"Okay," Dee said in that tone that told Madds he was about to say something he wasn't sure how she'd respond, "but like, isn't there that whole 'make lemonade out of lemons' idea?"
She rolled her eyes. "Sometimes, yes, when life gives you lemons, you can make lemonade. But sometimes, when life gives you lemons, you break out in hives and projectile vomit all over the galaxy because you're allergic."
"You're allergic to lemons?"
"Wouldn't know, never had one. But knowing my current luck, I probably would be."
Tumble beat at the chosen rune frantically once-- twice-- and, thankfully, it chipped.
The runes darkened. The agonized cacophony quieted.
They stayed there, trembling, staring down at the dull, lifeless runes that had caused some poor soul so much pain. The hut in the corner was silent, and they hoped that the sudden shock didn't kill the victim inside.
Brilliant blue light poured from behind them to illuminate rows of corpses to the looming skeleton of a dragon farther back. The runes carved in all of them glowed faintly-- a freshly ended curse still recognizing its target. They turned and found the source: the victim standing in the doorway, magical energy around them so potent that it was visible, distorting almost everything in the immediate area in a blue, icy shimmer. Frost crept from under their feet, and giant, crystalline wings seemed to send snowflakes into the air.
Tumble slid the pieces of what must have happened together and, as soon as they did, they turned and ran.
Friday was furious. Livid. Absolutely incensed at the audacity.
Jasper seemed to shrink a little, shy smile on that face that somehow managed to look more innocent than he’d ever been since infanthood, if that. Which was worse. Because she knew he was lying to her.
“No, you don’t. I’ve seen you naked, and you look a lot more comfortable like that than you do right now.” Which was insulting, frankly, because he was single handedly giving her what she was uncomfortably labeling a fetish while visibly uncomfortable. Her damn demisexual horniness was getting to be less of a fun novelty and more of a nuisance.
He shrugged. Pulled at the cuffs of the tux. “It’s just a figure of speech.”
“I know.” She rolled her eyes. “All right, take it off and put it back. You’re not wearing that.”
He gave her a quizzical look, but slipped back into the changing room and was out in a few minutes, still looking shyer than he should with his legs swishing through the God only knew how many layers of lacy petticoat that peeked out from a dress that looked like it would have felt equally at home on the body of a homecoming queen.
“So,” he said slowly as he followed her out, “I’m assuming you don’t want me at that gala with you after all?”
“I want you at the gala.”
“I don’t have anything to wear to a gala. That’s kinda what we were supposed to be fixing in there.”
“We’re still going to fix it. But I refuse to make you wear something you look so uncomfortable in.”
