ROLEPLAY HQ - road-trip

It's spring break, and everyone around the campus has been talking about some sort of a getaway trip. Some talk about a big party, others about escaping towards the beach, and others somewhere in between. However, for Oliver, Dorothy and Michael - there were different plans! They thought why do one thing, when you can do more than one? So, they planned a long trip around that would cover a lot of ground and activities, but specifically, there was to be a lot of hiking. The campus was not something very impressive, the college itself was honestly just modest and appropriate for the small town that were are in. Dorothy was a foreign exchange student all the way from Greece, and this was her first year. It's overwhelming in so many ways but mainly because she felt like it was hard to fit in. It wasn't much of a cultural shock than it was just... expensive, and her niche interests weren't shared with most. Oh, and, while she was a bubbly personality in her home town - she found herself to be the complete opposite in the states. She just needed a push, and that's where Michael came into play! The two shared a class, and from sharing a class it evolved into sharing notes, and notes into numbers, and numbers into friendship. He was her only friend, but a great one. He was her window into the locale and how to go about things, from basic banking to scholarships and all the way to tourism pointers. It eventually evolved into them planning a trip together, and goodness she was excited to actually leave the small town they were in and see more than the window she was limited to! Michael planned something simple, yet perhaps effective: a road trip through the main attractions along the west coast - starting from where they were in Idaho, to Seattle, to Portland, and all the way to LA only for for them to loop back around. In that long trip they were to hike, camp, party, gamble, visit a beach and whatever their spontaneous minds came to decide, they would do. They had a few good weeks. Michael didn't want this to be limited to the two of them, so sent an invite to Oliver - a close friend of his - in order to keep it more dynamic and entertaining. Both Oliver and Dorothy never really chatted much without their mutual friend in the picture, but no doubt a trip would help melt that wall of ice between them and perhaps in place, there is a foundation for a genuine friendship, or perhaps more! Who knew what adventures this trip held in store?

It was eight in the morning on a Saturday, and they were all supposed to meet at Oliver's home, packed and ready with all necessities kept in mind. Michael claimed he was running late, and Dorothy was already there with her bags and necessities. She may or may not have packed more than she'd ever need, but hey, it was new to her and she was enthusiastic. She couldn't help but be eager to cover all bases! So there she was, standing on the curb where the Uber left her, bags on the ground, phone in hand and her bronze skin glistening under the hot sun. She looked over Oliver's vehicle and then towards his home, looking up at it only after sending a text to their little group chat. SMS: I'm outside ur home Oliver! How long do you think you'll need, Mike? Should we wait inside for you or something? Mike did not respond just yet, and she just stood there waiting for Oliver to come out. In all honesty, there was a bit of anxiety brewing inside of her - last minute anxiety kinda thing. What if something went wrong, what if Oliver didn't like her? Hell, what if he didn't understand her accent really well? Oh, goodness. She'd always been self-conscious about particularly that. It's easy with Mike, because she's used to him but now that there is a 'new' person? Ugh. (edited)

10:04 AM

She cleared her throat and pulled herself out of that pool of intertwined thoughts; she refused to let it ruin her trip before it even started. It's something she's excited. She's nineteen, she's young, she's eager, and to be thinking in such ways was only going to have her be more and more reclusive. She hated how much she stayed in doors ever since arriving to the states, and this was the best opportunity to make up for all the lost time and experience. She checked her phone one last time before putting it in her purse, Michael was still silent and Oliver was probably going to show up annnny minute. Hopefully. She didn't know whether she should go ring his door or just, awkwardly stand on the curb, so, she chose the latter because if did come out, at leas ther belongings would already be next to his car.

What to pack, what to pack. His friend Michael had talked about this trip for a couple of months and now that the day was here to finally leave Oliver found himself completely unprepared. He grabbed a couple of gray T-shirts, jeans, shorts, swim trunks, that odd sweater with a V neck just incase they were going somewhere fancy for a night, and his oversized trusted hoodie. Oliver packed a large duffle bag shoving all his belongings into the center and zipped it up. Checking outside his window he saw a person standing there. “That must be her,” he said to himself. And before she could notice him standing there like a creeper looking through his blinds he went back to his bed and grabbed the duffle bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and headed downstairs. “See ya in a couple of weeks, Mom!” Yeahhh, he was still living at home and he was definitely a momma’s boy. His mother gave him a big hug to which he squeezed her like the good son he was and headed out the door with his phone in hand. “Uh, hey hey. You’re Dorothy?” he asked the woman standing there. He walked down the stone steps and into the front lawn. His sneakers crunched the morning dew grass with each heavy step. Oliver had a swimmer’s build for obvious reasons. Belonging to the college’s swim team had its benefits, like staying in shape, not that it mattered since he wasn’t looking for anyone. Stay single and have fun this summer (that was the goal). So when he saw Dorothy and how stunning she was he wondered how long that resolution would last.

11:44 AM

“I’m Oliver, but call me Ollie since all my friends do.” Making awkward conversation was not his forte, but Dorothy was easy on the eyes so he tried anyway. “Mike being late, what a surprise. Are you ready to go on this trip with the two of us? I swear I’ll hold off making bad jokes for as long as I can.” Ahhh yes, humor, that always seemed to do the trick, usually. Oliver adjusted the green hoodie he was wearing, pulling the sleeves up to his elbows, and set the bag on the curb next to Dorothy and his truck. They were going to take his car. A beat up red Ford F-350 with new wheels and an engine that just wouldn’t quit.

Dorothy smiled at Oliver, and suddenly everything she was worried about was gone. Her mind had something to focus on and it was someone to converse with, talk to, and hope that she doesn't embarrass herself by saying one thing or the other. "Hey," she smiled. "I'm Dorothy! You can call me whatever nickname comes to mind, though. I'm totally calling you Oli along the way, or something." She put three fingers in each of her pockets and let her elbow give in to gravity; she didn't know what else to do with her arms. "Oh, I'm ready - as long as they're not dad jokes. I don't think you can compete with me." That came out with a grin, and as they waited - she prompted herself to load her first bag into the back of Oliver's trunk, asking him only after attempting to lift the first. "I suppose while we wait we can load up and make sure we've got everything in order?"

"Sounds like a plan." He tossed his bag into the back of his truck and opened his phone, getting ready to call Michael to get an ETA, when his face changed. “Uh….” he said and stood there seemingly perplexed. “Alright, it looks like Michael won’t be joining us. He had a family emergency come up.” Oliver handed his phone to Dorothy so she could read the message. She could have easily looked at the group text on her phone, but since he had it there loaded up already he thought this was easier. “You know, I was looking forward to getting out of this town.” Oliver leaned against the side of his truck. He found himself studying Dorothy for longer than anticipated, and was surprised by the spark that ignited his next words. “We could still go,” his car keys dangled in his left hand, adding, “if you wanted.” It wouldn’t be weird if she said no since they barely knew each other, but on the chance she said yes, he’d be willing to take that adventure with her. This would be his first time getting out of the state and he'd made up his mind that even if Dorothy and Michael both bailed, he was still going to go.

"Oh,' her face turned into a momentary frown after having leaned in close to read the message, peering up at Oliver afterwards. "I hope he's okay, but yeah..." She gazed longingly at the truck's bed. "Yeah, fuck it. Let's go and make the most of it while we're still here," she beamed and hoisted her backpack on. She wasted not a minute as she walked over to the passenger seat, helping herself into the car should or when it was unlocked. She settled down, fastened her seat belt, took off her shoes in the foot well and adjusted the seat. Being comfortable was up there on her list. "I am not gonna lie, I'm a little nervous doing this."

He slammed the truck door shut and started the engine. The car rumbled to life and that’s when Oliver began to smile. They were doing this. Kinda weird since they didn’t know each other too well, but as Dorothy so delicately put it…. fuck it! Time to get the show on the road. “No need to be nervous, I'm a good guy, I swear.... this is old school but if you check the glovebox I’ve got a map with a highlighter in there. Do you feel like marking up the trip while I get us on the freeway?” They could use their phones, but where was the fun in that? He wondered if Dorothy would think he was strange for suggesting her to do such a thing. After pulling out of the driveway he watched his home grow small in the rearview mirror. Oliver rolled down his window and a gust of air tossed his black hair back. He used his fingers to brush the strands away from his face then signaled to get on the freeway. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were clear, and just like that, they were on the road. “Let me know if you want to stop for anything.” He moved into the middle lane and set the cruise speed to something just above the speed limit. “I’m realizing I don’t even know what you like to eat. I don’t know anything about you at all, and here we are doing this. Look at us being spontaneous and wild. But the real question I need to ask here…. are you a vegetarian?”

Dorothy looked up at Oliver in disbelief. Maps? Highlighters? That was old fashioned for sure, but hell, it was a good fucking idea. She always had a knack for old approaches and fun challenges, and this was one of them. "Oh, man. This is going to be fun." After briefly rummaging and pillaging Oliver's glovebox she found the map, immediately taking it out, her palm housed the green highlighter. The map was big, and she had to pull the chair back and make some room for her to unfold the map entirely. That was up until she could pinpoint where they were - and it did take a bit of cheating through Google Maps - but she eventually found their starting line. She bit the cap off the highlighter and made a little dot where they had started before folding the map into a smaller counterpart, displaying their surroundings properly rather than just the advertisements on the back of it. "What route did we just take? I missed it--and uh, YES. I am." Her eyes stared right at Oliver as he drove, suddenly growing silent - the map in her hand crumpling to her tight, fierce grip only for her to chuckle after allowing some uncomfortable silence - unless he spoke - to take over. "No! I have snacks in my backpack. Well, unhealthy snacks and a bag of nuts. I'm a foodie, throw whatever at me as long as it's not raw."

“We just hopped on I-80,” he said while rolling up his window. There was a blue truck with too much exhaust speeding past and Oliver was particular about certain smells, including toxic fumes. Once his window was fully closed the atmosphere changed allowing him to catch Dorothy’s scent, which reminded him of new beginnings he did not see coming. He turned the radio on and set the volume to low. Leaving a trace amount of 80’s best hits to fill the car as he started to pry Dorothy for more information about herself. “Let’s say you were stranded on an island, what’re the five things you would bring with you?” “I’ll go first,” he said evenly, but first, he grabbed his sweater using one hand and pulled it over his head, which caused his black hair to stand in odd directions as the hoodie dragged over him. He crumpled the sweater between his legs. That light green shirt that hugged his torso in just the right way was now exposed, and stretched against his muscles as he switched lanes to avoid traffic. “I’d take a deck of playing cards, to master the art of solitaire. Flint and steel, since who the fuck doesn’t want fire at night. A utility knife. Definitely a universal LifeStraw for clean water. And…” he stopped on the last one, needing some time to think it over. “Damn this is hard. I’m debating between something practical or a photo of my family.” He rubbed his chin and the stubble growing there, scratching, then glanced over to Dorothy with a grin, “...a magazine of hot women.”

"I-80," she spoke behind the bitten-down cap and placed a dot just over where she expected them to be. Her eyes were practically shamelessly glued to the man as he undressed, gawking as he took his sweater off. Why did that give her butterflies? It was a lovely sight. Truly, very lovely. From the adorable, messed-up hair to his form-ft top. She almost wanted to reach over and ruffle it, but she did not know him that much. She cleared her throat, unbuckled her belt and opted to sit on her left leg, making herself comfortable. "A survival guidebook," she started. "A fancy Swiss knife, a hatchet, a... slave. Maybe somewhere in his twenties, black hair. Muscular. Around your height, bit of a beard." It was her turn to grin at him, giving him the exact same look. "And one of those water filtration thingies, I guess that's your LifeStraw?" Come on, there were no rules about being stranded alone so why be alone? "Listen, if it's survival then being sentimental is the last thing on my list. You've watched Cat Away, right? I'll end up befriending a ball while your mental health is fine compared to mine because I chose not to bring any photos!" she exclaimed with a laugh. By then she'd put the highlighter away but kept the map in her lap, keen eyes keeping track of the road signs as they went. Whenever they passed a place of interest, she would add a little dot on the map. "it's my turn," she huffed. "What kind of a post-apocalyptic world would you want, if you had to choose to live in one? Your own making, your own rules. You gotta explain why!" (edited)

“Post-apocalyptic world? Haa, alright. Let’s see…” there was something about the way Dorothy adjusted in her seat that made Oliver uncomfortable in the worst way. In the best way. Damn she was pretty. Fuckable. Luckily, being around attractive women didn’t make him nervous - usually. To his surprise, he found himself glancing in Dorothy’s direction pretending he was spying on the map in her lap more than once. “Cyberpunk...” he settled on. One of his brows rose into his forehead simultaneously in sync with this answer. There was a smirk tagging along with that single word, twisting the line of his mouth to expose his pleasure in the question she asked and the answer he gave. “...I enjoy the aspect of technology mixing into a world that requires and despises machines. We are nearly on our way there...in a sense. Not to mention, you’d look great in a corset.” Jesus. Come on, Oliver... Get your shit together and quit looking at her chest. Oliver brought a hand to his face and dragged his palm down the length of his features, rubbing his eyes for only a moment since he was the one driving. “Not that uh, corsets go hand in hand with cyberpunk.” He was trying to save himself and knew he was failing miserably, still thinking about the way she suggested bringing a slave to a deserted island instead of matches. Realizing he didn’t know Dorothy at all - realizing, he wanted to.

7:36 PM

Those dark strands of hair fell toward his eyes as he tilt his head to look into his rearview mirror, to which he pushed back with his calculated fingers. The bicep of his arm unintentionally flexed under his shirt when doing this. How cliche. Oliver’s legs were spread comfortably and he found he would rest his hand on his knee, tapping his thumb against his leg whenever Dorothy looked in his direction. “You’re up, slave.” He was joking, of course, turning his attention to her as he switched lanes. “What type of world would you want to live in - and why?” He didn’t mean to stare at her with lust, yet he didn’t make an attempt to hide his interest in her either - just for a moment, she would know he found her physically attractive by the way his eyes roamed her body before returning to the road.

Dorothy couldn't help but laugh at Oliver's slip. Was it a slip, though? A corset? She was baffled, but it was hilarious. She laughed and instinctively tugged her shirt up by the collar--even when there wasn't any cleavage. "Uh-huh. I'm sure you meant the one from Machete Kills. Rockets, lasers..." she twirled her palm in a rotating motion, as if she was going on and on but silently. "You know the shtick. Funny, weird movie though!" She went silent and looked down at the map after having spotted another road sign, dotting it. There were a few dots by then even in the small amount of time. It was a clear highway and she was always the astute one. Every little detail mattered, and that translated into keeping track over every little bit of progress covered. Once done, she leaned her back against the chair, slouching just a little bit. It accentuated her chest and boy, that might just be another reason why poor Oliver had to look over the map.

11:11 AM

Her eyes shot up at Oliver the moment he degraded her with such a playful title, pointing the sharpie at him, speaking threateningly: "don't make me mark you up like cattle. I will write my name all over that big forehead of yours," she mocked. Dorothy only checked if it was a big forehead after insulting it. "This is controversial, right? But I want to live in one of those big dystopian worlds where the injustice is clear, but I wouldn't wanna be at the bottom of the food chain. Something out of the show uhm, Altered Carbon or something out of Black Mirror. I wanna be some rich, mean hoe. I'm too nice in the real world, gotta alternate. Right?" If and as Oliver spoke, Dorothy would be leaning down a bit just to reach for the backpack that was between her legs, rummaging through to take out a can of Pringles. The green one! It's delicious. When she sat back up, opened it up she took out a a big pinch only to offer it over to the driver. "I can feed you, if you're keen on keeping your '9 and 3' intact.." Dorothy nodded towards the wheel, but she was playful, had to be, since she was offering the food despite her offer.

