2019-05-13 - Flock Of Seagulls

Weekday afternoons were slow going on the boardwalk. It wouldn't start getting busy until the sun starts going down and the kids got out of school, but Elise and Graham weren't here for busy. You see, weekday afternoons were when the weirdos came out of the woodwork. Elise & Graham were here to people watch.

"So what do you think?" she wears a pair of jean leggings and an off-one-shoulder heather gray t-shirt; her hair is done in a neat French braid. She's got a hot dog on a stick that she keeps picking the breading off of to eat, which means half her dog is naked and sticking out awkwardly from its casing. They sit on the boardwalk at a round table underneath an umbrella that has a hole in it, but thank goodness it's not raining - and Elise's attention is on a man about 20 feet in the distance, who has a pet monkey wearing a diaper on his shoulder. "Do you think he's a run away from the circus?"

After watching this breading-picking for a solid minute, Graham finally declares, "If you don't eat that wiener, I'm gonna take it away from you. It's making me cold to look at it." And then tosses a couple kernels of caramel corn into his mouth, crunching away busily. He wears what he always wears, jeans and whatever t-shirt is likely the cleanest, with a light jacket thrown on to keep that boardwalk-chill from getting through, and he sits back in his seat at a low slouch, legs pulled out in front of him farther than is strictly necessary. Almost like he's hoping someone will trip on his feet. So far, no one has.

"The monkey or the guy?" Though why bother asking since, "'Cause I think both. Look at his socks, man. Who wears socks like that in real life?" They are red-and-white striped, but vertical stripes, like a circus tent. A grimy circus tent.

Elise makes a face at Graham, crinkling her nose at him, before she eyes her wiener critically. The parts sticking out from the breading were red and shriveled. The tip was most definitely burnt. "I'm pretty sure they either overcooked the dog or it's like three weeks old. Either way? I'm not putting this wiener in my mouth," and with that said, she shakes her hot dog on a stick at him, and the vigorous movement causes the stick to puncture through the side of the dog. The naked sausage sags limply, threatening to break from the stick and drop down onto the table. Elise peels off some more of the bread, pops it into her mouth, and chews around a growing smile.

As for the monkey man? "I just don't understand what happened to his shoes," because he wasn't wearing any. It was just the striped socks. "Maybe he lost them while he was running away. Or maybe the monkey stole them, and he's trying to get back into the monkey's good graces by taking him on a nice walk on the beach."

Graham makes one snatch for the abused wiener, having visibly cringed when the stick poked through it, shifted his legs to cross one over the other. But - somehow - Elise is a goddamn ninja and prevents him from snagging the thing. So he just flails around the corner of the table, grasping nothing, and growls irritably behind his nose. "This is why you're fucking single," he grouses, sitting back with his arms crossed. Crossly. Which leaves him no room for sympathy when it comes to the monkey-man, just his own sneakers scuffing on the boardwalk. "You should give him a couple bucks, and tell him they're only to be used for new kicks." Beat. "Then we can follow him to the liquor store and jump him when he spends it on Hennessy."

It must be all the Thai Kung Fu. Or, realistically, Graham's just too damn slow and Elise leans back at the exact right time to prevent his snatchy hands. "You shouldn't be grabbing other people's wieners without consent, Graham," she eyes him over the limped, skewered dog and proceeds to finish up the breading around the bottom half, her grin wide. As for why she's single? A shrug of a bare shoulder. "I think I have a right to be particular about the things I put in my mouth."

The broken piece of the hot dog is subsequently ripped off and she puts her hand in the air. "Hey. Hey Mister!" she shouts at Striped Socks Monkey Dude. "Can your monkey have a hot dog?"

"Good god, could you be a little less brutal with that thing." It's not a real question, just a pretense for more awkward and sympathetic shifting from Graham when she rips the end off the wiener. He squints one eye hard, looking downright sick for a second, and winds up putting what's left in his bag of caramel corn onto the table. A couple kernels spill out, and the seagulls are already starting to look this way. He stays out of this interaction with the monkey man.

Who of course gawks at the question, dawdling his way over. "Whaddaya think, Francine?" he asks the monkey. "You want that hot dog?" Francine, in her little tutu, claps her paws excitedly and scampers down his arm, not completely sure what's going on, but totally on-point that it's about to be great. "Do your dance, Francine, do your dance!" She hops back up to his shoulder and twirl-hops.

