The majority of his anxiety was forgotten in the face of low-gravity bouncing, tentacular and otherwise. He was easily distracted by the sway of her hips – he could be distracted from most things by the mere presence of her hips. Her hips were a weapon of psychological warfare. Maybe she was swaying them like that to distract him deliberately, for competitive reasons.
He was completely okay with that.
He smiled, but his anxiety returned at her mention of the windmill. The windmill. He had only ever known two people who could successfully manage the windmill on their first try, and one of them was Kreska, who did not count, because she was Kreska.
As she got into position, he watched her with almost as much intensity as she was watching the windmill. Two hands wrung together while the other two twisted on the putter in a mirror of what she'd done before.
It was fine. This was fine. She'd get the windmill. Right?
It didn't even matter. Even if she didn't get the windmill, she'd recognize that this was a totally normal thing, and she would accept it.
But that also didn't matter because she would definitely get the windmill.
She didn't get the windmill. He froze in faint but obvious horror. Her tentacles did that thing they did when she was upset, and his mind raced with possibilities for what dumb goddamn thing he would end up doing to fix this. Because he was always finding new, dumber things to do when she was upset. Someday they would find the floor of dumbness, but it hadn't happened yet.
… she was heading for the windmill.
She was going full Quixote.
He responded on a delay, because it took him too long to process what exactly was happening so that he could follow after her. "Honey?" he called, clearly concerned. Which he felt was reasonable. She was holding a putter, and she knew how to use it. His concern did not abate when she used her foot to stop the shutter. "That's–"
It was definitely not supposed to make that noise. "It has to be," he agreed, willing to agree that the skybox should have been pink if that was what she wanted it to be. His relief when she let the windmill resume spinning was palpable. "How about I go talk to them?" he suggested. That seemed like it would be safer. For everyone. Not that she would ever hurt anyone. Obviously. She just seemed like she might be a little too… not rational. About the situation. "I was a lawyer," he reminded her, trying to strengthen his argument for not yelling at mini golf employees.
"I'll just–" He turned, and discovered to his horror that a droid was already floating toward them. The kind of droid that was generally sent out when patrons were getting too rowdy, as a precursor to security. "Oh. Well. I guess they're. Coming to us."
"Step away from the windmill," the droid announced, sounding very authoritative for something as small as it was.
"We're stepping away," Ix assured it.
"Guests are not permitted to touch the obstacles."
"We were just looking."
"Guests who attempt to break the obstacles will be banned."
"She was just – we're just looking."
He was completely okay with that.
He smiled, but his anxiety returned at her mention of the windmill. The windmill. He had only ever known two people who could successfully manage the windmill on their first try, and one of them was Kreska, who did not count, because she was Kreska.
As she got into position, he watched her with almost as much intensity as she was watching the windmill. Two hands wrung together while the other two twisted on the putter in a mirror of what she'd done before.
It was fine. This was fine. She'd get the windmill. Right?
It didn't even matter. Even if she didn't get the windmill, she'd recognize that this was a totally normal thing, and she would accept it.
But that also didn't matter because she would definitely get the windmill.
She didn't get the windmill. He froze in faint but obvious horror. Her tentacles did that thing they did when she was upset, and his mind raced with possibilities for what dumb goddamn thing he would end up doing to fix this. Because he was always finding new, dumber things to do when she was upset. Someday they would find the floor of dumbness, but it hadn't happened yet.
… she was heading for the windmill.
She was going full Quixote.
He responded on a delay, because it took him too long to process what exactly was happening so that he could follow after her. "Honey?" he called, clearly concerned. Which he felt was reasonable. She was holding a putter, and she knew how to use it. His concern did not abate when she used her foot to stop the shutter. "That's–"
It was definitely not supposed to make that noise. "It has to be," he agreed, willing to agree that the skybox should have been pink if that was what she wanted it to be. His relief when she let the windmill resume spinning was palpable. "How about I go talk to them?" he suggested. That seemed like it would be safer. For everyone. Not that she would ever hurt anyone. Obviously. She just seemed like she might be a little too… not rational. About the situation. "I was a lawyer," he reminded her, trying to strengthen his argument for not yelling at mini golf employees.
"I'll just–" He turned, and discovered to his horror that a droid was already floating toward them. The kind of droid that was generally sent out when patrons were getting too rowdy, as a precursor to security. "Oh. Well. I guess they're. Coming to us."
"Step away from the windmill," the droid announced, sounding very authoritative for something as small as it was.
"We're stepping away," Ix assured it.
"Guests are not permitted to touch the obstacles."
"We were just looking."
"Guests who attempt to break the obstacles will be banned."
"She was just – we're just looking."
The following 2 users Like Tindome's post: megs, SolitareLee
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