“Black Mirror,” he said with a smile. One that was patiently growing by the moment with an approving nod and a bite to his lower lip for the barest of seconds. “I’m impressed you know that show.” He wanted to look at her. Tell Dorothy he was glad they decided to take this trip together, that he was having a good time with her - but that would present the possibility where he could make her feel uncomfortable. Wouldn’t be the first time that happened. Not with her, others. He didn’t have the best track record when it came to dating. Oliver made an unlikely promise to himself not to fuck this up. To keep his eyes on the road in order to avoid gazing at Dorothy too often - a resolution that vanished as she leaned down to dig through her bag. His attention drifted to her shirt and the briefest corner of time where her chest was exposed to him. Oliver made sure to advert that perverted gaze elsewhere as she rose back into her seat. He was oddly flustered. Clever. And completely caught off guard when he returned his focus to Dorothy - surprised by the pringle chip waiting for him in midair, lodged between two of her fingers. Instead of taking the chip from her, he leaned over and took it with his teeth. His tongue brought the chip into his mouth the rest of the way. Biting down on the crisp texture with a grin.

8:42 AM

“Haa...nice,” he said after swallowing, “...you know the pizza flavor is the best, though. At least in my opinion. I could eat a whole can if I’m not watched. Don’t let me near hostess cupcakes, either. Or Cheez-its. I can tell I’m going to need to do some extra workouts on this trip.” Oliver’s phone was connected to the truck via Bluetooth, so when a text came through the message popped up on screen for Dorothy to read as well: “Isn’t that the girl you told me was cute?” The steering wheel had an arrangement of buttons, to which he pressed one and made the inconvenient message disappear. Maybe she saw it. Maybe she didn’t. He turned up the music in an effort to move past the awkward moment - that could have been about anyone. Oliver took the next exit and stopped at rest area to use the restroom. “Back in a second, good time to go if you need to.”

Her finger had slipped against his lip for a moment there, but she quick to peer away, as if that wsas a mistake or something of the sort. Perhaps it was a mistake, and not an attempt or an advance--but despite the very short trip so far, it genuinely accompanied a lot of messages between the lines. There was a tension ramping up and goodness did she feel it. "I've tried Cheez-Its, but you ought to get me the cupcakes along the way. Greek food is on the list of things to do along our trip," she watched the screen but looked away immediately, pretending that it wasn't her it was referencing. Uh-uh, don't make it awkward. Don't you dare blush. Don't you dare smile. Fuck. She hid her grin, causing a little dimple to appear. It hurt her cheeks so much when she tried to hide away a grin or hold back a laugh but suffering is good alternative in such a case. "Uh. Shit, yeah. Okay. Do you need me to drive after, or are you still good?" Dora asked as she disembarked, a singular Pringle chip fell from her top and onto the ground. She didn't realize she was being her usual messy-eating self. She made her way towards towards the resting area's toilets, opting to use the appropriate one once she hears what the man had to say, if anything.

A quick zip of his pants and a hand wash later, Oliver was back outside, standing at his truck with the map spread over the hood - using his finger to trace the road they would travel from Idaho to Seattle. There were a few places he wanted to stop along the way, one of them being Payette National Forest. When Dorothy rejoined him he tapped the map with his index finger, indicating where they were headed… “I’d like to stop here,” he admitted to her, “...cross this off my bucket list. We can camp there - I’m not one for reservations, if you want, we could find a place to pull off and wing it in the forest for a night...” Oliver shifted his attention from the map to Dorothy, studying the attributes that made her physically attractive to him. Such as her eyes, and mouth. Reminding him she was from Greece. And he liked that she was different from the other girls he usually went after. “Once we reach Portland, we should celebrate by eating at a Greek restaurant, or a hole in the wall, whichever has better reviews. I uh, am a big fan of lamb kabobs, tzatziki, and tabbouleh. Jesus. I could eat tabbouleh all day every day.” Oliver turned his gaze back to the map after having stalked her beauty for long enough. “I’m taking us on US-95 N, we’re close to four hours away. We can grab supplies for dinner and a campfire at any of these stops...and since you’re interested in driving, haa...fuck.” He ran a calloused hand along the side of his face, over the stubble growing there, and rubbed his chin contemplating if he was really going to do this - being the one who needed to claim control, he didn’t enjoy other people driving him around, especially his truck, but Dorothy had this way about her that made him want to take risks. Screw it. He handed her the truck keys with a half smirk riding the line of his lips, one that curved along his mouth just to disappear.

She puckered her lips together and carefully circled where Oliver had pointed with the highlighter. Before he could say anything further, she had interjected, her face an excited beam! "OH! Hot springs. I heard there are hot springs somewhere along the route. Please? Pleeease?" Dorothy eyed him, somehow asking him for his permission felt right. It's just a subconscious thing where if he's the driver, he's the leader. Even if she was the one in the driver's seat now, having snatched the keys from him in an excited manner. "Listen. All the food you tried is good and all, but, gyros. An actual gyro, none of that... you know. No offense to you Americano, second-hand ones." Of course she was teasing him, she was being playful yet she was practically insulting him when she began adjusting every. Little. Setting. The rear-view mirrors, the seat, the wheel - everything was adjusted to her liking, her size and physique. The seatbelt shot across her torso and between her breasts, which was honestly a little uncomfortable considering the long drive ahead. "Will you lead me?" Her question came even as she began driving off, she'd left the map and highlighter on the dashboard just before she was handed the key.

Dear God. Who knew someone could change the order of every single detail in a car within the matter of twenty seconds. By the time Dorothy had finished, he didn’t recognize his truck. This didn’t catch him by surprise. What caught him off guard was that he didn’t seem to mind. “Uh…” he said, then let out something quiet, like a laugh, only without the fuel to carry on. “Yeah, I can lead you, and if I’m being honest I’ve wanted to visit a hot spring, too - but if we end up on a back road, lost in the middle of no where, don’t go blaming me. You’re the driver now, doll.” Oliver grabbed the map from the dashboard and popped the top off the highlighter. Did he really call her doll? So pets names, that was a thing. Cool. The first thing he did was circle the rest stop they’d just pulled out from. “Looks like there’s a convenient store about an hour away from here. We can grab supplies for camping. Besides a bag of marshmallows, what do you want to eat tonight? Don’t go fancy on me, sugarcakes, I can make a decent bean burrito over a campfire. Or if we’re really wanting to do it up, I can make us some foiled potatoes and vegetables.” He shift his attention away from the map to look at Dorothy. The scenery behind her was passing by. Landscapes he’d never seen. He felt free. Alive. And oddly comfortable with having Dorothy there to experience this with. Sitting back into his seat to continue the conversation with her, his pants pulled against him from the angle he to chose use.

"Doll," she broke a momentary silence. "Sugarcakes. All the cute names and I don't think you have ever called me 'Dorothy' just yet. What's that American saying? Full pedal? Full throttle?" Her big, brown eyes squinted in a playful manner, going with her playful tone. They were cute names, sure, but they were genuinely surprising. Not unwelcome, though. "I'm craving a little baked potato, actually. Tinfoil and potatoes and we're good to go. I'm not high maintenance, we'll eat what we get," there was a few seconds of silence before she felt like she had to add something to break it, "sweetie." She put her right hand on his seat's shoulder, looked over her own and reversed out of the parking lot, set the car to drive and set on. It didn't take long to get acquainted. "We should continue our game! Which country would you live in if you could choose? Imagine you're filthy rich. Build your own perfect reality."

Every time Dorothy drove over a speed bump, Oliver grabbed his seat belt as if that would save him from the loss of control. He couldn’t remember the last time he let someone drive his truck, especially not someone as easy on the eyes as Dorothy. “Alright…let’s play a game, honey,” he said with a smirk, still clinging onto the seat belt with his right fist. Only when they hit the freeway did he release his hold and relax into his chair. That green shirt hugging his torso pulled against him as he tucked his arm towards his chest, rubbing his chin in quiet thought, his bicep bulging only slightly… “Anywhere in the world, with an endless amount of money. That’s a tough one. I guess I would go with...Japan. I would buy an onsen in the middle of nowhere - the only condition...it would need to be surrounded by trees, with a view, and possibly a stream. Haa, why not. They’re typically associated with hot springs, which means you can come visit if you wanted,” he went silent to keep a smile from forming, then continued, “I would live a life of solitude, away from people and their energy.” He brought the map out onto his lap. “You’re going to take an exit in 24 miles, keep an eye out for signs leading to Payette National Forest. There will be a convenient store to grab our supplies for the night...we’ll get you the biggest potato you’ve ever seen. You haven’t had a real baked potato until you try my classic cheese, sour cream, and chives - before you answer what country you’d want to live in, I need to know…” He paused. This was very important. “Do you like sour cream?” He squint at her. Those hazel eyes barely visible as he prematurely judged her answer. “You need to know if the answer is no - we may need to turn back.”

Dorothy couldn't help but cringe at that one, apparently 'honey' was a step too far, but everything else was not? It was playful, but she set that boundary by raising one stern finger in his face, threateningly. But playful. She made a mental note of the exit she had to take. The woman looked over him, staring into his hazel eyes and when he finally broke that silence, she was very fucking relieved. She thought that was about to take a whole other direction, pun unintended. "Of course I like sour cream!" she exclaimed. "Not the one you can get from a shelf, but the ones you make. I also adore anything sour. My secret craving is eating chocolate with sour things."

“Haa, excellent. For a minute there, I thought you and I were going to have a problem.” That’s all it took really. Oliver couldn’t be friends with someone who didn’t like sour cream, and Dorothy had passed the test. It was the little things that mattered, right? He thought so. As they drove, the scenery began to change. There were more trees. Less people and cars. And the air was fresher. Oliver made a note, sensing they only had four or five more hours of sunlight available before night would make an appearance. During their drive, the temperature had slowly changed, too. There was a chill to the air now, encouraging Oliver to put his hoodie back on. He shoved his head through the hole of his sweater, pushing each arm into a sleeve until it fit on him the way it was supposed to. “You’ll want to take this exit,” he said, pointing to a green sign on the right side of the road. In the distance, there was a small store perched in the middle of no where. “Besides ingredients for a life changing baked potato, do you want anything else? I can run in and grab our supplies.” He folded the map and set it on the dashboard, then used his free hand to run all five fingers through his hair. He’d washed it earlier that morning and now the strands were clean and soft, hanging around his eyes, which he did not mind.

She couldn't for the life of her think of what she could need, but shopping when hungry often fixes that problem properly. The woman, as soon as she stopped and set the car to park slouched down the seat and rubbed her tired eyes, peering over at the man in a thoughtful manner, only to conclude: "I will probably think of something once we go in?" That said, she disembarked and walked along the man's side into the store. Typical, quaint store with not much to offer. A few shelves or products. With the acne-ridden cashier behind the counter focused on her phone, and sounded by that little jiggle she must be watching Netflix, the store was empty. The fridges hugging the back corner, a few shelves in the middle with most products to show. Fruits were scarce, ice cream was typical--some overpriced hiking gear and whatever else. Dorothy helped herself to some sour candy and chips, knowing very well she has a bag with those already. Behind the counter, the girl just lazily looked up at them, her eyeliner on point and eyeshadow pointing away to anyone that's looking at her. She had the typical punk-goth look going, going hand-in-hand with the piercings and ear-gauges. Before Dorothy went over to her, she made sure to get a cold fruit-punch Snapple, shaking it in the man's direction as she made her way back to the counter. She prepared to pay, but waited for the man to finish his own shopping.

There were a couple of items he grabbed from the store: two large potatoes, a pack of original bubblegum, mouthwash, foil, nacho cheese, a frozen bag of vegetables, and last but not least - sour cream. Oliver even went as far as to purchase one of those styrofoam ice chests with a bag of ice. The total, including Dorothy’s excellent choice in food, consisting of candy, chips, and a snapple, all totaled under twenty dollars. The cashier was less than amused when ringing them up. Dorothy and Oliver were nothing more than an annoyance taking them away from whatever they were watching on their phone. He paid the cashier and jumbled all their belongings into the ice chest, using it as a way to cart everything into the truck. “Alright,” he said, leaning on the side of the vehicle’s hood, “we’re all set to camp out tonight. I have a tent. It’s small. And a large sleeping bag we can share-” Oliver placed a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes, moving past the awkward moment he just created. “What I mean is, you can take the sleeping bag and I can sleep in the truck. Haa, fuck. We can figure out the details when we get there.” Oliver hopped into the truck and unfolded the map. From the looks of it, they weren’t far away from the heart of the forest, and anywhere they’d pull off would be a good spot to set up for the night. “You ready to do this, pringles?” Yeah. One more nickname for the road. Pringles. He liked it. It stuck like the tasty flavoring on those deliciously addictive chips.

"We'll get another one from any hiking and camping stores on our way, surely there are some." She wasn't fussed, honestly. She trusted the friend of a friend to be at least respectful. Right? The pet names were just a joke. Right? Right? Oh, god. Good thing she had protection in her backpack, if ever needed, but God forbid. She needed to relax and panic in the moment, which is why she disregarded the whole subject altogether. For now. "I'm ready, sour cream." So she drove! The sun was shying away and the birds were returning to their nests and hiding. The dark roads were illuminated by the truck's headlights and it honestly made Dorothy nervous. At home, she saw these roads whenever she visited her cousins in the rural sides of Greece--the roads were dangerous and all it took was one mistake before they fell off the cliff or went into a tree. Luckily, the woman didn't really make any of those mistakes! She drove carefully, listened to some random, radio hit music on a modest volume and eventually parked in an empty parking lot adjacent to a hiking trail. Their first destination! "Uh--okay. This is where it's out of my league and more of your league, because I got no clue how to drive in now. You want me to just, scoot or do you wanna guide me?"

If they had more time, Oliver would have guided Dorothy down that dark path - but the sun was setting and this required his experience. “Move over, Pringles.” And as they switched seats he made sure to release a smile he’d been holding back. One that was hidden for the last couple of minutes. The reason? Dorothy was cute, and she called him sour cream. Not to mention he liked the way she hesitated to take on something that was out of her comfort zone, allowing him to show her how off-roading was done. He eased on the gas, taking it slow. The road was bumpy at first, then over time evened out. There were moments when he needed to navigate around a fallen log or large rock that seemed out of place, but for the most part, the drive into the wilderness was straightforward. The truck’s headlights shot through the forest creating odd shadows as they drove by. Eventually, he stopped off the side of the trail and placed the truck into park. “I’ll get the tent and a fire going. There are some chairs in the back if you want to grab them and set them up. You can start wrapping the potatoes in some foil if you get bored.” The stars began pricking the sky one by one and soon the canvas above them was a field of twinkling lights with the moon rising in the distance. Oliver had the tent propped up and a fire blazing in a matter of minutes. “Looks like all those summer camps my parents used to send me to finally paid off.” Oliver stood by the campfire and warmed his hands. The forest had grown cold now that the sun had gone down. He tucked his fists into his sweater and continued to stare at the glowing light, watching the orange flames twist against a dark background. After the fire had a chance to eat away at the wood, he started poking off bits with a stick, making a space for their foiled potatoes to bake.

The drive was bumpy and it'd be a blatant lie if Dorothy said she wasn't afraid. Her hand gripped the handlebar that was over her head so tight, and even squeezed tighter at every drop that felt steep. The truck could handle it, sure, but her poor heart was so afraid. She did keep quiet, though, just letting the man focus on his careful and skilled driving, but it was fun. Rollercoaster kind of fun! When they'd finally parked and found their spot, Dorothy just nodded to what he had said at first. She unloaded her own belongings, brought out her little backpack that she is so attached to and then paused, freezing in her spot. "Fuck! We forgot ice. I forgot ice for the icebox-- ugh whatever, we'll get it on the next station." When she put on a puffy jacket, took out the camping chairs and unfolded them, she sat there for a few minutes looking for the tinfoil and eventually had found it, along with some basic ingredients--like salt and pepper. She sat next to the man, on the chair she unfolded, and offered him the potatoes to see him get to work on his promise of a very prestigious dinner. She didn't speak much when focused, and that was just another force of habit. "Look," she stared right up, squinting her eyes at the untainted night sky. No night pollution to cover the thousands and thousands of stars dotting the vast, black sky. "I love that. I love that so much. I really don't think about how there are less stars when you're in the city anymore, I just accept it as something ordinary." She hummed and relaxed her shoulders, looking down at Oliver with a smile. "Thank you for not like, canceling this whole thing 'cause of Michael. Wonder what got him so busy."