"Is it making you uncomfortable? Would you prefer I pet it? Give it a nice little kiss to apologize for my poor treatment of it?" Elise is a terrible person. She takes the severed head of the hot dog and holds it up to her lips, puckering her lips and blowing air-kisses at the shriveled object. This is all done before monkey man is summoned to their table, at least, and Elise wears an all-too angelic smile on her lips.

"Ooh, goodness. She's adorable!" There is so much cooing that happens when Francine does her little twirl-hop, and Elise shifts to the edge of her bench to hold up her bit of hot dog for Francine to take. "I always wanted a pet monkey. You're the closest thing I've had to one, Graham," she flutters her lashes to him adoringly, then says up to Sock-Man: "My friend here wants to give you some money so that you can buy new shoes. He's very generous."

Was Graham not supposed to nod eagerly at all those questions about the hot dog and the things he would prefer Elise does to it? 'Cause... he totally does nod eagerly; she should do those things, and he'll watch, which she does and he does. At least that makes him stop being pissy and smile one of his better smiles at her, all dimples and teeth. "Put me in a tutu, I'll give Francine here a run for her money." He favors the dancing monkey with a smile, too, though it slips a little when Francine darts down her owner's arm, snatches the hot dog, and darts back up to gobble it with unabashed greed.

"Oh, nope nope nope. I don't wear shoes, friend, but that's awful generous of you. Me and Francine wouldn't say no to a little tip for her dancing, though. She works real hard on her routine. These people liked your dance, Francine." The monkey, on queue, beams at them with a flash of her teeth - not unlike Graham did a second ago! - only there's bits of hot dog stuck in her teeth.

Shaking his head with a baleful look for Elise alone, Graham digs around for his wallet, grumble grumble.

Elise would probably comment on how Graham is gross with all that watching and smiling he does - but instead, she pays attention to the dancing monkey and the man with no shoes while idly stroking her naked hot dog with her fingers, from severed tip down to the bottom where the stick is inserted. Is she doing that on purpose? Nooo, idle hands are just the Devil's work and some-such. "You're too big to dance on my shoulder though," she remarks with a faint frown that promptly vanishes when Francine snatches the hot dog. "And you're not quite as cute as Francine is," she giggles.

But as for the shoes? Alas. "Maybe you can buy yourself some new socks then! And a new tutu for Francine." She tips her chin to Graham, her smile adoringly sweet. "Don't you have a fifty in there somewhere?"

Graham says something under his breath that sounds a lot like "dance on your throat in a minute here," but that gets clipped when she starts talking about what's in his wallet. "Yeah, but that fifty was supposed to be part of the down payment for your surgery, baby. We're gonna have to put it off another week now, and that thing's really starting to smell." But what's he gonna do at this point? The shoeless man's eyes have been enormous since the prospect of a fifty dollar bill came into play, so Graham liberates Mr. Grant and passes him across on the ends of his fingers.

Francine scampers down and takes the money, clapping it and then stuffing it down the front of her tutu in a practiced routine. "God bless you both," says her owner. "God bless them both, Francine!" And this monkey folds her hands in prayer and nods her head in a pantomime bow. "New socks and a new tutu, banner day for us."

"A little louder for the kids in the back?" Elise lifts a brow at Graham and all his mumbling, that perfect smile widening. "I told you already, Graham, the doctor said he can't sew your penis back on. The damage was too severe. But I warned you vagina dentata was a real thing and you didn't want to listen to me.." There's a sharp whistle and a shake of her head, the look given to Socks like: what can you do? And then she's clapping for Francine as she stuffs money down her tutu like any good stripper would do. "That's perfect. God bless you and Francine!" She wiggles her fingers at them, watching with an amused glimmer in her dark eyes as they walk down the boardwalk, probably to go buy booze.

"You made his day," she says, sliding the skewer off the remaining dog. She breaks it into pieces and chucks it on the boardwalk, where the seagulls are gathering. "And Francine's, too. What a nice man you are, Graham, I didn't know you had such a big and generous heart."

