"If you get killed I'm telling.""Nothing can defeat the penis!""I think I'm kinda gay.""She irons her jeans! She's evil!""That isn't drool, is it?"
"If you get killed I'm telling."
"It wouldn't be my first brush with death," Mike shrugged nonchalantly, hanging his camera around his neck to begin the ascent up the metal-link fence. It was quite high but on the other side was an old abandoned house, filled with tons of decaying wood, debris, and most importantly, a dying garden. It was the kind of thing Quinn would love to photograph, and if Mike got her access to it, it would make her love him even more. So he climbed and climbed, thankful that he's chosen an agile body for this realm. When he finally got to the top, he leaped down, landing gently on the balls of his feet. "Easy," Mike laughed, looking for the latch to let her in. "Now get in here. Your garden awaits."
"Nothing can defeat the penis!"
The king cringed at his wife's rude language, holding up a hand to calm her. "Please excuse my queen," King Mike II tried. "She has an unfortunate compulsion to yell out sentences. If we may?" He guided her out of the room, turning agitated but amused the second the door closed behind them. "Can you please find a more diplomatic way to call out misogyny in the kingdom? Because if you continue to speak that way, that's how they're going to remember you. They'll call you the Penis Queen, and that'll be very confusing for the history books."
"I think I'm kinda gay."
"Not exactly the romantic proclamation I was expecting," Rachel teased, reaching a hand out to touch Quinn's. "But you could be wrong. It could just be the imprinting telling you that you care about me more than anyone else. Aside from Mike, that is. It doesn't have to mean that you love me or see me in any other way....unless you do?" That last bit came out more hopeful than Rachel meant for it to and her wide brown eyes filled with panic as she realized that she didn't need Quinn to be her best friend anymore; she needed someone to love.
"She irons her jeans! She's evil!"
Mike bit back a laugh, hating himself for thinking that was funny. Then again, he had just been betrayed by his best friend; was it so wrong to seek comfort from his worst enemy? "Rachel does iron her jeans, doesn't she?" he laughed, shaking his head. "When she bothers to wear them, I mean. Instead of rocking those weird tights and skirts that make her look like she's stealing clothes from my grandmother." He paused, looking over at Quinn. "I can't insult her any more, no matter how mad I am. Can you keep going for me?"
"That isn't drool, is it?"
"Uhh..." he lifted their pink-wearing daughter and eyed the front of her onesie with disdain. "That definitely isn't drool. Or if it was, it isn't anymore." Mike could feel his stomach churning at the texture and the smell of whatever was beginning to crust on the front of Gigi's outfit. "Ugh. Can you change her, Nugget?" He turned to look for Sugar but she was out of sight. "Typical," he muttered, turning back to his daughter with a sigh. "Make sure you remember that I'm the one who changed you when you get older and only have enough money to send only one of us to a nursing home, Geeg."