O: A twig in the distance snapped, echoing sudden breakage into the cold air. In the shadows, the silhouette of a branch started to fall. The body of an owl flew through the forest, weaving into the darkness of the trees. Mysterious hoots from the owl carried throughout the chill of the night, and faded into the distance after reaching Dorothy and Oliver’s campfire. A river of goosebumps ran down his forearms. Oliver tugged on the strings to his green hoodie, bringing the fabric closer to the shape of his muscular neck, which was craned back. He watched as the stars above them blinked to life. Perfect timing. A comet blazed past within the blink of an eye, its tail glittering across the expanse of a navy blue sea. He took the foil and potatoes from Dorothy. Stabbing the skin a couple of times with the end of his knife to allow the steam to escape. When the potatoes were properly wrapped in foil, coated with a slab of butter, salt and pepper bought from the store, he placed their dinner over the coals of the fire to cook. “No ice, damn. And here I thought we were off to such a good start,” his eyes were smiling even if his mouth was not. Eventually turning that suggestive gaze to Dorothy. “You know, it’s a good thing Michael didn’t end up coming. He likes the idea of going on an adventure, however, I honestly didn’t expect him to go through with this - so when he said he couldn’t make it, part of me already expected him to drop out. But…” There was a pause, allowing the fire to fill the silence. Red and orange flames licked the wood, snapping, then breaking embers into the air where they spiraled before disappearing. “...I like the way things turned out. Who knows. Perhaps if he had come with us, you would've never had a chance to try my famous baked potato.” Oliver handed Dorothy a stick and a bag of marshmallows, raising his left eyebrow to see if she’d be up for an unconventional appetizer. (edited)

Dorothy may, or may not have been distracted by the many sounds of a night forest. The snapping, the hooting and then-- she was amazed by the fleeting star that crossed their sky and there she made a wish, one that she'd keep to herself until it came true. Her attention settled down on the man and she was already grinning, and whilst staring right at him she pointed towards the sky. "That was so gorgeous," she stated. It was gorgeous, it was amazing and to see it while huddled around a fire during a cold night? Hfff. It's someone's dream, and she could cross it of her own bucket list. "I suppose it is good," she shrugged. "You really think things would've been that different without him present?" She took the stick and stuck the marshmallow at the pointy end of it, hovering the white delight a few inches over the fire until it's warm and gooey inside. When that's done, she proceeded to bring it closer to her mouth for a careful, yet eager bite right off the makeshift skewer stick. "While you work on your magic baked potatoes, I got juuust the thing for you..." Shamelessly, Dorothy snatched the bag of marshmallows and opened her own bag, taking out a box of Lindor. Basically, they're wrapped chocolates filled with milk inside. The woman set the stick in her lap, worked her way into stuffing that piece of chocolate inside, sticking a part of the marshmallow and hovering it over the fire. It was risky, the chocolate could've fallen, she could've stuck it through the chocolate itself buuuut her magic worked, and the little chocolate-stuffed mallow is safe and offered over to the man by pointing the stick right at his mouth. "Bite," she commanded him like she was commanding a dog! How rude, but playful. "Trust me?" she quickly interjected as if to sweeten the deal.

“I do,” he replied without hesitation. And that quickness caught him off guard. The question remained: had he been desperate enough to leave home he would have risked spending several days with a complete stranger? Yes. But she wasn’t a nutter, or secretly in love with him like most of the other girls. She was... Sharp colors of the fire played in Oliver’s eyes, which were observing Dorothy and the way she consumed her slightly burnt marshmallow. Watching the way her mouth folded over the dessert. The way her throat swallowed. He brought his attention back to the flames and in this lighting Dorothy would never see the red glow burning his face - from the heat of the fire, of course. He scoffed, or made some sort of sound as if it were going to release the uncomfortable momentum stabbing the center of his chest. Shoving both hands into the pockets of his blue jeans to keep from the cold, the rim of his pants tugged around his waist. “The thing is-” he wanted to tell her why the trip would be different if Michael had joined them, but he was caught of guard, again, this time by the end of a stick pointed in his direction. Dorothy’s demand made the moment amusing. The fire flickered within his gaze as he leaned forward and bit the marshmallow chocolate delight off the end of the stick, the goo stretching between his mouth and the wood.

9:23 PM

Oliver chewed quietly, and held back a smile. “I admit,” satisfaction rested with each nod of his head, “...that was fucking delicious. You’re going to make me another one of those.” The fire snapped. He grabbed his own stick and poked at the foiled potatoes. “You know if you keep feeding me, I’m going to expect this type of treatment at every meal, Pringles - and for the record...” he paused, turning his eyes to meet hers, “...I trust you. But the real question is...do you trust me?” He gathered the potatoes from the fire, loaded them up with sour cream and nacho cheese, then handed her a heavenly creation of potato perfection on a plate. “Go on, you won’t regret it.”

The crackling of the fire was suddenly a soothing noise in the background. Like the sound of rain, or the gentle hum of wind; it was practically 'ASMR.' It's just the occasional smoke that blew towards her forced her to sit closer to the man, taking the baked potato with him with careful anticipation. She closed her knees together and used her thighs as a dining table, carefully unfolding the tinfoil until it made for a little plate, and so she took one bite, and then another, and a third and so on. It was clearly delicious, but she kept playing it off as if she was still making out the taste. Like a snobby wine taster too proud to admit that his rival's wine has a sweet taste, and so it became bittersweet. She was defeated, her own, primitive creation? It pales in comparison. "I'unno. It's kinda..." She took yet another spoonful, using a plastic spoon she'd brought with. She also had offered him one. Her eyes, though, those playful and minxy eyes stared back at him. There it was again, that little spark - and not the one from the fire - but the one from his own gaze. There it was, the thousand tiny flutters of butterflies inside of her tum my. Theeeeree it was, the truth about how she felt about the man, slowly emerging even though she hated to admit it. The fact that Michael did not come with played a huge, huge part of them being where they were then. Oliver was one-hundred percent correct. "I love it." That she could admit. "You go camping often?" She poked him with her stick as she asked, prodding him for an even quicker answer, oh so eager to learn more about the man.

God damn. That foiled potato was everything worth living for. From the soft potato mash, to the yellow nacho cheese, topped with a large amount of sour cream - he’d almost forgotten Dorothy was patiently waiting there until she’d stabbed his unsuspecting side with a sharp stick. “What the!” he said with a mouthful of baked potato goodness. “Watch it or I’ll take that away from you, Pringles,” he was not joking. By the time he swallowed down his dinner he’d gotten to his feet and pulled a couple of blankets from the truck. Unfolding and wrapping one of them around Dorothy before bundling up in his own. He could see his breath now. Each exhale wove into the dark air, mixing with plumes of smoke swirling in his direction - and just like Dorothy, he adjusted himself out of the way, unintentionally sitting closer to her. “Let’s see,” he said, and started prepping a marshmallow on the end of his own burnt stick. “When I was younger I went on a trip around the states with my grandparents. Saw all of them. Can’t remember much about it...I was very young, but...there are certain memories I’ll never forget. Such as Yosemite. Haa, now if you want to see the stars, that’s where you need to go. There’s this uh, ride there - called the Moonlight Tour. It’s a tram that picks you up, there’s no roof, and they take you throughout the park when it’s late to show off the stars...” There was a quiet moment followed by all of this - and Oliver gazed into the flames, as if those specific memories were replaying within the fire. “What about you, Pringles?” The dry wood in the pit snapped and a burst of hot embers floated into the air. He found himself looking up at the twinkling stars the same way he’d done as a kid, to which Oliver leaned forward and started roasting his marshmallow over the campfire. “You got any good stories you feel like sharing?” (edited)

DRY: There was a mischievous giggle, but she was a brat that was quickly scolded into behaving. For now. The stick went between her knees and the blanket? That was a nice gesture, but the standards are so low that a nice gesture is quickly turned into a 'hot' gesture. Dorothy hated what she felt, it was surprising and very welcome. "So," she set off. She was so eager to talk about it. It has been said that if someone asked you a random question, then it often means they want it asked back. That was true in most cases with Dorothy. "I treasure home, but despite our history most people ironically are a little backwards still in some ways, despite what the news say. So, whenever I visited my auntie I gotta travel in secret to see her, she's practically married to a woman. Right? Social difficulties and whatever, ..." she waved her hand in no specific manner, just generalizing the whole ordeal as if it was a common thing. "she lives in one of those white, bricky buildings with an orange roof and looks over a blue beach in Kassandra." Her accent was more prominent when saying names. "I love love love love visiting just because going out with her wife is always fun. She's like a dad. She takes us out fishing, and do you know what happened the last time I went out? You see how dads take out a picture of their big ass fish and put it over their children's pictures or paintings on the fridge? That was what I felt. I caught a giant ass fish, I don't even know its name, and..." she chuckled, taking a bite but despite that morsel, she was too impatient not to finish the story; she spoke with a small mouthful. "I didn't even get to get a picture to commemorate it. It slapped me in the face, slipped out of my hands and went back into the sea. Just like that," she shook her head in awe. "The malaka was gone." "But then I realized, right?" Oh, she wasn't done. "Maybe moments that you remember are better than any photograph. Less trying to take a picture to show people, which lasts a few seconds, and more taking pictures with your mind to tell people, talk about it. Make conversation. If you truly enjoy something, you'll find yourself doing that more and more." She smiled, "just like your Yosemite!" That last word was mispronounced by the foreign exchange student. "I would kill to see stars like that every night. I think I'd be more thoughtful and lay on my roof more than I'd like if I lived under such a sky." Pringles tightened the blanket around herself, letting it hang from the top of her head and her hand pinched it closed - after having discarded of the tinfoil - under her chin, and her eyes looked up at Oliver like she was some hermit. "I'm getting a little tired, I think. You sure you wanna sleep in the car?" (edited)

He was nodding along with her story, occasionally casting a glance in her direction from time to time, when she asked if he was sure about sleeping in the truck. The stick that was firmly planted in his hand suddenly dropped, marshmallow and all, into the fire - causing an arsenal of embers to sputter to life, each tiny blip blinking out one by one into the starry night. “Fuuuck,” he said, and tried to get the gooey stick out but the coals were too hot. Just like his face. And this conversation. “Haa, uh-” What was this, highschool? That’s when he started to wonder when the last time it was that someone made him nervous. Years. Because just like he observed earlier in the day, she wasn’t his usual type - she was prettier than most of the girls he usually went after. He liked her skin, and the way the fire played on her cheekbones. “I mean, I’ll be fine. It’s a big back seat and you know I’ll just, use this…” he held up the blanket in his lap, or motioned to it, it was all a blur while trying to move past the initial shock of tiptoeing around the idea of them sleeping together in the same tent. “Or if you’d feel safer I could keep you company. Now before you get all high and mighty on me - I am a gentleman, Dorothy. We don’t know each other that well but I do have standards.” Liar. What a load of bullshit. Oliver swallowed down his inner voice and placed a hand on top of his knee, rubbing the texture of his jeans to calm his nerves. God he wanted to know what she felt like without clothes on. See the way the fire played on more than just her face. Great. Now it’s all I can think about... He rubbed that hand absently on his knee as if it were going to inspire new thoughts. Nope. It was just him, Dorothy, the outdoors, and no one around to stop him from making risky decisions. Like this. Oliver leaned toward her and grabbed the blanket she used to keep her warm, pulling her towards him so her face came closer to his. He could do this because he was stronger than her, and it was easy, which made it fun. Guiding her just how he wanted before offering a smile. One of those, I’ve got you right where I want you kind of looks. “If you’re too scared to stay out here all by yourself, just say so, Pringles…” From this range she’d be able to get a taste of his cologne. It was simple. Just like his teasing. His stare traveled down to her mouth briefly before flickering back up to her eyes.

Poor Dorothy. She saw that he was nervous about something, she saw his knee and saw the tap of his foot--but what he did? Man, oh man. To say 'butterflies' is not enough to explain the emotions she felt in that very fucking moment. Her insides were boiling, but not in the 'bad' way. The closest thing to that emotion is the very feeling one gets as they do something bad, but are guilty of enjoying that something. Like when she thought about fucking her hot professor's assistant. Like when she thought about him and imagined herself with him past midnight, and acted on it in her own privacy. Like pouring milk before cereal. Like chomping Kitkat without breaking off sticks into portions. Maybe not so much that one, but... It was easier for her to just, nod a few thousand times. "Yes," she blurted. "Yes, I'm afraid." Her accent was heavier then, her eyes wanted to veer off from his but being so close, being able to smell him, being in his grasp... And unless he stopped her, she would initiate what was to come. Her lips came closer, and closer, and closer until they met his, and when they mushed together, if they did, she would quickly submit to his motion, following her counterpart's movement. Even if he tasted the marsh-potato-mallow. At one point, she would opt to sit on his lap with her back against the fire, the blanket a cape to protect her from the warmth of the flame - as if she wasn't warm enough in that moment - and straddled him on his lap so she could make-out under the moon and stars, by the crackle of the fire and the spit of the flame.

Once Dorothy closed the distance between them, the fabric of her blanket tugged from his fingers. Bold move. When her lips were inches away it was unclear who made the effort to start the intimacy - it didn't matter. The world spun into a slow, even darkness. Closing his eyes. Those clever fingers were now free to roam where he pleased. Wandering to the back of her neck to grip her delicate figure there, he pressed her into him. She tasted...sweet, like marshmallows without the burnt texture. With hints of chocolate. Slow yet firm pressure was applied at first. This was risky after all. He didn’t want to go too fast...one wrong move and he might find Dorothy running for the hills, or the tent, depending on how he played his cards. Without much of a challenge he dominated her with an ideal speed. Letting his tongue introduce a new level of intrigue when he felt she was ready for more. As Dorothy moved to his lap, he leaned back into the chair taking her with him. The weight of the two made the steel poles dig into the earth at his feet. His jeans, once a cold landscape, now warmed under her body. Over time, his enjoyment for her on top of him filled those jeans - blood rushed to all the right places as their kiss grew with his curiosity to know more. He let his hands roam freely under her cloak of a blanket, navigating as if he’d done this a thousand times before. Circling her. Squeezing. Her shirt was easy to maneuver out of the way. Touching her belly and hips. Stroking under her rib cage until working his way to her lower back. He gripped her rear to rock her into him, so that the chair groaned with the shift in weight. “Oh fuck…” he said absently. His eyes opened just to dance with flames. Seduction was dripping from Dorothy, and Oliver wanted to taste every drop. “Uhh...haaa, are you sure you’re alright with this? I don’t want things to get…” awkward. Weird. The way it always does when things don’t turn out after sleeping together - but Oliver found himself kissing Dorothy again, motivated by her soft skin and the way she teased him with her tongue.

The woman only peeled away when she was embarrassed, as his hands coaxed a moan out of her. It was a sultry one, and she looked oh-so shy. When he asked, she mulled over the thought - as he had a point. "Maybe we can..." she cleared her throat. "Maybe we can pick it off another time, we don't wanna make the uh. The rest of this trip awkward, or weird-- right?" Right? A kiss under the starlight is probably better than moaning and groaning. "We could, however, cuddle? You don't have to sleep in the car and we can just share the bedroll."

“Cuddle is my middle name,” and if Dorothy was wondering, the answer was yes. That was the dumbest thing Oliver had said up to that point in his life. Funny things happen when blood drained from the brain. He would blame this stumble in their conversation on her, and her ability to bring him into a state of flustered stupidity. He grabbed Dorothy by the waist and picked her up, setting her on the ground. Remembering how short she was compared to him as he towered over her. He wanted to pat her on the head, but that would be just another excuse to touch her. “Why don’t you get into your pajamas and I’ll put the fire out,” he said. This would give them each some time to think about if this was a good idea or not. He could control himself, that wasn’t the issue. The problem was what happened if Dorothy changed her mind halfway through the night and the rest of the trip was an obstacle to get through. Or, on the other hand - what if things went really well, and they enjoyed more nights like these... He rubbed his face with both calloused palms. All of this would be a lot easier if he weren’t attracted to her. Just get on with the pleasure and forget about the experience in the morning. That wasn’t his style though, a damn challenge when it came to dating. Oliver began cleaning up the campsite by getting things ready for their first night in the wilderness, starting off with putting out the fire, and occasionally glancing over to the tent he wasn’t sure he should sleep in or not.