"I'm just so glad you amuse yourself at my expense." Literally his expense. Graham says that with a complete lack of credibility. He's not glad, and he claps his wallet closed with a loud slap of leather, stuffing it back into his pocket with a whole lot more activity than is strictly necessary. Like he never intends to take it out again ever. Till the end of time. "Don't fucking feed them," he adds frantically, sighing a huge sigh when the gulls convene on the hot dog remnants, pecking and squawking at each other and starting to drift this way with their stupid honking noises. Leaving him to snatch his bag of caramel corn off the table, stuffing it under his coat.

Alas, a few kernels stay spilled on the table, and one of the circling sky-rats sees it, dives down to land on the middle of the table with a loud caw and an impressive aura of possessiveness. This is now officially his table. Graham skitters out of his chair and away from the bird immediately.

"I'm just so glad you amuse yourself at my expense." Literally his expense. Graham says that with a complete lack of credibility. He's not glad, and he claps his wallet closed with a loud slap of leather, stuffing it back into his pocket with a whole lot more activity than is strictly necessary. Like he never intends to take it out again ever. Till the end of time. "Don't fucking feed them," he adds frantically, sighing a huge sigh when the gulls convene on the hot dog remnants, pecking and squawking at each other and starting to drift this way with their stupid honking noises. Leaving him to snatch his bag of caramel corn off the table, stuffing it under his coat.

Alas, a few kernels stay spilled on the table, and one of the circling sky-rats sees it, dives down to land on the middle of the table with a loud caw and an impressive aura of possessiveness. This is now officially his table. Graham skitters out of his chair and away from the bird immediately.

"Aw, come on. You don't pay rent and he didn't have shoes, Graham." What would Jesus do, Graham? "Besides, did you see that monkey dance? She was all.." Elise sways her hips from side to side whilst seated, beaming a happy smile. It's an expression that lasts until the gang of gulls descend upon the hot dog chunk she tossed onto the boardwalk, and he starts making noise and dumping popcorn everywhere. Of course, just when she was about to comment on him making a mess? The big gull dives onto the table.

"Oh, fuck, look what you did," it wasn't exactly chastising, there was no snap to her voice, but she scrambles backward when the gull makes a go at the hot-dog chunk still at her hand. She throws it, the piece bouncing off the table and landing on Graham's feet.

Graham won't even see those seagulls coming.

"Don't fucking - " The end of that was probably 'feed them' again, but Graham is too busy getting attacked by vicious skyrats to actually get that to fall out of his mouth. Like, five of them see where that chunk of hot dog landed, and they immediately break away from the ravenous pack, waddleflapsquawking over to try to get the morsel off his sneaker. It just happens to have gotten tucked right in between the cuff of his jeans and the laces of his shoes.

All of this just ensures that he also drops the bag of popcorn he was trying to protect inside his jacket. So that shit goes flying everywhere. The noise is absolutely outstanding when they all come screaming over for CARAMEL CORN, and he squeaks and kicks at the ones attached to his shoes. It's like that Hitchcock movie, except he screams much more girlishly than Tippi Hedren when one of them grabs ahold of his shoelace; he tries to punt it, creates a lot more flapping, and starts to run away. Elise can just stay there and get eaten!

"Oh shit!" Elise realizes about five seconds too late that she threw that hot dog a little too forcefully. There's horror in her wide black eyes as the birds descend upon Graham - well, actually, 'horror' is probably too strong of a word. Because let's face it, she wasn't at risk of getting eaten, and she was fairly sure that Graham could handle himself around a bunch of skyrats. And if he can't... well. It wasn't like he was paying rent. Or earning his keep in 'other' ways 😉

When the screaming starts, Elise smacks her hand over her mouth to smother the giggles, that wide-eyed stare a mix of concern and amusement. But definitely far more amusement than concern. That is until Graham starts to run, and the seagulls all turn their respective heads at her, expecting food. "Shitshitshitshit," she bolts after Graham, snatching his hand in her own because dammit if they were running, they were running together. And the birds give chase, squawking away. "They're after us!"

Listen. Graham has taken it upon himself to make sure that pantry is stocked to the brim. He also puts beer in the refrigerator. And pudding cups. So just get off his case.

