Wherein a word or phrase can be the start of something fun and wonderful.
Some are simply stand-alone ficlets or drabbles. Some link up with published stories. Some end up previews for things yet to come.
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He's been standing there staring up at the first big drop in the track for going on half an hour, watching as each car makes its way in the slow ascent to the top before sending 'the poor souls aboard' over the edge, 'screaming all the way'.
"Yes, Tom," you ever-so-patiently explain, "that's kind of what people do on roller coasters. That's the point."
That dubious expression hasn't changed an iota. "Sheer terror?"
"Exhilaration!"
For the briefest of moments that questioning look is turned on you, only to have it sweep away from you again, back to the track in time to see another carload of people race down the incline. Of course there's someone screaming bloody murder as the car does its first loop and then races out of sight.
You'd planned it out, sugared him up with sweets and things to make him more compliant before asking him to join you on the coaster. In retrospect, maybe letting him gorge himself on theme park food before floating the idea of going on the thrill ride wasn't the best of plans.
"We can go back and do whatever ride you want if you just go on this one once with me." You sidestep to jostle into his side with yours, "I'll hold your hand the entire time."
This time when he swallows it's audible. He half-chuckles, shaking his head as he drags his gaze away from the coaster. "And after as well, babe. When you're leading a nauseous me to the loo."
"Pfft." You roll your eyes at him before motioning off to the left of the ride's exit. "That's what trash cans are for. But, c'mon. You've never been on it before! You might find it thrilling!"
"Terrifying, darling. The word you're looking for is terrifying." With a heave of his shoulders he holds out his hands, blue eyes sparkling, "I'll hold the stuff. Go on."
But you don't budge. You have one last card to play.
"I bet..."
His eyes narrow immediately. He never could back down from a challenge, a fact he knows you know.
And to sweeten the temptation?
"I bet you a month of getting to choose what I wear that you won't get sick."
Calculations are being made. The pros weighed against the cons. You can see the wheels turning as he considers his options.
"Two months. Just for riding. Once." He holds up his pointer finger, as though you needed visual cues. "And," reading your telegraphed acceptance of his terms, he adds another addendum, "weekend no-pants parties."
If he thought that was going to be a deal breaker he's sadly mistaken. You hold out your hand to shake and seal the arrangement. "Deal."
After shaking, he pulls your hand to his lips, a strangled smile appearing on his face as you drag him along towards the lockers to stow your things. "You're damn lucky I love you so much, babe. And I apologize in advance if you're treated to a second viewing of those tacos we had earlier."