In the tent hung the electric lantern from the literal mid-point. It rustled left and right in a gentle sway as the woman, who was sitting on her knees with her back straight, lifted her shirt over her head and had her hair fall back down the moment the fabric went up past her elbows. Her form was perfectly imprinted, even enlarged, thanks to the silhouette cast by the swaying light. The man could tell she faced him when she'd suddenly stopped hearing the leaves crack under his boots, and she knew he was out there, probably looking at the tent but she did not know her shadow was projected in such a manner. She was oblivious. The silence, that momentary silence, was just anxiety for her, and wonder, and... well, a little ticklish feeling between her legs. She wanted more than to cuddle, and the idea of cuddling was scary--what if it becomes awkward? What if it leads to another thing? It was literally their first night, which made her beg the question if she was being sane and logical about such a thing. In the end, though, they were both adults. So, she looked down, past her little tummy and unbuttoned her jeans, allowing her to catch a relieved breath. To take it off, since she could not stand up in such a dwarfed tent, she had to lay on her lower back and extend her legs upwards to remove it down to her knees and then extend her legs forward when it was past that point. She was clearly having fun, judging by how giggly-she was. It eventually came down to her struggling to put on a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, her hair loose and disheveled from the series of 'rigorous' activities just then. "It's your turn to change, if you wanted to. I kinda need to go pee, so if I scream, then werewolves stole me and I'm kind of fine considering I've always been a twilight fan." Jacob Black is the werewolf in question. As she spoke out to her friend, she'd rolled up her clothes in a ball and left them in one corner or the other instead of her precious backpack.

He was a creep. Definitely. By the time he realized he’d just been standing there watching Dorothy undress through the fabric of the tent, it was too late to turn back. Her shadow playing on the thin walls was torture. The shirt sliding off her torso. Her hair falling on her back and shoulders. The shimmy to get into her pajamas - cuddling, right...those were clothes for “cuddling”... “Uh, haaa...yeah. Why don’t you go pee, Pringles, and I’ll change...” He unzipped the tent for her so she could get out and he could get in. “By the way, if werewolves come to get you, you’re on your own. I’m part vampire so...I guess that means no cuddling or rescuing. Only biting. Or sucking-” Sucking? Jesus, Oliver. “You know what, just go pee.” It was dumb. All of it. The fact he’d seen the Twilight series and also the fact he was making references to admitting he’d seen the Twilight series. But you know, seeing Dorothy smile was worth it - at least, he thought he imagined her smiling on the way out. Now he was the one in the tent, working to take off his clothes, attempting to get into something more comfortable and less...grungy. The fire had left its mark. His hair, nearly black and messy, was coated with the sweet scent of burnt wood. He removed his hoodie and shirt tossing them to one side of the tent, then his pants and boxers. Eventually those large grey sweats were pulled around his lower abdomen. The string keeping them fastened to his body tied in some weird knot with the ends dangling near the crotch. Oliver put his hoodie back on, which smelled like smoke, clean laundry, and whatever deodorant he used. The women back home called it addictive. He unzipped the two sleeping bags for him and Dorothy and spread them out, using one for the top blanket and one for the bottom.

9:26 PM

Fuck it was cold. That’s why he put on his trusty warm socks. This wasn’t his first rodeo, afterall. He knew how bitter the night could get, especially if spent alone. He shoved his backpack to the area at the end of the tent and used it as a pillow, pulling the top sleeping bag over him. Whenever Dorothy returned, Oliver would be ready to have her slip under the covers with him with the blankets warmed from his body heat.

"Isn't it pinch, then suck?" She mused him as she went further into the forest, luckily she hadn't taken off her hiking shoes. Step by step she found herself somewhere nice and dark where she could relieve her bladder and instead of making a return, she thought of something great. A prank better than no other, and what better way to melt some more of the ice that was between them? Well, whatever ice was left after she literally sat on his fucking lap. You're so dumb, she thought to herself - regretting ever doing that, fear of judgement that could come from him. She went to the car, opened the door and took out a little bluetooth speaker she had packed in one of the bags. This was all done on her tippy-toes, just so she could be sneaky enough. The bluetooth speaker was placed in the general direction she'd disappeared to, and she hid elsewhere - within twenty feet of the speaker - and played her cards. First, she went on to Youtube and searched for some random sound clip of a girl screaming. Then, she raised the volume all the way up and you guessed it, she hit play and waited for her prey. She waited, holding back her laughter in the dark, under the barren tree. The moment the man got closer, she would close off the sound so he would not pinpoint the speakers and instead, he is left wondering where exactly the sound was once he'd gotten close enough, assuming he even does. Before he ventures deeper into the forest, though, the girl would make sure to jump towards him with a big, fat boo as if to scare him. Hell, she doesn't even expect it all to work, but she gave it a try.

There he was. Waiting. Waiting for something. Anything. The minutes ticked by but Dorothy never returned. He punched his backpack a few times to make it into a shitty pillow, a better shape that hopefully would allow him to sleep comfortably. Or cuddle. It was still undecided what was going to happen. He rubbed his feet together to get them warm. Fuck it was cold. Whenever Dorothy showed up he was going to make sure to put them on the warmest part of her body just to hear her screa-... Oliver bolted out of the tent hopping on one foot to catch his balance. Shoes untied with laces there to trip him at some point. He went running toward the sound of the yelling but it suddenly stopped - then, he was left with nothing. The twigs under his boots snapped while he turned around spinning to find Dorothy. Squinting his eyes as if that would help him see in the dark. He called out for her but heard nothing back. Adrenaline pounded against his chest. Blood flooded his ears with a deafening heartbeat. Sweat formed on the side of his brow as anxiety set in. The moment Dorothy jumped out from her hiding spot Oliver tackled her to the ground, pinning her under him out of reflex. The shock hit him when he realized she thought this was funny, holding onto a bluetooth speaker in one hand with the sound of faking screaming fading. “So you like to play games, is that it?” He grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and pulled her face up to his, bringing his mouth to hers out of lust - and relief. He didn’t realize how much he cared about her until the idea of her being in danger put him to the test. He didn’t waste any time getting them to their feet, or shoving her toward the direction of the tent. Making it so she stumbled inside the small enclosure with him following closely behind. Once they were sitting down he pulled off one of his socks, “You have this coming, Pringles!” he laughed, and pressed his cold foot against Dorothy’s side, right under her shirt so her warm tummy could feel an icy sting. It was war. The look in his eyes said he was willing to go to any length to win. Even if that meant getting into a struggle between the sheets to come out on top. It was playful. Harmless. And fucking fun - basically Dorothy in a nutshell he was starting to realize. He quickly went for one of her wrists in the event she would try to stop the advance of his cold foot on her body, digging his toes into her just to be an ass. If she wanted to play games, he was ready to show her how it was done.

The laughter that came out of that woman, gosh. The way she went completely limp under his grasp, and any pain from hitting the leaves was just washed away as she giggled. The prank was perfect, although cruel. The fact that it worked is what surprised her the most, as she was never the best trickster out there. She let him push her around and lead her towards their tent, and during those few steps the laughter never. Fucking. Ended. Oh, goodness, her tummy hurt and her eyes were welled-up. The foot attack, though? That made her irk in a playful manner and have her cower into a corner with a disgusted face, swatting away. "SORRY. I'M SORRY," she screamed and by then, too tired to laugh. "Ew, ew, ew, ew. Please stop!"

It seemed like an appropriate time for tickling. Or pinning Dorothy to the sleeping bag covers. Too hard to choose which one came first so he did both. Somehow pressing his cold feet against her outer thighs while managing to straddle her body to the ground within that small tent. “You almost gave me a heart attack, you know that, right?” His fingers aimed for her ribcage. Digging into areas that were sensitive and would most likely produce a laugh. He really didn’t feel bad about it. At all. It was all fun and games until Oliver stopped trying to get back at her. It was one of those moments when he realized if he didn’t remove himself from the situation he’d end up making a mistake. Dorothy was too warm. Too soft. Too...curvy. He made the choice to abandon the effort of keeping her under him and started to get off of her.

She was left there, gasping for air that felt so scarce all of the sudden. All she could mutter in her excited, breathless state was a constant, descending-in-tone 'sorry,' along with sputters of laughter. There she was, sprawled on the floor, one arm to her side, one hand on her exposed midriff. One knee pulled and one leg extended and her eyes staring past the man and at the tent's 'wall'. He was cruel. When she finally sat up, disheveled and untidy, she looked at him and scoffed. "I deserved that. I'm sorry. God, it's so warm in here now." That was probably her body, though. It's bound to be cold again soon, and she knew that - as she still got under the blanket, and when she was under the blanket, she shamelessly ushered herself closer to Oliver, and huddled up to him. The next day was... early, and it wasn't enough sleep. Camping isn't comfortable; sleeping on an uneven ground, the rustle of the leaves and wind can only be so relaxing before it got so old-- at least to her. She realized why she was a city girl every time she felt the hammer inside of her skull pound against it. The sleepy woman picked up her phone from under her pillow and checked the time, and it was first daylight. "Oliver?" she mumbled, holding his forearm to squeeze and shake oh-so gently. She thought it a good idea to save as much as they could on daylight to travel, but part of her was debating if it was a good idea to wake up the driver that early on.

With one curious eye open, Oliver peeked at the woman laying on his chest. Usually, he was the one awake before the crack of dawn, but not Dorothy. She was a different breed. He figured that out after the prank she played on him the night before. He was surprised to see her laying there right where he’d left her, since he wouldn’t put it past her to try and sneak out to make him think she’d been taken by Big Foot. “Morning, Sunshine…glad to see you’re still here.” Oliver’s voice must have caused a stir in the forest because several birds started to chirp in the trees. The sounds were bright against the cold air, which was sharp and frigid. Staying bundled next to a warm body like Dorothy seemed liked the right thing to do, but it was time to get up and get going. He moved Dorothy off him before tousling her hair with his hand, his own was wild and matted to one side, then left the tent to stretch - sleeping in the truck would have been more comfortable, that much he was sure of. “You know you talk in your sleep, right?” he raised his hands over his head to release the strain in his back. “Kept saying something about food, it’s all you wanted.” Breakfast. It sounded like a good idea. He went to the campfire filled with ashes and burnt logs from last night’s fire, tossed on a few new pieces of wood and started a flame. There were veggies left over from their dinner. Cooking them up was easy. He grilled them, plated them, and called out to Dorothy to come out of the tent so she could eat something. “It’s not chicken masala, but it’ll get us through until lunch. Before we head out there’s supposedly a waterfall near here. Twenty minute hike and if we hurry we can watch the sunrise. You up for a morning walk or do you want to get in the truck and keep moving?” @Bombie

"You're glad I am still here?" she was surprised at that. Did he expect for her to run off? Did she give that impression? Panic. Overthinking. "I'll be sure to run away in your sleep next time. Oh, yeah, I'll also take your truck." His morning voice was... let us say, right, that it struck the right chords. It SUDDENLY reminded her of what she did last night. What the fuck was she thinking?! Why did she say those things, sit on his lap, do all-- shame. So much shame, and suddenly, running away in his car was much easier than realizing all that she had done. A subject change was in order, "I do?" she laughed. "I am not surprised that it's about food, though. It seems appropriate, now, git. Go fix it for me, cook something up." And he did, actually, which made him all the more attractive. She sat there, huddling up the blanket for herself like a gremlin. She was sat in the tent's entrance, cross-legged, and staring from the small entry. After having accepted her food, she needed a bite or two before she even came up with an answer. "I think we should do it, as much as I hate myself for saying that. It'd be us making the most of our trip, no?"

“That’s what I like to hear…” Oliver chowed down his veggies with a mysterious grin spreading across his face. Don’t worry. He kept his mouth closed while chewing. He wasn’t an animal for God’s sake. At least not while eating. In the bedroom that was a different story. Novel. Or what some considered terrible writing inside of an airport magazine. He tossed the dirty plate onto one of the camping chairs sitting by the morning’s dwindling fire. His boot kicked some dirt onto the flames putting them out with a smokey thud. Now that she agreed to go to the waterfall, he wanted to get there to see the sunrise. They didn’t have much time. “Come on, Dorothy, live a little with me.” He made sure to wait before she was done eating her breakfast before pulling her out of the tent. They were both in their pajamas and he was fine with that. “You want a piggyback ride there or can you walk on your own?” He was judging her now. How much effort did she require to make the trip to the falls? Would she need to put on better clothes? Makeup? Or could she go as is… @Bombie

"I don't think that's a good idea," she chuckled. "I don't want to risk breaking your poor neck." She wasn't really anything but average, but she was insecure about the million things that could go wrong doing such a thing on a road trip, even, even if it was a joke. "Shouldn't we change? I mean, I'd rather not wet my pajamas! Besides," she lifted both the windbreaker and water-resistant cargo pants up. "I got those from The North Face, which means, THEY'RE EXPENSIVE. If I don't use them till they tear, why did I even bother?" And so, she zipped up the tent after he'd left so she could privately change. She made sure to fold and put away the pajamas and anything else in preparation for them to leave the moment they're back. "What is the waterfall like?" she asked once she was fianlly by his side, thumbs before the backpack's straps on her shoulder.

Oliver rolled his eyes but not because he was judging Dorothy. He did it because he knew she was right to get out of her pajamas. While she changed into different clothes, he wandered to his truck and put on a clean shirt, it was light green, and a pair of faded blue jeans. His brown boots slid back onto his feet without needing to tie them and soon, he and Dorothy, his cuddle-buddy, were wandering down a dim-lit path together. “It shouldn’t be far from here from what I was told, and if my friends were telling the truth, it’s going to be something we won’t forget. Supposed to be a great spot to watch the sun come up while taking a dip if you wanted…did I forget to mention that part?” He grinned at her. After a while, they’d finally made it. Sure, Oliver had told a few bad jokes along the way to fill the silence but his terrible sense of humor had paid off - theoretically. In front of them was the waterfall crashing down loudly. It stretched up to the sky and curved over a set of rocky cliffs. The base of the fall was calm, oddly, and drained into a river that snaked out to a distant horizon. At first, Oliver did nothing. He just stood there in awe of what he was looking at. The beauty. The fact his friends hadn’t lied. And grateful he’d made the call to take this road trip with Dorothy despite it being a hit-or-miss adventure. But when those orange rays of light began peeking through the forest trees, he knew he’d made the right choice to come here with her. Suddenly, a sliver of sunlight pierced the pastel sky, and Oliver turned to Dorothy and smiled as he’d never done before. @Bombie

"Now you're going to make me regret not having brought swimwear from the car," she pouted. "I do look forward to swimming, if you want to," she grinned, "we could skinny dip. I won't make fun of it in the cold, I know it shrinks." The burbling noise the waterfall made was gradually closer, stronger and more audible the closer they got. Hell, it even got cooler before they saw it properly because of how dense the forest was. It was gorgeous, ancient, and hospitable. There wasn't anything that needed to be said because when they did see the waterfall, and how the sky contrasted against it? Goodness! Not only was she out of breath, but she was out of her mind as she immediately, shamelessly began taking off the very clothes she had just put on. From her windbreaker to her bra, from her cargo pants to her white woolen panties - all off. She stood there, naked and exposed to the man but she didn't care. "Since yesterday," she said in her Greek accent, "I have been worried about being ashamed and doing something embarrassing but the fact that we arrived just as the sky broke its colors?" She throw her panties at him, only for the wind to blow it back near her on the ground. "I think that's a sign to just live the fucking moment and stop worrying! So please... take off your clothes and join me or I'm going to be so fucking embarrassed," said Dorothy, as she hugged herself and crossed her knees. The cold wind, which was colder because of the sprites of water, touched her bones. @Taking Back Luxday

The scent of pine struck Oliver without remorse, gathering lost notes of nostalgia upon a slow inhale. The scent twist in the wind around them. A current of white mist swirled against the morning air, wandering between the tall trees. The ground under Oliver’s feet crunched as he moved towards the waterfall’s basin, his feet stopping at the edge of the water where a landscape of river stones waited. He picked up one of the blue rocks and rolled it over in his palm. The texture was smooth and cold, a contrast to his warm calloused skin. Oliver cast the stone into the river and watched the rock skip against the surface of rumbling water. Fingers, devoted to her request, peeled the shirt off his body simply to toss the fabric to the ground at his feet. Soon his pants and boots were next to that shirt. Oliver walked into the waterfall’s stream until he was waist deep. He dove under the surface once, then splashed Dorothy to get her to join him. “To balance this freezing experience out we’re going to need to stop at the hot spring you wanted to see, Pringles. You know, they say cold water is good for you. Creates natural endorphins and gives a high that lasts for hours. Better than drugs.” He was moving towards her now without drawing his attention to her body. This wasn’t his first time around a woman without clothes. If she wanted adventure while not being judged, she picked the right partner to go on this road trip with. His smile, calm and unbroken, would make sure she knew she was in favorable company. That look didn’t last long though as he turned his back on her, doing this to make it easier for her to join him in the water. “If you go running off with my clothes, you better make sure to run fast…” he said over his shoulder, keeping that smile on his face, preparing for the event she decided to pull another prank on him.