Right now, admittedly, he's not being the most helpful guy. His little head-start puts him a good yard ahead of Elise, and he ducks into the shadowy back-stage area where the machinery for the ferris wheel makes all kinds of gear-clanking, greased-machinery noises. And it's only because he sticks his hand out from this niche, where it's too narrow for the birds to safely fly down, that Elise is able to catch up to him. "Why," he demands breathlessly, yanking her on into this last bastion of gull-free safety, "would you feed," huff and puff, "the fucking seagulls?"

They squawk squawk squawk at each other briefly before realizing this narrow space between the base of the ferris wheel and the fenced-off machinery isn't going to accommodate them, and start attacking each other on their way back to collect caramel corn scraps.

Yeah, but the pudding cups are all butterscotch and butterscotch SUCKS.

"We're supposed to be in this together!" Elise shouts dramatically as Graham leaves her to die by gull, refusing to look behind her because she knows the skyrats are closing in. She may only have seconds left, so it's a good thing that Graham sticks his hand out and yanks her into the narrow space, Elise breathless from the run. "They just looked so hungry!" she insists, bottom lip extending outward in a pout for those poor gulls and their hungry beaks.

Thank goodness they were safe here, but there was at least a few of them who were laying in wait, expecting their food-givers to return at any moment so that the attack can begin again in earnest. Elise wedges further in, knocking herself against Graham, but at least he doesn't get smacked in the nose again. "We almost died," Elise breathes out, as though she's just coming to this realization.

Defensively, Graham points out, "You threw a hot dog at my shoe!" So he left her to the wolves. Er, gulls. Whatever. They're practically wolves! Here, where they can't be all flapping right in his face, he seems to have found a little more courage, and ever so manfully slides himself in between Elise and the opening where the sentries are still chirpsquawking at these two: come out come out~. "I know," that they almost died. "I saw the movie." He stomps his foot bravely out of this hidey-hole to try to scare the monsters away. They just flap irritably and pace around, being crabby and impatient.

"Welp." He turns his back to the birds, leans his shoulder against a piece of machinery, crosses his arms over his chest, and looks at Elise with a sigh. "This is where we live now." In this tiny, shadowy, gear-grindy space where there's juuuust enough room to not be completely mashed together.

"Not on purpose!" Elise claps back. "I was just trying to save my fingers. It was going to try and eat my whole hand!" So she threw it at his shoe to convince the bird to eat him instead. His brave act of heroism earns him a roll of her eyes, but she reaches out to keep her hand steady on his elbow. You know, just in case she needs to pull him back into safety .. or push him out to save herself. "Are they still out there?"

Her question is responded to by an annoyed, impatient SQUAWK from one of the seagulls. Welp indeed.

".. It's not so bad," this narrow little space, she crinkles her freckled nose and casts a look around. "I don't think we can fit a bed. But .. we can use your shoes as pillows. Oh my GOSH! What if that's why Francine's caretaker doesn't wear shoes?"

Graham absolutely knees Elise in the legs while he raises his leg and bends over it, peeling his shoe off his foot right here and now. He probably does it on accident, because there's just nowhere else for his knee to go, but "on accident" belongs in air-quotes. He could just not do it at all! The shoulder-lean suffices to keep from ruining his balance entirely, and he dangles the sneaker - that was recently attacked by seagulls, so it smells like his foot, a little like hotdogs, and a small amount like nasty seabirds - in the air in between his face and Elise's. "Curl yourself right up, baby. I'll tuck you in." There's nowhere to run, and that sneaker is closing in across this narrow space, aiming to smush all over her face - though probably, probably he'll yank it back before he actually smears his foot-funk all over her face.

Probably.

"I'm almost positive this is why he doesn't wear shoes. This exact thing happened to him."

"Ow, shit, god dammit Graham," Elise goes muttering as he knees her in her legs, leaving her squirming into the wall to try and get away from him. Her hair starts to stick on the brick facade, and she knows her French braid is going to be an absolute hot mess by the time this was over. Then the shoe comes off, and it's closing in on her face, and Elise is turning a little green around the gills from the smell wafting out of it. "Christ, I'm going to be sick." Sorry, God, for taking your son's name in vain, Elise will confess later.

She tries to push his arm away, but her hand just slides down his forearm uselessly. So she aims to kick him in the shin .. and bounces her foot off the wall between his leg instead. "Fuck! OW!" she teeters to the side, and promptly slumps, which means she's away from the shoe at least. "Why does this always happen when I'm around you? Ugh, my toes." She must mean getting hurt.

