though it apparently wasn't from Scout. Perhaps he'd had an earlier appointment.
"Hey, Miss Pauling! You here for the show? The gun show, that is," Scout said. Before he had a chance to flex, Scout quickly ducked down just as a red laser beam landed on his shoulder.
"Hey, Sniper, you're a piss-poor shot. Get it?" He ducked again as two shots made an outline of his shoulders.
"Too slow!" Scout stuck his thumb out and gave Sniper a one finger salute. "Magnify this in your big fancy gun!"
On the couch, which was far more threadbare than it had been this morning, Demoman had his head in his hands. "He won't stop. He just won't stop. Like the beasts of hell, he just keeps comin' and comin'. That tongue of his must be cursed. It's the furies, sendin' me to hell before my time!" Demoman gripped his Scrumpy and took another desperate drink. Every single grenade from his uniform had been pulled off and used. His clothes were covered in smoke and ash, even his face was smudged. After this much destruction, he hadn't landed a single hit. She hadn't seen him this shaken in years.
"You want me to shut up? Hell, I'll just keep talking, just to show you! Unless you give me eight thousand dollars."
There was a momentary silence.
The remaining men looked to each other, and laughed. Save for Pyro, who it was unclear if they were man, woman, human, sentient rainbow, dragon or what they were laughing at. Pyro, was as ever, a mystery.
"Eight thousand dollars? Boyo, I use that much to wipe my ass. I use that much to light my cigars."
"Fine, it just got upped to, wait for it, eight million dollars," Scout said. He did a bunny hop, avoiding bullets which missed him more every second. Sniper must have been growing tired, or simply running out of ammo on whatever roof or attic window he'd found for a perch.
"See, I can drive a hard bargain too," Scout said. He winked. "Speakin' of hard--"
Thankfully, before he could finish whatever embarrassingly bad innuendo-laiden joke or pick up line he had in mind, another shot cut him off.
Demoman slammed the cap of his bottle of Scrumpy on the floor, and tried to stomp it to the floor, as if it were nothing more than a cigarette butt. "Spy here had to play god. 'Oh, teasin' the boyo won't hurt anyone' now we'll be payin' through the nose!"
Scout cupped his hands about his mouth to make his voice go even farther, like a makeshift megaphone. "You all started this, sayin' I couldn't stop talkin', sayin' I was a pain in the ass, and it's better just to tune me out. Well, here it is! I ain't goin' to stop anytime soon, so you best just get used to hearin' the sound of my voice!"
Spy slammed his gloved hand to the wall. "It was a fact, not a dare, you imbecile!"
"Whoops, too late! Now you better start gettin' into your pocket books. Oh hey, you know what I ain't talked about recently? Tom Jones! He's a real bang up guy, that Tom!"
"Men, it's time to get into your pocket books. I'm sure that I'll have to donate extra in stead of Soldier, as two bottlecaps, some lint and raccoon fur does not count as a million dollars. Nor does a dirty cardboard box. Egh, fine, I'll donate two million."
Pyro held up burnt confetti and glitter in their outstretched gloved hand.
Spy sighed. "Make that three million."
He pulled out his leather wallet, all filled with fake IDs and spare cash and traveler's checks. At the very edge, there was a faded sepia picture of a familiar looking woman. Noticing her gaze, Spy pushed the picture down with his thumb, until only the edge could be seen.
"Sniper, your plan of going several miles away and shooting was a failure, as per usual," Spy said.
That'd explain the shattered windows.
"Bloody twitchy wanker won't hold still," came over an unseen walkie talkie.
"You know what? I'm tired of waitin', you all talkin' around here and actin' like I don't even exist. It just got higher. Eighteen mill, in cash, I ain't takin' no checks!" Scout said.
Spy swore profusely under his breath in a long stream of French. She'd taken enough French to get the gist.
"You know, he's probably not the person you should call 'spawn of a whore,'" Miss Pauling said. It hadn't taken her long to figure out who that woman in his wallet reminded her off.
"I fuckin' heard that! Keep your dirty French mouth away from my ma! In fact, in fact, I'm raisin' it to a hundred and eighty million, just for friggin' that!"
"I'll have to liquidate some assets, this will take time," Spy said, his voice growing strained and terse.
"Two hundred and eighty million! And I raise a million for every stinky French word!"
"Merde." He unsheathed his knife, and stared down Scout with the sort of look that few men ever lived through.
"So be it, then," he said.
"Oh, you wanna tangle, you frickin' frog? Pretty hard to take me down when you can't sneak up behind me, huh? Huh?" Scout moved, his back to the wall, always just ahead of the red laser pointer following him around. The faded yellow flower wallpaper on the walls had so many bullet holes that it looked like they'd been invaded by a swarm of insects.
"You know this won't actually change anything, right? Scout not shutting up isn't an emergency, it's another day ending with y. If you kill him, he's just going to come back and be louder because you pissed him off," Miss Pauling said.
"Everyone has their limits," Spy said.
"And his mother? Is killing her son on those limits?" Miss Pauling said dryly.
He considered the knife, and the figure etched there. A woman she only knew from files, and Scout's constant mentions that he should take Miss Pauling back to me someday.
The door opened behind them, and promptly fell off its hinges. Medic looked back with mild curiosity. He preferred human destruction, but buildings falling apart could keep his interest for a few moments as well.
"Ah, Scout not shutting up again? He does this quite often, near every day. There's methods, might I suggest--- In fact, if Miss Pauling will just allow me to his Respawn data--" Medic began. There was a shining glee in his eyes, the sort that always meant she'd have new messes to clean up.
"No," Miss Pauling said. "Not even a chance, Medic."
While there were rockets, and lingering violent patriotism around, like a sticker that said Support America's troops and America, home of the brave plastered on the walls, and a hole in the wall that could only be rockets, Soldier himself was absent.