8:54 AM

@Bombie

Dorothy was so focused on the temperature as she oh-so slowly, so cowardly descended into the water. Her toes tippy-tapped the water before she walked in, water engulfing her body from the bottom up. Her feet, her knees, her thighs... the hair that sat between her inner thighs, and the way it offered some semblance of privacy, then came her stomach which had some amount of fat on it, but nothing out of the ordinary. It was her stomach and up to her breasts that were struck by the cold water the worst, as she squealed and decided to just go for it, lurching herself towards Oliver with her arms extended. There was giggling, there was screaming, and when and if he caught her - she'd just stay there and laugh in his face. "That's actually a good idea, but have you seen how mossy those rocks around the little pond are?!" Her voice was loud enough to go over the crash of waterfall. @Taking Back Luxday

Oliver looked somewhere in the direction Dorothy pointed. Rocks. Moss. Her observation was there, surely - but while she looked at nature, his trustworthy eyes roamed above her head and moved down slowly to meet her gaze. He noticed a drop of water run off the tip of her nose, and to him, it was an attractive addition to their time together. When she jumped towards him, Oliver caught her as best he could, keeping his hands in places that would be considered appropriate. “I’m getting a closer look,” he yelled. Yellow sunlight crawled over the forest as dawn continued to stretch on, highlighting the trees and wet rocks around the bank. The cold water between his legs did the opposite of what Dorothy said it would do. He swam towards the waterfall, hoping to reverse her physical effect on him. Once at the waterfall’s base, Oliver dove under the tumbling surface, keeping his eyes open while underwater. Although the water was clean, his vision stung, and he could only see swirling bubbles. After a moment of pushing through the unknown, he resurfaced and found himself on the other side, swimming into a dark cave. He continued to swim until he could put his feet on the ground keeping his head just above the rippling water. Oliver turned around slowly to take in the cavern’s size, admiring the mystery of it all. @Bombie

Oliver, you idiot. You don't hold a naked girl that jumped into your arms and then dive into some... cave? A cave? Holy shit, a cave? The poor woman's brain short-circuited, tempted to follow, tempted to swim alone in the middle of nowhere. See, that would've been the right option. She didn't follow because of a bear, or a wolf, or some animal you'd expect--but a bug. Yes, a bug. Its big wings creeped her just enough to have dove into the water, awaiting its departure. She was going to follow suit, but she made an effort to retrieve something from her backpack. It was a glorified ziplock bag that worked with phones, sealing them in an airtight pocket. She made sure the lights were on, and then hung it around her neck. Swimming was never her forte, but fear overwhelmed her into breaking barriers--and if it meant swimming after a man who she'd only known for barely a handful of days then so be it! Once she was there, she was a klutz--slipping on the moss, eeping, her voice echoing ahead of them both and repeatedly taunting her with her own discomfort. Her flashlight was just a walking beacon of I am here. Handle with care. @Taking Back Luxday (edited)

Oliver stood in the depths of the darkness for what seemed close to five minutes - then a glimmering light stole his attention. Dorothy’s flashlight underwater waved back and forth, shimmering against the ripples from the waterfall. When Dorothy finally surfaced, Oliver was there to take her by the elbow and guide her to where her feet could reach the ground. “I found something,” he said. The temperature outside, mixed with the rising sun and the mist from the falls, created a moment Oliver would likely not forget. It was a short distance into the cave, swimming through the dark water before they happened upon a section that looked like stars in the sky - only they were glowworms stuck to the rocks, buried into the cracks, casting a soft blue light that pulsed into a lullaby rhythm. “I’ve only seen this in New Zealand,” he confessed. Oliver swam closer to the shore until he was only waist deep, then leaned against a large boulder. He didn’t look in Dorothy’s direction, as her flashlight exposed parts of her body she hadn’t permitted him to look at - or had she. “I think it's time you admit coming to the falls was worth the effort,” and that’s when he turned to face her, smiling if she could see it. One hand combed through his black hair, only to fall forwards. Water dripped down the sides of his arms and face. He swam closer to her until he was behind Dorothy, placing one of his hands on her side. @Bombie

There was a moment where she couldn't help but dim the light with her other palm, her hand as the light is stifled. She would've, could've, turned the light off--but this was far too amazing to even consider getting distracted for a mere second, especially for what she was trying to do. Her eyes were glued, looking at the little specks of light all over the cave with such wonder. "Yeah..." she answered loosely, her bare feet leading her towards him yet her eyes were looking at everything but him. "This is fucking otherworldly. I didn't think they were real?" I mean, sure, maybe in movies, cartoons... fireflies. This didn't feel real, and she was there. She'd said something in Greek and judging by her tone, it's praise, and wonderment, and amazement. Her hand exposed the light once again, dimming those creatures, yet landing on his shoulder. It had a purpose, and he was suddenly her guide. "Is it safe to go in deeper?" she said, her accent more apparent. @Taking Back Luxday

“Only one way to find out,” he replied, and pulled Dorothy deeper into the cave. Who knows what was under the black water. Her flashlight brought the jagged rocks and small fish of the bed below to life as they swam further in, where everything became colder. The water, the air, all of it seemed distant from the warmth of the sun. Even the sound of the waterfall became hushed as they went around a corner, the light from the entrance barely visible against the sides of the cavern walls. The glowworms only increased. The depth of the cave stretched back far beyond what Oliver expected. The rumors of this place had exceeded his expectations, especially with Dorothy being there with him. Oliver eventually stopped and realized he could no longer touch the bottom of the floor with his feet, so he guided Dorothy off to the side, where a pile of smooth rocks offered them a seat. He sat down, his waist still under the water, and left enough room for Dorothy to join him if she wanted. “Let’s give it another five minutes and then we head back. We've got to get on the road if we're going to make it to our next stop, Pringles...” He felt something swim past his leg and prayed it was only a fish. @Bombie

7:47 PM

Taking Back Luxday

The whole thing was amazing, wonderful. Words could not describe what it did to her mind. If she tried to say something, her thoughts would bottleneck the moment she tried to speak; it wouldn't do it all justice. "I don't even know where to begin, honestly. I just--I don't know if we're going to see anything that would one-up this out there. We should--no no. We MUST come back here!" That accent again, it echoed as she exclaimed her excitement, perched up next to him. It was hard clambering up the mossy stone, but he was helpful enough. (edited)

It was only another thirty minutes before Oliver and Dorothy left the waterfall and returned to their campsite. He loaded their gear into the back of the truck and slammed the door shut. The side of his boot scuffed out the remaining embers in the fire pit, still warm from breakfast. Only a few burnt logs slanted carelessly gave away they’d stayed overnight. His hair was still wet from the waterfall, but with the window down and a breeze blowing through the truck, he’d be dry in a matter of minutes - before he knew it, they were on the main highway with a morning sun creeping over the tops of the trees. Not a single car was on the road. As envisioned, he rolled down the window and let his elbow hang out the side, glancing in the mirror, but no one was behind them. “I put the map in the glove box. Can you pull it out and tell me which exit we need to get off at? I don’t remember the route we said we wanted to take.” @Bombie

It wasn't as awkward as she had expected being in a man's vicinity completely nude. It'd been easier if they had slept with other, but in that context - it felt alien. She constantly had to think about her body, or avoid staring at something specific on his. He was handsome, his blemishes were handsome, and if there were any 'flaws,' he'd turned them handsome. At that point, is when she realized - and scared herself - by realizing she'd been attracted him. Drying was a pain, and in the passenger seat she was sat on a towel, wearing short-shorts over her bikini bottom and a loose tank top over her bikini. Her hair was damp, which is a second towel was on her headrest. "202," she blurted out a number after a while of examining the map with a dry finger. Her skin was still wrinkly from the water.

11:05 PM

@Taking Back Luxday

Sure enough, right as Dorothy clarified the route they needed to take, they passed a green sign with large numbers on it - Exit 202 in twenty miles it read. Oliver leaned back, easing into his seat now that he knew where they were going. His dark hair drifted in the wind catching a gust from time to time. He reached for the radio and flipped to a station playing 80’s and immediately turned the volume up. The song Eye of the Tiger blasted throughout the forest. Oliver shouted the words, part singing part yelling, jamming along as his hand drummed against the side of his truck. His head leaned halfway out the window so his voice carried in the trees and morning air… Rising up straight to the top, Had the guts, got the glory, Went the distance, now I'm not going to stop, Just a man and his will to survive! When the song finished, he left out a laugh and turned the volume back down. “That’s a damn classic. A good sign we’re going to have a great day- -oh my God.” Oliver suddenly pulled the car over. He got out and approached a fruit stand - struck up a conversation with the woman selling her produce, then hopped back in the truck, setting a bag of five peaches in between him and Dorothy. He bit into one, the skin snapped, and juice ran down the side of his mouth. Oliver wiped up the mess with the edge of his hand, and said with a grin. “You like these things, Pringles? Or just your bag of chips?” And waited for her answer before turning the car back on. @Bombie

For a little while she was engrossed with just about everything. Her own window was also open, allowing hte cool breeze against her skin. It almost always made her sleepy, and she did shut her eyes. Though she heard everything--enough to sing along by moving her lips, but even if he brought his ears close to them, he wouldn't her nada. She was just lip syncing to the voice in her mind. When the sudden stop happened, so did her heart. She scowled at how sudden it was, and how it sounded drastic, or urgent, or something. She was ready to unleash on him, ready to tear him a new asshole, she saw the peaches. She was so relaxed, then the brake had the belt almost choking her. "You're stupid," she spoke with a hint of frustration, watching how much of a 'messy eater' he was. Not that he was, and not that she minded it, it was... attractive. She was just too angry to admit it. She shoved her hand and wrestled the plastic bag, only to take out a peach with the look of someone who had tasted something too sour. Luckily for him, he brought her something too sweet. "I love these things. There's so many at home. Peaches and... veríkoka my favorite." She didn't even realize she'd forgotten the English word for apricots. Having spent a lot of time together, there was a lot of moments where it was just silence. Not awkward, but comfortable. At one point she made an effort of cleaning all the trash that allocated during their trip, and put it aside for their next pit-stop, and when the sugar-rush from the fruits faded, she found herself asleep in the passenger seat, where the wind through blew her loose tanktop but not even that was waking her up. The poor guy must've done all the driving for four or so more hours, and when she woke up, the sun had just set. There was a pain in her neck, and she was a little disoriented. They were at a gas station, which shared a parking with a motel. The Mediterranean woman opened the door and called out for Oliver, rolling her neck as if that would take away the pain of having slept all wrong for a few hours. @Taking Back Luxday (edited)

The open road. How grand it was to just sit there and listen to music and occasionally a snore or two from Dorothy. The girl had her moments, he’d give her that. Though he’d never tell her how much he liked the way she spoke. Her voice was music to his ears. It was the accent. And her skin. Hair. Eyes. He liked all of it. And frankly, he didn’t mind admitting he found her attractive. You’d have to be blind to think she wasn’t, he told himself. Meaningless thoughts as he drove. It was entirely possible to think someone was good looking without liking their personality. Unfortunately for Oliver, he liked that about her, too. But it was fine. He didn’t have a crush on her. The way she slept, head leaning on the window to prop herself up, lips open just a bit made sure of that. Being the nice guy that he was, he avoided a few potholes just so he wouldn’t disturb the drool falling from her mouth. What a gentleman. She’d called him an asshole and he wasn’t sure why, but he liked the way the word rolled off her tongue. It was a long drive, but Oliver didn't mind being on the road. His hand rounded the steering wheel with one palm, taking them around corners slowly, following the rules and not speeding or running red lights. Not to mention there was a moment when a car full of women started blowing him kisses. He obliged by raising an eyebrow, and that only made them squeal. They were filming his truck talking something about “spotting a hot guy on their girl’s trip”. “Post it to tiktok!” one said. Great, watch it go viral, the light turned green and Oliver took off in the opposite direction. The smell of gasoline came on strong as he filled their tank. The price rose until the handle gave a tormented shudder. That must have been what woke Dorothy up. He’d been doing such a good job to let her sleep until that point, too. When she called for him he thought her tone seemed cranky so he prepared himself for whatever fuckery he was about to deal with.

10:30 AM

Oliver propped himself against the side of her opened door, his hoodie strings dangling as he leaned forward and made an attempt to straighten out her hair, all wild from the drive and the wind. “Why do I get the impression another night of camping is only going to make it worse,” referring to her craned neck. He nodded towards the motel. “I can get us two rooms if you need a bed, princess, otherwise there’s a campground thirty minutes away. I can setup our tent and make you something to eat over the fire. Although, it does look like they have hot dogs inside the gas station if you wanted to stay in the motel and eat here tonight.”