He counts it as a win. Graham winds up with a few more flaps going on behind him, since he has to get perilously close to the exit to this little half-tunnel in order to pull his shoe back on, but that doesn't diminish the satisfied grin he wears when Elise gets what she deserves for trying to hurt him and winds up slumping all sadly. "Don't barf all over our new pad, Ellybean." He hops awkwardly, gets his shoe on enough, but he keeps shifting his foot, trying to unfold the back of it against his heel.

Then he's gawking at her, back to arms crossed. "Excuse me? Why does this always happen to me when I'm around you? I hang out with other people, very rarely do I wind up hiding from fucking seagulls."

Elise mumbles something that sounds like 'gonna barf all over you' but she doesn't say it loud enough for the whole class to hear. "Have you changed your socks lately? Maybe you shouldn't have given the whole fifty to Francine's man, and spent some getting odor-eater for your shoe," she makes a retching sound and sticks out her tongue, but that's it for the dramatics. Besides, he's gawking, and she gets back to her feet now that her toe is doing little more than throbbing in her shoe.

"I'm sorry that when you hang out with your other friends, you have a super lame time," she replies, dusting her hands off over the thighs of her jeggings with her hands. "But you really have to stop beating me up."

"No. I'm afraid to take them off in case my foot-skin peels off with them. I wear 'em in the shower, though." Graham should have offered to help her up or something; that would've been the gentlemanly move, but the moment is past, and he missed it, like the swell guy that he is. Anyway, she's up and he shoots a look over his shoulder to the birds, most of whom have wandered off by now, their attention spans being too short to effectively camp this little tiny hiding place.

"Ohhh ho ho, that's a brave card for you to play, future Missus Mom Picked Your Boyfriend, esquire." That was a long name, not his best effort, and the brief tilt of his chin to the side and nose-crinkle acknowledges it. "At least my friends? Don't blow me off 'cause they gotta flat tire. Plus, you beat the shit outta me last time, so. This is just me getting even, buttercup."

"I'm going to spray you down with bleach the next time you're in the shower," Elise replies, casting a look down to his toes with a further wrinkling of her nose. All that dusting has done nothing to the front of Elise's jean leggings - mostly because there was nothing there in the first place. The back side, however .. well, there's a big smear of dirt on her butt now, from wedging herself against the wall.

"Uh, excuse me," there's a stern frown at his words, and a subtle flinch. "Last time started when you tried to chop off my head with your car. And.. whatever, Graham. I didn't want to go on a date with him anyway, so it doesn't really matter why he didn't want to go out." That one hit a bit of a nerve. She pushes herself forward, all elbows as she leans out of the alley to check and see if the birds were still out there.

Graham, gamely, "And now we get to the reason I don't like taking showers. It's not safe. People be all attacking you when you're vulnerable." Apparently, for some unknown reason, he completely misses the flinch - let's chalk it up to the fact that he's looking at Elise's butt. Er, specifically, the greasy dirt-stain splashed across her pants. "First off," count it, "that was an accident, darlin'. I would never intentionally close the door on your head."

He hovers over her shoulder, peering for the birds, being all crowdy into her personal space. In his defense, there's nowhere else for him to go, and she did get all in his designated area, so Elise really brought this on herself. "Second off, fuck him. His loss." He plunks his chin on her shoulder, looking at the now safely bird-free zone out there. Boldly, "I say we go for it."

Elise misses the look to her butt. Er, specifically, the greasy dirt-stain on her pants. Even though she probably would've won the roll? She's too busy poking her head out of the alley and getting all up in Graham's business .. and having him all up in hers. "I thought you didn't want me to fuck him," she says of her Future Ex-Husband, Esquire, and playfully nudges him in the side with her elbow. This time, there was no intention to hurt - she even tips her chin up to smile at him. See? She's an angel.

"It doesn't matter anyway. I have a date lined up this weekend. I found him on Tinder." And it is with those words that she bravely steps out of the alley, fully unprepared to be attacked if there was still a bird hanging around.