Heavy and Engineer were also absent.
"There's the rest of the mercenaries? Did they die?" she said.
"Heavy and Engineer went and got ear plugs and are playing chess outside. I would join them, but this looked more fun. Besides, chess is not a three person game. As for Soldier, Scout told him that communists were going to take over the capital."
Miss Pauling sighed. "Of course he did."
"Hey, I know how to talk my way out of a situation, Miss Pauling, ain't nobody who can't say I don't do that!"
"That's the problem," Miss Pauling said.
Medic was looking on with a sadistic kind of curiosity. He'd pulled out a scalpel, and was looking thoughtfully at Scout, as if figuring out where to make the first incision.
She tightened the belt about her purple dress, and took one last breath before she stepped towards the wall, where Scout was currently doing a Russian step dance against the wall, missing every bullet from Sniper that came his way.
"I'll take care of this," she said.
Scout dropped dancing as she neared. He kept moving, filled with an anxious sort of happiness that left him unable to be still, like an halting courtship dance of his own making.
"Oh, hi, hey, hey, Miss Pauling--just takin' on a dare here. The guys are just horsin' around. They aren't goin' to pay me, they're all too cheap bastards to ever do that. Except for Spy, that guy throws money around like you wouldn't believe. Anyways, nice night, eh? In fact, if you aren't busy, you and me---"
"Your filibuster plans aren't going to work," Miss Pauling said.
She stepped in front of the window, both blocking any shots which might come from Sniper, or any of the other men. With his back to the wall, Spy couldn't sneak up behind him, and he couldn't risk shooting him without her getting hit in the progress.
"Whoa, holy crap, you sounded super Super heroine there. I could just see you in a cape. The Assistant Girl, maybe? Eh, it could use some more pizzazz. I'll think of somethin' I promise."
"Scout." She gripped his loose red shirt and tugged him down so hard that he momentarily stopped. "Shut up."
He remained quiet as stood on tiptoe to meet his lips. She hadn't taken into account her glasses, which rode up, pushing against his face. She supposed it was a testament to how long since she'd actually kissed anyone. For moments he was too stunned to even move. But in seconds, he made up for it, his hands brushing through hair gently for a few moments, before moving down to trace along her back.
Gentleness, and pleasant feelings were not what she had been prepared for. She'd thought to take one for the team, with a quick and sloppy kiss, full of bravado for something that never quite lived up to his bragging, just as so many other thins about him.
What had been an act of self preservation turned into a surprising highlight of her day. Her lips tingled as she pulled back. Scout looked dazed, his gaze far off and starry-eyed as he seemed on the verge of teetering over. He leaned against the wall, and tried to make it look casual, and not like he'd almost swooned in her arms.
She blushed, remembering again why she had never signed up for an Honeypot mission. She was no good at untangling herself, at stealing kisses and then walking away.
The seconds ticked by, and Scout still didn't say a single word. She hadn't pulled away, either. She looked up to him, thinking that maybe this was a mirror, his dazed glance and hers. The second kiss aligned without desperation, her glasses righted, snug in his arms. It was a nice feeling, being pulled against him and wrapped in his arms. Warm and sturdy without being too bulky.
"Sweet Mary, Mother of God, she managed to make him shut up. Silence, sweet silence! The lass has magic powers."
Whoops and war cries filled the room. Demoman took another celebratory drink, or five. He lifted up his Scrumpy in a toast.
"Soldier isn't here to say it, so I'll say it for him: The lass deserves a medal," Demoman said.
Medic had disappeared sometime before, though she couldn't say exactly when, given that her lips had been occupied. Without destruction and violence as options, his interest must have waned.
After the kiss, the closeness, and feel of his lips, everything seemed different. She'd dismissed so much of him as empty bragging. Now she could only reassess that perhaps in at least some areas, he was only speaking the truth.
She'd have to look into this more deeply.
Miss Pauling tapped Scout's nose. "Now, be good. Don't make me kiss you again," Miss Pauling said.
"Talk about the entire history of baseball? Sure, Miss Pauling! Can do!"
Demoman let out an anguished moan and reached for another bottle of alcohol. "Death, take me soon. I can't take anymore of this livin' hell!"
"This could take all night," Miss Pauling said.
Scout couldn't help but grin at that.
"You know, I can keep going until I get a knock out," she said.
"You already are a knock out, but hell, I'll keep playin' until I hit 40-love," Scout said.
"That isn't even the same sport, or correct terminology!"
"Oho, you goin' to teach me about sports stuff? I dig this, I dig this a lot. You take me out to see some games, I'll take you to Fenway and teach you why the Yankees suck and the Sox are the best team around."
"Wait, this means he'll never shut up unless he's kissing her. We've got to dedicate our lives to making sure these two lovebirds never separate, or we'll never know a moment's peace again. Just imagine if he got his heart broken, we'd never hear the end of his bleatin'," Demoman said.
"Honestly," Miss Pauling said. She looked back at the men, who were each nodding in solidarity.
"I'm down with that. Hell, I'll even wave the fees, except for Spy. The frog bastard's gotta pay up for what he said about his ma."
"You know, I could tell her what he said instead of fining him. Wouldn't seeing your mother stomp here, all angry and yelling at him be much more satisfying than draining his bank account?" Miss Pauling said.
Scout's face lit up. "You know, it really would! Thanks, Miss Pauling! You have the best ideas," Scout said.
"Speakin' of which," Scout said, grinning slyly. "You know there's a curse that's on the Sox? Happened when we traded Babe Ruth, supposedly, but me, I think we got cursed by a wizard---"
He broke off as she pulled him down to her lips again.
-
"A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous."
—Ingrid Bergman