10:30 AM

@Bombie

She felt his hand sink in her hair, tame the wild weed into a common flower. It was still a mess, but not as much as a mess she was after his little gesture. It went unspoken, of course, but it did have her smiling like a buffoon, and were it not for how groggy she was, she'd be grinning and blushing. On the inside, though, she was definitely fangirling like those women that they'd passed. There was no doubt about it. With her lips all pouty at his words, and almost a minute after digesting them, she finally knew what to say. "I don't know if I want to be lame and have us spend a night at a motel," I'd rather risk being in the tent as you again. "It's lame, dirty, and I'm pretty sure our sleeping bags are more comfortable, don'tcha think?" His hair was fine, she couldn't return the gesture. Instead, she leveled his hoodie's strings, pulling one side before the other until they were balanced and even, and that's when she delivered a love-tap against his jaw with the tip of her fingers. "Gas station hotdogs sound just as disgusting as a motel bed," her eyes screamed that there was a but, and yet, she decided to just tug give his hoodie strings a tug. "I'll go get us some if they're nice and fresh enough. Okay? I also kind of want a slushie." (edited)

2:27 PM

@Taking Back Luxday

Choices. Oliver made sure Dorothy was back inside the truck before closing her door for her. He may have been labeled an asshole, but at least he had manners. He drove Dorothy to the campground nearby and kept his word. Propping her into one of those folding chairs next to a raging fire. He grilled up some anaheim peppers and stuffed them with tzatziki sauce, followed by two large, juicy portobello mushrooms, spritzing everything with a bit of lemon juice. Oliver handed her a plate with a metal fork and knife, a napkin, and a bottle of water. It didn’t take him long to cut up his meal and finish dinner. Was it charming when he licked the surface of the plate because he liked the taste of the leftover tzatziki sauce, or immature because that’s something a kid would do? It didn’t matter. It was delicious, and he wanted seconds. Maybe later, though. He bust open the bag of marshmallows and pricked them onto the end of a stick, roasting them over the flames until they were burnt and catching on fire - just the way he liked them. Oliver blew out the growing blaze on his two marshmallows with a grin. They swirled with smoke and instantly disappeared, chewed, and were forgotten in seconds. Only the remnants of a sticky residue on his fingers would remind him he had dessert. “Want me to make you some?” He offered, handing Dorothy the bag of white marsh puff balls so she could decide. Oliver went to their tent and grabbed one of his extra hoodies, a dark blue one, and tossed it to Dorothy since it was getting cold out. It smelled like him, too, with just a faint touch of cologne hanging on the fabric, complementing the scent of a glowing campfire. @Bombie

An asshole with manners. A handsome one. He took care of her oh-so well, cooked for her, spoke to her. Made her feel relaxed, at ease, and drove her around. There was so much that he did and it slowly trickled back to her, as she sat there, burning a stick over the fire with a plate in her lap. It was an odd mix of things, nothing she'd ever had before. She ate, but was more-so careful nibbling. It was clear she didn't enjoy the mushrooms as much as she did the previous meal, but she tried to remain courteous. It was still nice enough to stuff into her mouth. There was some pressure when he cleaned his plate, though. Hers was barely halfway done by then. "Please," she let out a defeated cry at his offer. "You finish my plate? I don't like mushrooms very much." There was a look of shame on her face, as if she'd just offended her host. It was probably overthinking, but she felt like she was not pulling her weight as much as he did. She couldn't admit it, she didn't have the gall - he would probably be too sweet to even admit it were it true. Besides, it was a feeling. Imagine how intense said feeling became as she put on his hoodie. That when she laid her head on her shoulder and stared at the fire, she did it so she could breath his scent in before the cotton absorbed the smell of smoke. A deep breath later, she looked up at him, and with a firm, assertive tone she decided. "Tomorrow, our trip includes a supermarket. A uh... Target? Or something similar?" She left the question behind, there was no need to actually answer, as she clarified shortly after, "I want to cook for you this time. Yes?" Yes, was the only thing he could answer. The look on her face betrayed how unwavering she was ready to be, as if preparing for him to fight back. @Taking Back Luxday

“Are my mushrooms so bad that you feel you need to cook for us now?” He waved his marshmallow stick at her, but the charade ended shortly thereafter. He didn’t care if she wanted to make dinner. “Give me your plate.” Oliver finished Dorothy’s mushrooms in one big bite, a decent swallow, then tossed the paper plate into the pit. The edges crisped and burned until the entire thing was on fire. “There’s a supermarket not far from here. Next town over about forty-five minutes out. We can stop there and pick up all the salty pringles your heart desires,” he took a seat in his chair and roasted another marshmallow. This was the last one. He made a silent promise to himself not to eat anymore after this, not unless it was Dorothy. She didn’t count. If she pulled another one of those cuddle stunts like she did the night before, there was no saying what he would do. He ruffled his black hair and scratched the stubble on his chin, debating if he should prank her the way she pranked him, pretending to be lost in the woods nearly gave him a heart attack. He glanced at her, but the way her head was leaning on the chair, in his hoodie, face glowing with firelight, made him want to do the complete opposite. He wanted to protect her and ultimately forgave her for giving him a scare. Oliver cleaned the campsite so they could leave early tomorrow without having to do much in the morning. “Lucky for you, we don’t have another waterfall to go explore before the crack of dawn. Not for another few days. I’ll get the map. We can circle a few places we want to stop tomorrow.” He went to the truck and grabbed said map with a pen, then tossed those things into their tent. Oliver changed into some pajamas and settled against his sleeping bag. He wouldn’t rush Dorothy by the fire, whenever she was ready, he’d put it out, and they could get some sleep. Meanwhile, he reviewed the map, biting on the end of the pen as if it were his own personal chew toy.

1:05 PM

@Bombie

“Uh-huh,” she laughed and swatted the stick after stealing whatever may have been on the other end of it in exchange for her own plate, which she then saw turn into nothing but smoke. She saw him meander around the camp and clean, and decided to break out of her reverie and help him. “I don’t really mind coming back to the one we went to. Like, it felt unreal! I’ve never seen anything like it, anywhere.” It clearly was on her mind, enough to drown the fact that she did something daring the last time they were in one tent. She collected whatever trash into a bag, fastened her own belongings and set aside laundry, which reminded her, “We can stop by a laundromat near that supermarket, if you wanna throw our clothes in there. What do you think?” By then, she was in flimsy cotton shorts and his hoodie, ready to sleep within the confines of her sleeping bag. @Taking Back Luxday

High in the sky was a full moon spilling its light onto the forest. The evening was uneventful. They reviewed the map and talked about going back to the waterfall some more then called it a night. An occasional owl hooted in the distance putting Oliver to sleep. For the first time on their trip, Oliver felt as if he’d gotten a good night’s rest. Once or twice he woke up and reached over to feel if Dorothy was still there. She’d given him the impression he could wake up and she would be missing - another joke, of course, yet a serious possibility given their fun history. Each time he did this, he was relieved to know she was passed out next to him, curled up in her sleeping bag, tumbling the air on every exhale. Bet she didn’t know she snored. He’d add it to the things she did that made him like her, like drooling when she took a nap. He was up early packing their things into the truck, making it so Dorothy didn’t have to. Once she was buckled in the car, he drove them to Target first with plans on taking them to a laundromat after. The parking lot was only half full. He climbed out of the truck and went to her side, opening the door for her. “I don’t need much. I’m going to get us a case of water bottles, beef jerky, some more marshmallows since I ate most of them, and another roll of toothpaste since I’m almost out. Did you make a list of all the different flavored Pringles you want to buy?” @Bombie

There was a moment where she opened her mouth to protest, but she did not. That wouldn’t be fun, that would be lame. Instead, the woman found herself genuinely pondering the question. “Sour cream,” one of her favorites. “Spicy, annnd super salted. Those are the best ones and nothing your—“ she couldn’t even playfully insult him anymore. He rushed over and opened the door for her! “—I will buy a few things, and I think get some ice for the cooler.” “… probably a few fruits, and whatever else my hungry ass will find. They always say don’t grocery shop on an empty stomach, and here we are…” she scoffed. When she landed on her feet, she put the heel of her hand on his chest and patted him twice. “Your mamá raised you well.” She was very eager to use the shopping cart inside as a giant skateboard. She clung onto it and insisted on pushing that thing. When Oliver wanted to went on, he often found her lacking behind, on the brink of grabbing something they did not need nor could they even use in such a trip. He'd have to peel her off, and endure the parade of pouts which came therein after. She'd gotten a lot of things, a lot of ingredients that made more sense when put together. A little more expensive, imported goods too - but she didn't mind spending that extra penny for a better, shared experience. Oh, and of course, three types of Pringles cans. "I have a theory." She let that hang in the air, and only clarified when it seemed like she wasn't gonna. "Normal kids are the kids that never were forgotten by their moms in supermarkets." @Taking Back Luxday (edited)

The number of times Oliver grabbed onto the cart to keep it from ramming into someone reached double digits. “Dorothy!” Oliver stopped them in one of the lanes so she wouldn’t run over one of those so-called abandoned kids she was talking about. Oliver expected at any moment a parent would come barreling around the corner looking for their child, who was already headed for the Target exit. “If I ever have kids, I’m putting one of those leash harness things on them.” And sure enough, a frantic-looking mother with a red face ran in the opposite direction as the child. “Put that back,” Oliver told Dorothy, distracted by her shopping. They didn’t need an oversized stuffed animal in the shape of a snake. “No, we aren’t getting those either.” The power ranger figurine set, a clock as large as his head, and one of those gigantic bouncy balls stored in a cage were all denied. By the time they made it to the checkout, their cashier was in the process of speaking over the store’s PA, “If anyone has seen a child under the age of ten, wearing a blue shirt and sneakers, please contact the front desk - thank you...” Oliver mentioned what he saw, allowing the employees to locate the child and reunite them with their mother, who ran up to Oliver and hugged him. The affection made him uncomfortable. He gave the woman a few pats on the back before pulling away. “Don’t go running off, kid, or one of these days you’ll go missing.” The cashier looked at Oliver kinda funny. It was sort of a weird thing to say but whatever. Oliver shrugged and asked how much the total was. “$38.16, cash or credit?” The cashier started bagging their items while watching the angry mother drag her child out of Target. “Credit is fine,” and before Oliver used his card to pay, he turned to Dorothy, “Grab me a pack of the bubblegum next to you, the pink one.” @Bombie

When she strayed away, he reeled her back in. When she reached for something, he practically slapped her palm. When she wanted to stop, he put his hand on her collar and forced her ahead. There was no winning, but a whole-lot-of whining. "I don't blame you," she told him. "I already want to put you on a leash." She expected him to retaliate, to want to defend his honor--because they both knew she was projecting. That smirk on her face, though? It would've defused it all, he could see that she was bullshitting him even though she was peering at the ingredients of something on the many shelves. Dorothy's smile was persistent as she saw the whole ordeal unfold. Silent, standing at the side and observing it all happen. It was cute, so much sot hat his odd comment went over and past her head--but not the little stunt at the cashier, oh no-no-no. Her eyes widened at him with his lips bitten down, she'd slapped his wrist and offered her own card to the cashier. "I said I'd pay," she reminded him of one of her earlier conditions--lest she misremembered them. "But you can pay for the gum yourself, since you put away everything I picked up anyway." There it was, this childish face. Their antics and behavior had cashier assuming that they were a couple, and when he compared the duo to some old couple, Dorothy was somewhere between discomfort and embarrassment. Her bronze cheeks turned a little brighter--but she was still a good sport. "Oh, trust me. I want to divorce him after today." @Taking Back Luxday (edited)

“Oh you do not, snookums!” Oliver brought his large bicep around Dorothy’s shoulder and pulled her into his chest, making sure that by the time this was all said and done, she’d smell like his Old Spice deodorant and cool waves of cologne. “We’re going to be together until we’re old and wrinkly. I’ll start calling you my little raisin. Hell, I will start calling you that now! Isn’t my darling raisin the best? She pays for our groceries and lets me pay for the bubblegum.” The cashier didn’t know what to say. They charged Dorothy’s card, then rang Oliver up for the gum. “If she’s the raisin, what does that make you?” Oliver grinned at the cashier. “It makes me the red box that contains her.” He shoved the bubblegum into his pocket, grabbed their bags of groceries with one hand, and led Dorothy out of Target with his arm still wrapped around her shoulders. “You know if we play our cards right, we can fake people into giving us free shit. I can take you out to dinner, somewhere fancy - you’ll say it’s our anniversary, I’ll tell them the raisin story, and next thing you know, we’ve got a chocolate cake with a candle showing up.” He placed the groceries in the backseat of the truck and opened Dorothy’s door for her. Oliver got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “You wanted to stop by the laundromat mat next? We should have done that first, so the groceries stay cold. But what do I know, I’m just your box.” @Bombie

Goodness, it was hell suffering through those horrible names, but she did bring it upon herself. She laid her temple against his shoulder and rubbed his back affectionately, especially if you count the little slap. His behavior was stressful, but in the best way possible--since she was grinning with embarrassment the entire time. She considered his little scenario. "I don't know if it's worth the free cake hearing you give me those baby-names. I'd rather you say something a little less old-fashioned. Y'know?" As in, correct path, wrong pace. So she did like it to an extent. His comment about the laundromat, she just shrugged off. When they were at the car, she put everything that needed putting away into the big cooler, and had the box, which is what she had been calling him ever since having left Target, to break apart the ice and lay it over the perishables. She carried the whites and had him carry the bag of colored clothes. Oh, yes, she tidied them before they were even there. A travel-sized detergent and fabric softeners sat in his pockets. The laundromat was empty upon entry, a thick window tint. There were four rows of dryers and washing machines. Each laundry machine was next to its own dryer, and only two machines were out of order. Surprisingly. Everything was stuffed into two washing machines, and she used as much product as needed. The coins slotted in, and the machines working - it was now nothing but a waiting game. "How does it feel to have had the honor of stuffing my dirty underwear into a hole?" Her palm tapped the washing machine she sat on. Dorothy looked quite comfortable, with the corner of said machine just between her inner thighs. It being active probably made for a funny joke, or an accurate presumption. @Taking Back Luxday (edited)

The washer rocked with aggression and took his pal Dorothy for a ride. Oliver watched her body bounce with the first cycle, thrashing her dirty clothes around as if the machine were made in the 80’s. “What’s that one song? Girls just wanna have fun. Makes me wonder what you’d be like on a mechanical bull.” Oliver dug his phone out of his hoodie. He studied the screen for a moment, then pointed the camera at Dorothy. “Smile,” he said, and snapped a photo of her on the laundry machine. In all honesty, it was a great picture. “Mike wants to know if you’re still alive or if I’ve killed you with too many bad jokes. I’m telling him we fell madly in love, and now we’re getting married in Las Vegas.” Oliver kept typing. “Will…you…be..my…best…man. Sent.” He looked at Dorothy with a grin. “It’s a big day for us, Snookums. Oh right, you don’t like being called that. Pringles will have to do for now.” Oliver started to laugh, reading his phone and the new message from Mike. “He thinks I’m serious. Part of me wants to keep this going just to see if he’d meet us in Vegas.” His eyes glanced from Dorothy to the phone back and forth a few times as he typed, “It…was…love…at…first...sight,” his smile turned evil, “she…had…pringle…flakes…on…her…lips…and…I…couldn’t…resist.” He forced Dorothy to scoot over and sat next to her on the washing machine. This wasn’t Titanic. There was enough room on it for the both of them. He slung his arm around her shoulder, flipped the camera to face them, and took another photo. Oliver sent the picture to Mike. He eyed the wobbling washer under them and pulled Dorothy in with his arm, “I could do a better job,” he said in her ear, then let go of her and hopped off. @Bombie

She smiled the way a child would. Teeth blared, eyes turned into slit lines as her cheeks mushed up. "Did he ever say why he couldn't come?" Dorothy asked as the man texted, scoffing away at the joke at hand. "It's okay, Bubby. You can call me whatever you want in bed," she laughed. "We should include Vegas into the itinerary, see him come in a suit or something." Though any form of grin, or excitement - although it just seemed that way - disappeared the moment he brought it up. "You ass," she smacked him when he was closer. "I am not in a porno! It just feels nice. Sit, try it." She slipped off the corner and patted the empty space for him. "It just tickles your butt!" She lied a little, but a little lie is worth the embarrassment. It was too obvious, too futile, and going in that direction was a bigger embarrassment. So, she conceded to curiosity, and her face was no longer tense at attempting to hide emotions. "... How would you do it any better?" She spoke, and now that she'd slipped off the machine, she was wedged between it and his stature. She had to lift her chin up to peer at him. @Taking Back Luxday (edited)

Body reference https://pin.it/4U3JEgC

M. Ali

Luisa Preissler Illustration | Apocalypse character, Urban fantasy ...

Feb 5, 2021 - Fantasy illustration by freelance artist Luisa J. Preissler. Book cover illustration and card art for trading cards and games.

With her looking up at him like that, how could he refuse to play along? Oliver placed his hands on the washer on either side of her, which forced the machine to spin under control without knocking back and forth. With their faces inches apart, he looked down into her eyes. Oliver didn’t say a word. Instead, he stared at her as if she meant something to him. Sort of when a boyfriend looks at his jealous girlfriend to make her realize she means more to him than other women. Wife material. The look you shouldn’t do in public because it makes you want to leave the restaurant early or find an empty backroom. His eyes went to her mouth and studied the curve of her bottom lip, going further to the outfit she wore. By the time his gaze returned to meet hers, there was something about him that said taking off her clothes would be easy, and by the time they were done, she’d need to start another load of dirty laundry. He kept his hands on the machine. It rumbled under his palms wanting to be released. Oliver moved to the side of Dorothy’s face with his dark stubble grazing her soft cheek. The scent of his cologne mixed with her subtle soap and filled the air between them. Placing his mouth next to her ear, his voice was the kind a girl wanted to hear on the other end of a phone call late at night in a long-distance relationship when the goal was to get off.