"Ha ha ha," goes Graham of the 'fucking' joke, rolling his eyes. There's a more honest guffaw that follows when she admits to her Tinder date, but there's no time for him to share his wisdom when it comes to online dating, just him in the little niche still, commenting something about how he works at a nightclub, yanno, she could meet people in person.

No more seagulls dive-bomb her immediately, but one or two of them start squawking among themselves and hop-hopping toward where they 'heard' there might be food-people in hiding. Heads tilt. Beady eyes contemplate them. Graham eeeeeases out of the hiding spot, whispers in her ear, "Your ass is so dirty right now," and then fails to protect her from the prying eyes of the other people milling around on the boardwalk. And starts taking slow, wary steps away from the birds that are going to flock and eat their faces off any second, he can feel it.

Maybe if Elise doesn't look at the birds, they won't notice her! She pointedly looks elsewhere, sloooowly walking out of her hidey-hole, only to abruptly stop when Graham whispers into her ear. She practically skids into place; if this was a cartoon? There'd be smoke coming out of her heels right now. "Graham Robert Oswald Stewart Senior!" she yells out sharply. That probably wasn't his whole name. But you know what the initials spell out? G-R-O-S-S 😉

"You're disgusting," she frowns at him, and then looks over her shoulder while simultaneously twisting to see if she can look at her own ass. It really does nothing except force her to spin around. Now seagulls and people were starting to stare. "Just wipe it off for me."

The birds skitter back at that yell, flapping up and putting another few yards between them and the squealing. People react the exact opposite way and look intrigued, leaving Graham to shrug helplessly at their curious glances. "It's a family name," he tells someone who made the mistake of making eye contact; that person hastily drops their gaze and shuffles away, not about to get caught up in someone else's drama.

Just wipe it off for her? "Okay!" He's totally game. This is going to be borderline violatey, though, 'cause he walks back over behind Elise, grips her by the shoulder with one hand, smacks the other one loudly right on her butt (with a completely inappropriate groan right then), and proceeds to more rub the smear off than wipe it off. "Damn, this is dirty." Surely, he means the stain.

"It's not a family name. He was left at a firehouse as a baby and raised by the dog there," Elise tells the person who is actively avoiding eye contact now, and that just makes said person pick up the speed with their shuffle. They don't get far enough away to hear that resounding whip-like crack of Graham's hand across Elise's ass. She nearly jumps out of her skin and yowls. "Jesus, I told you I don't like it that hard unless you're --" Fill in the blanks. She doesn't. Because she's startled by the fact that he is actively rubbing her ass.

And it takes her about sixty seconds with his hand on her rear in order for her brain to unfreeze, before she's pulling away and batting at his hands. "Jesus, I wasn't serious." Then why did she stand there for a solid minute?

Graham says, "My bad." And makes with the angelic smile, the baby-blues all wide. Yes, he just groped the bejeezus out of her, and absolutely did it in the most lascivious way possible, but look at how innocent he is! "We," and he leans his head in the direction of the suggestion he's about to make, letting his steps start him thither, "should go eat some fried fish. Since the corn dog didn't pan out. Maybe we could go down to the tackle-stand and buy a fishhook, bait some of the fried fish, and catch us some seagulls on a string. I bet those fuckers are good eats."

He back-steps a few paces, crooking his index finger into a beckon at Elise. "C'mon. I'll even pay." Beat. "As long as it costs less than twenty, 'cause that's all I got left now."

There's a twitch to Elise's brow, the faintest of furrows, as she lays a hand on her backside and rubs over the cheek that he just smacked. Whatever she was thinking was not communicated, but there's a contemplative purse to her lips as she lets her dark eyes slide in his direction. "Yeah," she says, shaking off whatever thought was haunting her mind. "Fried fish sounds good. Maybe we'll even catch a fried mermaid. Do you think fried mermaids grant wishes?"

But oh, he'll pay, and that makes her smile. "You're so sweet. Don't expect to get any when we get home though just because you paid for food. This isn't a date!" Yet there wasn't a whole lot of force behind that statement.

There was a whole lotta force behind the hand that comes out of nowhere to smack into his ass though. Payback is a bitch.

Graham mumbles after that smack, "Sure feels like a date to me." With all the ass-smacking and the fact that now he's paying for food. And not getting any at the end of the night, for all his efforts. That probably happens more than he'd like to admit. <.<