2:17 PM

“First, I’d make you take your shirt off. Then your bra, socks, and jeans. You’d strip slowly or I’d make you do it all over again. The only thing you’d be left wearing are those light blue panties, the ones you thought I didn’t notice when you got out of my truck, but it’s all I’ve been able to think about since I saw them. Then I’d make you straddle me so my hand could find its way between your legs, so I could play with the fabric there keeping me from what I wanted - I’d twist my fingers under them and slide your clit around with my thumb. Doing long circles until you couldn’t take it anymore. I’d stroke you terribly slow, going until I saw your cheeks burn. My mouth would get to know your nipples, taking them between my teeth and tongue to keep you in place. Until you were biting your lip and wanted me inside of you. I’d tease you with the end of my finger, but I wouldn’t give you what you wanted…the look on your face means too much to me. And the moment you climax, I’d kiss you just to taste your moans.” The washing machine jerked around, free from Oliver’s grasp as he pulled away. It rocked against Dorothy’s lower back - and then, as if he had perfect timing, the washer suddenly stopped. @Bombie

It was gradual. He could see those eyes lose any meaning, he could see her mind lose any ability of processing thought. One minute her head was heavy, and the other, all the weight had been removed by his words. They hung there, in her mind, and she wanted to process one thing he'd do, but then Oliver would mention how she'd straddle his hand. An almost nervous chuckle escaped her lips, and they were stuck partially open, glistening. Fuck whoever was about to see this, because Dorothy did not care, or she did not even consider it. Her hands pinched the edge of her tank top and lifted up, revealing her entire, bare torso. Her breasts sat there, waiting for the mouth that knew how to get to her nipples. For his tongue and teeth to keep her in place, because she felt antsy and restless even after the machine had stopped. With an excited breathing, her voice came out as an airy gust of air. "Do it," she told him. As in, do it all. Everything you have just said. Fuck me already, make me feel all of those thing, Oliver. @Taking Back Luxday

The fabric of her shirt twisted in his fingers. Thanks to Oliver, as soon as her clothes came off, they suddenly went right back on. He shuffled her arms into the tiny sleeve holes, popped her head through the opening, and pulled it down until her shirt fit snuggly around those perfect breasts. Once again, he leaned towards Dorothy, placing both hands on either side of her, and pinned her against the washing machine where he could look at her as if she belonged to no one else but him. “Do you really think I’d fuck you in a laundromat where anyone could see you? The girls I date aren’t meant to be seen by anyone else, not when we’re in the sheets, and not when I’m fucking you to the point the only word you remember is my name.” He slid his hands off the washer and placed them on Dorothy’s hips, guiding her to the side and out of the way. Being the gentleman he was, Oliver opened the washer and put her wet clothes into the dryer, then started a cycle. “It’s your turn, Pringles. Tell me one of your secret fantasies. If you could have sex anywhere in the world, besides this laundromat, where would it be and how would you want it done?” There were two plastic chairs in the corner available for people to use while waiting on their loads to finish. He grabbed them and positioned both next to their dryer. Oliver sat in one and leaned back, gazing up at Dorothy until she either sat beside him or decided to look down at him for not going through with her request to be fucked like a princess bent over backward on one of the washers. @Bombie

Hoool-eeee shit. Oliver was a lot to unpack, and every part unveiled was bad. Not bad as in, horrible--but bad as in the sense of being down bad. Something about his 'sudden switch,' his flip to this... possessive approach, had her practically drooling. She stood there, awkwardly, hands pulling the edges of her shirt down as her mind tried to catch up with the swirl of events. Was it appropriate to beg him? "It's my turn? It's my turn." Her turn, what was she going to say? She can't even remember her favorite-fucking-color at this point. "The tent," she chose something more recent, and more applicable. "Something about how risky and close it was for us to do it in the tent. I--I was wet, and it was so hard not to reach down while you were next to me and fix it so I could sleep. I've not... you know," touched myself, "ever since we've been stuck together." It's like, so embarrassing to admit that she accounted for everything except for the fact that she may lack the privacy for most things that required it. Pringles shot a fleeting glance over towards the washing machine, and then him. Two seats, he brought--but funny how she only saw his lap.

“Then I suggest the next time we’re in a tent, you get your priorities straight instead of playing a game where you disappear - screaming in the forest like you’re being murdered. Why end up like the idiot who cried wolf when you could have my hands between your legs?” And then he stared at Dorothy for a long time. It was one of those moments where they were both most likely thinking of all the deplorable things that could happen in that tent. Was it a challenge on her end? If it was, Oliver could see the answer on Dorothy’s face - she wouldn’t win, and just like all the girls he enjoyed being with, that was the point. She didn’t strike him as the submissive type, but Dorothy showed her hand, and the cards said otherwise. Knowing these undertones caught his attention in the right way. Over the next hour, while they waited for their clothes to dry, Oliver opened up to Dorothy about his dating history and the two people who ranked top dipshit on his list of instant regret and immediate need to dispose and forget. He started off by telling her about the time he went on a date with a girl, just once, and after he said he wasn’t interested, for an entire year, she sent him the worst poetry he’d ever read. She’d mail him letters at his house, message his friends on social media, leave notes in his bag, even gave him a stuffed animal that was meant for children. And when he cut off all contact with her, she started to stalk him - the girl made a complete fool out of herself, which resulted in her leaving the school out of embarrassment. She ended up moving out of state since everyone in town knew she was fucking weird, toxic, and creepy for not letting go of Oliver. Then he told her about poptart number two, gone with the wind, who he dated a while back. It was nothing serious, but it was the worst sex he’d ever had. And again, just like the other girl, became obsessed with him after they had sex only once. Constantly telling people they were together when they weren’t.

11:57 AM

Bitching out all of his female friends because she was jealous and insane. Being a cunt that couldn’t get past the fact he didn’t want a commitment with her, and lost her shit when she found out he was seeing other women at the same time they were dating. It wasn’t any of her fucking business, and when she couldn’t compare to the younger and hotter girls he was seeing, she started making dumbass voodoo dolls of him that she posted on Instagram, as if her bullshit love spells would somehow change his mind into wanting her. No amount of witchcraft can fix someone’s inability to fuck right. She, too, left the school and ended up moving back with her parents, alone, jobless, with no friends. He looked at Dorothy evenly. “Considering you’re Mike’s friend, and we’re on this trip together for a few more weeks, I don’t want to screw anything up between us. I like you, Dorothy, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you under me - but not if you’re going to turn into a psychopath. I’d rather give you all the time you need in that tent to do your dirty work than deal with another instance of fuckery.” The dryer suddenly buzzed. Their clothes were done. @Bombie

Even though she wasn't so, she felt naked under his piercing gaze. He saw through her and every little part of her mind. He wasn't wrong about it, and if this was all out loud, he could see how pissed she'd be that he was remotely right. Sure, she was submissive-- but come on. Like, Oliver has been perfect in every regard. The perfect man. He cooked, he drove, humor, manners. She was already melted to goo before he even melted her with his scorn. Dorothy listened to his stories, frowning at the first story--and then even more at the second. His answer went amiss, as her suspicion came to the table and it wasn't held back. "So, hold on--before you insult me by asking me if I am crazy, how do I know you're actually the victim and not the perpetrator of your last two relationships?" It was half-a-joke. "Rather than insult me and call me crazy, or bring that up." She huffed, the way he brought it up rubbed her off wrong, and instead of looking at him while waiting for the answer, she just began taking clothes out of the dryer, stacking into the basket they brought themselves. @Taking Back Luxday (edited)

He was at her ear, standing behind her back as she folded those warm clean clothes. “Because I’m never the one to take my shirt off first, as you demonstrated gracefully in this laundromat.” He reached around her and held up a pair of her panties, letting them hang on the edge of his index finger right in front of her face. “You take your clothes off to get your way, instead of considering what happens after. You, just like them, only care about your desires in the moment instead of what will happen in the future.” Oliver placed her delicate underwear back into her mound of clothes. He separated his from hers and folded a majority of his shirts and boxers into a neat pile, then he shoved them into the basket they’d brought with them. “Let’s hit the road before the sun goes down, Pringles…is there anywhere you want to stop before we set up camp? We’re about three hours away from the next stop, and I’m hungry. Ready for you to make the world’s best dinner - and it better not be a bag of salted chips.” The ingredients they’d bought from Target were still in the truck waiting, and he hoped they didn’t spoil in the heat. He’d go to the laundromat exit and wait for Dorothy to finish before holding the door open for her so they could get in the truck and leave. @Bombie

Frustrated, annoyed, and rightfully pissed off--she snatched that underwear that he hovered over her. She was so embarrassed, and honestly, it took a certain amount of willpower not to punch him right then and there. His words rubbed her off the wrong way, and for the rest of the day, she was annoyed. If it wasn't clear from her face, then maybe it was in the stink-eyes and the foreign insults she threw his way, spewing nonsense. Oh, a third indicator was the No, I'm not hungry. in which just after, she was wishing he ate poison--yet in Greek. Sure, she did take her shirt off first, and do all of that first--but he didn't have to embarrass her. Now, instead of her shirt, she wanted to pop his head off. There was no smile for a door held open nor a response to his comments, giving him that cold shoulder for most of the trip. Hell, she couldn't even sleep, her eyes stared out the right. Navigation was up to him. Perhaps an hour, two? into the drive, she'd looked at him. "Why did you have to embarrass me? Make it seem like I was a whore? Do I look like a whore to you, you malaka?" There it was, that... bottled up hatred. She wouldn't let it pass. "You were nice all along, and then you do that." @Taking Back Luxday (edited)

The truck came to a grinding halt as Oliver pulled off the side of the road and stopped the car. The engine shut off. He looked at Dorothy with a sunset dying behind him, highlighting his hair all chaotic from the window being down and the wind pushing it in random directions. Those licks of lemony yellow light brought out his sharp features, like his clenched jaw. He was equally pissed, only he didn’t insult her with foreign slang. Dust continued to spin around the outside of the truck from the abrupt parking. “You have the right to react to any situation the way you see fit. Choosing to be embarrassed and ungrateful that I kept your body from prying eyes is a choice I cannot control. Or did you not see the manager of the laundromat peering through the tinted windows in the back? You wanted to be fucked on a washing machine while some fucking pervert was watching? I treat you as a friend who I don’t want to see on some fucked porn site. Even if he wasn’t there, you should have more self-respect than to give yourself away to someone you barely know inside of a run-down business where anyone could walk in. If we were married, maybe it would be fun. But we’re not. I opened up to you about my past toxic relationships dealing with cunts who aren’t worth two cents, and when you perceived my actions to keep you clothed as rejection, you used silence as a weapon and then lashed out with your emotions as punishment.” The sun slipped behind some hills and turned the sky a deep purple. Oliver’s gaze did not soften. “The mirror you’re looking into turned you into a whore - your reflection is a casualty of the choices you made for yourself. Including that label. Never once did I consider you a worthless slut, Dorothy. You aren’t some trash throwaway like a majority of the women out there.” His eyes did not hold back from looking at her as if debating if he was wrong, just to snap back to her, in his opinion, ungrateful gaze. “I am sorry you feel I embarrassed you. Do you want me to take us to a motel so we can sleep in separate rooms tonight? I can drive us back home in the morning if that would make you feel better.” @Bombie

His words were a constant dichotomy, from saying the right thing to (at least, that's how she perceived it as) being called a whore. There was anger in her, even when there was a silver-lining of reason in his words. She grit her teeth, and then she gnawed on the inside of her cheek. "Respect me by not calling me a whore, or a slut, or whatever it is you have in your mind. I'll pretend to forget you ever called me those things," she peered outside before back at his face. God, even in his anger was he handsome. It was a constant curse having to tolerate her mind stray so far from her anger--somehow the fact that it kept distracting her pissed her off, hah. "I appreciate you doing what you did in there," the laundromat. "I don't appreciate you comparing me or calling me a whore. God, you are such a fucking asshole. You were nice and kind, and now you're..." She just gestured him with her two hands, trying to articulate the right word frustratingly. "Just stop saying those words, stop... using them with your fancy strung-on sentences. Don't talk about your exes like I was am one of them. But yes, tonight we're sleeping in a motel--I just don't even want to cook tonight. We can do that tomorrow." God, the vein on her temple was going to burst. @Taking Back Luxday (edited)

“Sort of hypocritical, don’t you think? Acting as if you didn’t say some random word in another language to insult me, real nice, Dorothy.” It was pointless. He was done arguing with her. Bent out of shape over not getting laid - or the fact she painted herself as a whore and then blamed it on him. He turned the engine on, made a U-turn, and headed back into town. The drive was slow and Oliver went the speed limit. The entire way there, he thought about the women he left behind and how he would never look back or be dragged into another relationship based on expired sugar. There was more to a partnership than meaningless sex, shitty one-night stands in a shower that was instantly forgotten because there were no real emotions attached to it. Women who wanted to screw married men, wishing they could take their wife’s spot so that they didn’t have to work anymore. Homewreckers. Whores. Burnt leftovers that needed to be thrown in the trash. Oliver knew all sorts of dried-up useless cunts, and he didn’t want Dorothy to be another raisin trapped in one of those red boxes. So when he pulled into the motel, he told Dorothy to stay in the car. He went inside like the gentleman he was and paid for two rooms, then returned to the truck and handed her the keys to a queen-sized bed located somewhere on the second floor. “Let me carry your things up for you and make sure your room is alright, will you at least let me do that?” The light from the truck was on and casting harsh shadows on everything from his door being open and leaning inside. Oliver stared at her, standing there fitted into that oversized hoodie with his cologne somewhere in the air, hair still tossed about from the wind without a trace of anger on his features. @Bombie

She was practically silenced for the rest of the drive. For once, she wasn't asleep, and there was no sound of her constantly munching on something not because of hunger, but out of boredom. Whenever she carried her phone, she scrolled her thumb over it only a few times before setting it down. No matter how long it took, however long the drive was, there was no looking at his eyes. It was frustrating, and maybe it was down to the language barrier— but it frustrated her so much that he couldn't see her point. That she couldn't explain her words to him, and the way he shut down, the way he reacted... it just, scared her. Maybe for now, maybe for much longer, but that is why she was nothing but a deflective shell right now. He did not realize the weight of his own words when it came to poor, sensitive Dorothy. There were so many moments where she wanted to try one final time to like, say something, and be surprised by a, I don't know, oh, so that was what was lost in translation! So it would become a, yeah. I can see why you hated me when I said that. No, I don't think you're a whore. Ugh. When they stepped out of the car, they faced one another. He was taller, and she was shorter. His hair was messy, he smelled nice, and there was something about his eyes. For once, she did not want to pull on his hoodie's strings. For once, she refused his help. "No, I'm good. I'd rather not let a random man help me, right? That'd make me a whore." She carried the small suitcase that she needed between each other stop, hygienics and simple change of clothes. The rest of her belongings could stay in the trunk. @Taking Back Luxday (edited)

“Your definition of a whore is different than mine, Pringles. Accepting help from someone you’ve known for a few days to make sure your room upstairs in a random hotel is safe, or so you don’t hurt yourself carrying all that baggage seems normal - opposed to offering your body to someone you barely know so you can get fucked in a laundromat…” He grabbed his one bag and slammed the truck door closed. Once Dorothy was out of the way with her belongings he locked the car and headed to his room, which was only a few doors down from hers. There was an ice machine along the way, making sure to fill up a bucket they’d given him at the front desk so he could have something cold to drink later on. The key jingled and when he opened the door to his room the smell of cleaning products hit his nose first. It wasn’t bad, just the traditional mixture of windex and clorox wipes circulating over the sound of a quiet air conditioner. Oliver went to the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. It had been a long day and an even longer drive. The bed sort of bounced as he landed on the flat floral comforter, tucked in all nice and neat, as he sunk his back into the mattress. The TV remote was on the side table. He flipped through some channels but nothing caught his interest, so he left a documentary about the Bermuda Triangle on in the background. Oliver kept his phone in his hand while drifting to sleep. If Dorothy messaged him the idea was he’d feel the buzz in his palm and wake up, if not he’d get some rest, and in the morning they’d either continue on their trip or he’d head back home and forget any of this ever happened. @Bombie (edited)

The night was like any other, except she was tossing-and-turning at Oliver's words. Dorothy hated that he was partially right, but some instinct inside of her was telling her to be stubborn and find the little strand that she was right about, and it was infuriating. She wanted to go there, wake him up, and... "UGH." She let out a groan of frustration, being unable to claw his skin in. Or hit him, or smack him, or... worse. Not that she really would, of course, but it was a fantasy she loved reliving, and the more she realized she'd never be able to hurt him for his words, the more she sunk into this frustration. Sleep came around two in the morning, especially after a lot of frustrated web-surfing, late-night-video-watching, and... well, porn. It was her only window since-so-long and she did want that basic need, the relieving of stress and frustration--and she was right. She passed out embarrassingly fast, and without the chance to close the web page on her phone, or plug it into the charger. So when she did wake up, her phone was dead. Unless Oliver woke her up, she would sleep in until early afternoon and get into the car half-an-hour after. @Taking Back Luxday (edited)

“Pringles!” Oliver pounded on the hotel door to Dorothy’s room a few times. It was eleven o’clock and they were supposed to be out of there by ten. He’d gone down to the front desk and asked for a late checkout because Dorothy was playing the “I’m not going to answer my phone” game. To him, she was being an obnoxious brat and he was ready to tie her up, toss her in the back of his truck, and drive the entire way home with her blowing in the wind - but after a few more pounds on the door, he started to wonder if something had happened. He went back down to the front desk and explained that his friend was staying in that room, which he paid for, and she wasn’t answering her phone. The person working that day attempted to call Dorothy’s room, but no one picked up. Now he was actually starting to worry. Did she take off in the middle of the night? The hotel manager agreed to open the door for him, especially since the room was booked for another guest and they needed house cleaning to take care of things before they arrived. “Do you mind if I go in first? There’s a chance she’s just…ignoring me.” It was one of those moments where the hotel manager rose a brow and reluctantly handed him the keys, but he’d paid for the room so there wasn’t much of an argument there. Oliver slipped the key into the hole and opened the door just to see her sleeping on the bed! He turned to the manager, handed them the keys, said thank you, explained she was fine and would get them out of there in the next fifteen minutes. So when the door closed and the room was no longer filled with sunlight from outside, he kicked off his shoes and walked to the end of her bed. He grabbed the ugly floral hotel comforter all bunched up around her body and ripped the covers off of her in one pull. Oliver climbed onto the bed, his socks pressing into the wrinkled sheets, and towered over her just to do a jump and land on her exposed body so his knees were on either side of her, forcing her wrists to the sides of her head by pinning them down. “You’re late - an hour late to be exact, and they’re going to charge me because YOU decided to sleep in. You better have a damn good reason why you decided to turn your phone off and ignore my calls. You didn’t even pick up when the hotel called you. Are you really that heavy of a sleeper, Pringles? Or were you pretending to be asleep this entire time just to get me pissed?” And yes, it was a crime the way his black hair dangled over his unshaven face, or the way he smelled like a clean shower with hints of old spice from his deodorant, not to mention the hoodie strings that lightly traced her chest and the pajamas she wore…all inspiring a fun time that could have been had if they both weren’t so stubborn. @Bombie

In her dream, it had been a gentle rumble on a grassy, green plain. Then each time her mattress depressed with his weight, it was her descending down a stairway. When her hands were captured, she felt... scared. Her eyes peeled open only to see a blurry face, and her emotions nor thoughts processed whatever it was that pinned her down. "What?" The only thing she could spill out, her eyes still adjusting. She tried to rub her eyes, and realized she couldn't. Her second attempt prompted her to look to at her hand, and then it all came at the same. Motel. Road-trip. Sleeping. Oliver. There was no blanket, she was wearing naught but some boyshorts and a comfortable-yet-skimpy tanktop that wasn't meant for anyone but own comfort and privacy. The rush of fear sourged through her, she began writhing, kicking when she could--thrusting her hips to topple the weight that weighed her down but... nothing! All that fear, all that excitement of actions translated into one, singular word: "OLIVER!" She called out. Once, twice, thrice... A plea after another for help by the only man she knew was near, and would help! Then she realized this blurb of a face called her Pringles. She realized he'd said she was late, and that... oh. "Oliver?" she asked, much calmer. Realization washing over her biggest fears, peeling one layer and keeping the next one. Hopefully, those questions she had would dispell it. "What are you doing? Why are— What's going on? You're hurting me a little." @Taking Back Luxday

(edited)

“God, you really are a heavy sleeper!” He climbed away from her with his fingers slipping off her wrists the way a rope releases from a boat once it drifts out to sea. Oliver went to the bathroom and turned the shower on so whenever Dorothy climbed out of bed it’d be hot and ready for her. “They’re going to charge me extra because we were supposed to be out of here an hour ago.” Oliver went searching for Dorothy’s phone, and when he found it hidden under the covers of the bed he tapped a few buttons just to find out it was dead. “Unreal…” There was no point making her uncomfortable by him being there - not after their fight the day before. They needed to get on the road as soon as possible, that’s all that mattered. “Meet me in the truck. You have ten minutes, Pringles. The cleaning crew is coming soon and my guess is they won’t be all warm and fuzzy to see you sleeping in.” He left her room and headed for the parking lot, packing his belongings into the truck, and made space for Dorothy’s stuff somewhere in the back seat. The truck’s key went into the ignition and the engine rumbled to life. It was a touch frosty where they were, even for it being past 10am with the sun in the distance, there was still a trace amount of fog and crisp morning dew on the grass. His breath could be seen with each exhale. Oliver flipped through some radio stations until settling on the news. Nothing interesting, just some banter to keep him company until Dorothy joined him. @Bombie

Okay... she breathed out as an answer, but never realized it had been in her mind. In reality, her eyes were just stuck on his--watching as the man shot left, and then right--only to hear the sound of running water behind him. She'd almost left the bed, before realizing she wasn't entirely decent--so, she took the blanket with her until she could drop it by the bathroom door and slip inside. Normally, she'd wait for hot water and take time conditioning her hair, then come the shampoo, and the lofa-scrubbin'... but, not today. Not now. Only four minutes after, she was out--haphazardly dressed--and on her way back to the car with her belongings. She'd left just as the cleaning lady parked outside of her room with her cart. It was still tempting to ask for a small, baby-shampoo that they normally offered guests. By the time she was in the car, she was already trying to double check everything. Did I bring my charger? Where the hell is my phone--oh. Eventually, though, she finally looked at Oliver, and then the road. "I'm sorry," she said--but whether it was to yesterday's argument, or today's mistake, was unclear. "Where to, today?" She questioned, using a hair brush to fix her hair using the mirror in the back of the sunvisor. @Taking Back Luxday

The engine had been on long enough that when he pressed the heater button hot air started blowing out of the vents, making his black hair shift in front of his face. Oliver placed his hands next to the steering wheel to get them warm, not saying a word on her apology, and opened the glove box. He pulled out their map and gave it a good slap so the creased lines disappeared. His fingers traveled around their route, but his eyes wandered to their original starting point. He debated taking them both home, but when he glanced at Dorothy and her wet hair, cheeks flustered from being rushed, and the reminder she’d said sorry for either their fight or being late, he decided to give up the idea of abandoning their road trip. Damn her good looks. “Here,” he said, pointing to a dot on the map that read ‘campsite’. “There’s a lookout I want to see that’s not far from where we’ll set up our tents. It’s about a six to seven hour drive if you’re alright with that - you can pick our next destination tomorrow…” He handed the map to Dorothy, put the truck into drive, and headed out from the motel. The windshield of their car was foggy so he used the wipers to make it easier to see their surroundings. Everything was covered in a touch of white frost and glowed from the orange morning light. “I’m going to stop at a store just up the road and grab a coffee. They have donuts and other breakfast items if you’re hungry. Otherwise, if you look at the map, there’s lots of places to get something to eat. Just let me know what you’re hungry for and I’ll pull over wherever you want.” He turned on the radio to a station playing 80’s music. “Keep a lookout for signs, you’re in charge of giving me directions, Pringles.” And just like that, Oliver and Dorothy were back on their road trip…little did they know very soon something life-changing was about to happen to them, something that would unite them in a world of fantasy, mystery, and the unknown… @Bombie

"Sir, yes sir." She said, peering into the map with big, curious eyes. She had no phone to distract herself with, so, this is the next thing before reading the ingredients of a shampoo bottle. When she finally laid eyes on him, she watched his hair, and how it blew away. How his nose sat perfectly on that face, and she hated how symmetrical he was. It was hard to stay angry at you, malaka. 'Bastard,' in this case. She loved the music, she sang to some, danced to what she did not know the lyric to. The 'vibe' was, to her, perfect despite the messy start to their day. Since it was warm and cozy in the car--everything outside felt unsafe in comparison. The spotted, patchy snow that was going to start melting under the noon sun, she determined. "You know, I was like, winter already? to myself earlier, but then realized we've practically gone North the however many days. It's crazy how fast we switch up from one weather and then another." "Can barely see shit," she hunched forward, staring up at the clouds--or the increasingly dense fog. She couldn't tell the difference. (edited)

Oliver had a hard time making out what was in front of him so he slowed his speed to avoid rear-ending someone by accident. But there was no one out here. It was just them. He rolled down his window because he liked the way the cold felt against his skin mixed with the heat of the car, especially when they weren’t moving fast. “I don’t think we missed an exit…” he said without taking his eyes off the road. Just then, a glimmer sped across the sky making the mist light up as if a shooting star had passed right above their heads. “What the hell was that?” He slammed on his breaks. They couldn’t see anything beyond a small stretch of asphalt, and when the flash of light appeared again, Oliver pulled over to the side of the road and got out of his truck to get a better look at the sky. “Dorothy, get out here…” was all Oliver said, and then he said it again but with more urgency. “Get out here now, you need to see this.” It was some kind of meteor shower. There were hundreds if not thousands of bright lights dashing across the sky with glittering tails of fire trailing behind them. @Bombie

Her neck figuratively broke as those streaks shot above the fog-filtered sky. She wasn't really sure what to say. The way they it had all lighted up the fog, how everything brightened in this odd, purple-red hue... what the fuck is that? She rushed out, map held by its notched corner, keeping it from blowing away with the vague wind. It flapped against her leg, and the floor, as her jaw dropped whilst her eyes gazed on the amazing sight. Her heart was beating a thousand times a second, once for every little streak across their sky. "I... I don't know," was her only response. Though just as she was about to speak once more, something happened. There was no speaking its animosity, its size, or how blindingly-bright it had been. She could have sworn she felt its warmth as it shadowed them just beyond this thick layer of fog, only to disappear North-East. Silence, and then... The earth shook! It was a shallow rumble that had her gripping onto Oliver's shirt, accompanied with a short yelp. The trees all groaned and creaked. The blast of air came shortly after, blowing everything away in a sweeping whirl strong enough that the sky that was once mostly diluted, was clearer. She was on the floor, up and against his person. He was safety. "Was that a... plane crash?!" She said, not realizing how her arm had scraped the asphalt that they were on right now, and how some trickles of blood came down to her elbow. Her gaze befell him, full of concern and shock but adrenaline did not have her thinking about his wellbeing, nor her own, let alone the car and how one of the side-view mirrors detached and dangled but the impact itself. "We should go, right? That was close--that was like," a few miles away. "Around the corner!" @Taking Back Luxday

“Fuck yes we should go!” There wasn’t even a debate. Whatever that thing was had soared so close to them Oliver felt its heat blast against his entire body, like opening the front door on a hot summer day after being inside with the AC on all afternoon. The sudden impact of the supposed meteor had caused them to fall on the ground, and instinctively he’d managed to grab onto Dorothy to keep her from hitting her head on the concrete as they both fell. Once it was over he pulled her up so they were standing next to each other, noticing her bloody elbow, meanwhile he came out of it with only a few scratches on his forearm. Naturally, he looked around to see if anyone else was on the road. Hair a mess and eyes looking kind of wild. Had anyone witnessed this besides them? Surely they weren’t alone. There were still thousands of these lights in the sky with some of them blazing high up - but the one that nearly crashed into them had to have made the residents nearby concerned, right? Someone had to have felt that! They were in the middle of nowhere. Besides his dangling mirror, the truck seemed fine. It was covered in a thin layer of dust but beyond that, it was good to go for an off-roading adventure. “Get in!” He managed to wrangle Dorothy into the truck, grabbing onto her seatbelt and fastening it for her as if she couldn’t do it herself, but that was only because he wanted to get a move on. His truck bounced around the bumpy terrain, taking a path that was on the map but clearly only meant for experienced drivers. It would get them close enough, at least from what he could tell by the destruction left in the meteor’s wake. As they drove through the forest he’d comment on the trees that were knocked down. “Look at that! It took out all of those! We’re getting close. I think I can see smoke in the distance. Hold on! I’m taking us off this path to get a little closer.” But when the trees became too dense he stopped the truck and got out, demanding Dorothy to follow him into the forest to find whatever the hell was out there with him. @Bombie

Dorothy's panicked self had her hand bracing against the door, the other the middle console - pushing herself as far back as the man buckled her up.@ It didn't even hurt when he manhandled her, pushing her into the car like she was nothing but a sack of potatoes. Her tongue was in her throat. Whenever she had something to say, she couldn't say it. Full on defensive mode, eyes wide as a bug, and hands tensed around handlebars and the shoulder of his seat. It was a bumpy ride, and the sky looked odd, weird and strange. Nothing abnormal, but the trails those fiery streaks that had struck through the clouds were... engrained into her mind. @Taking Back Luxday

Suddenly the truck came to a full stop and dirt roared around the wheels. Oliver got out of the car with dust twisting in the air. If Dorothy didn’t want to follow him he wouldn’t blame her, because frankly, what was in front of them made Oliver want to stay in the car, too. It was a glowing boulder, about the size of a sedan, pulsing light within the forest. Every color imaginable glowed off the surface. Dozens of trees had been knocked down upon its arrival, and the ground around the meteor was broken and destroyed from the impact, having made its own permanent crater. The soles of Oliver’s shoes crunched dead leaves and twigs as he made his way forward, snapping them under his weight. He was about the distance of a baseball field from this thing, and every step he took it was like turning up the volume on the sun. Getting hotter, and heavier, with the air in his lungs vibrating from unseen energy. When he was no more than ten feet away, he outstretched his hand as if he didn’t have a choice, like this rock was calling to him, entranced, and soon the ends of his fingertips were touching the meteor. If Dorothy was by his side doing the same thing he wouldn’t know. His eyes filled with a blinding light and before he knew it he was blinking rapidly, laying on his back several feet away from the meteor, and staring up at the sky as if it had propelled him into the air.

4:37 PM

@Bombie

What would you do, when you face greatness? It's a question from something Dorothy had read about, or listened to a podcast about at some point. She couldn't quite remember, though. It was a man talking about people facing something significant to them. Be it someone that's Hindu going back time to meet Gandhi, or seeing Shiva's greatness before them. Perhaps a Justin Bieber fan, who had been calling herself a 'belieber' her entire life, get to see someone in person. Whatever it is they revered— godly or otherwise— made them feel the something. It would always send a certain emotion, so strong and overwhelming, that words would not describe. So, what would you do, when you're facing greatness? Dorothy's world became muted. The colors faded away, and her ears drowned below the water, as she looked at this... ancient thing. She felt greedy, perhaps even possessive. It wasn't something she knew how to elaborate or explain, but that's the feeling that coursed through her veins, prompting her to keep this giant thing to herself, to keep this secret in her heart, lock the key, and destroy it. But also, at the same time, she feared it. She feared what would happen if she touched it, and what it would mean. Was it radioactive? Would it burn— "Oliver!" She shouted, and reached to hold his hand to peel it before it touched the stone, before it made contact, before he got harmed but... She had touched it, too, just as he did. That's when everything went blindingly white. It wasn't clear how long it had been since that happened, but it was long enough for her to dream that it hadn't. That they were still on this road trip, and she'd been sleeping on the car seat whilst Oliver drove. Within that dream, what had happened, so reality, was a dream. An inception she had only realized when she gasped awake by his side, her heart beating twice as fast as it should be. "Oliver?" The woman spoke, "I can't breath, I can't breath, I can't breath!" She repeated in between quick gasps of air, crawling over to him only to grasp and twist his shirt. She was hyperventilating. @Taking Back Luxday (edited)