It’s been a long time since the last time, hasn’t it? And it’s going to be a long time until the next time, too. I’ve begun to pack for my upcoming trip, which is going to be somewhat open-ended, so I’m not sure as of this writing exactly when I’ll be back. Between now and then is a whole lot of affair-settling in not a whole lot of time. To says things have been hectic around the Smomestead isn’t saying nearly enough and it’ll only get worse before it gets better.
On the other hand, I’m looking forward to seeing some of the extended family and I’m always up for a nice, long road trip, with plenty of stops along the way at every skeezy-looking tourist trap we can find. Yes, I am THAT person in a car, the one who throws off carefully-made schedules to pet the six-legged cow and get my picture taken with the world’s largest rubber-band ball. If there’s a scenic-turnout, I’m turning. If there’s a historical plaque, I’m reading. If there’s a weird statue, I’m posing.
Anyway, the gist of this post is not to brag about my scrapbook full of weird roadside Americana, but instead to warn you that it may be a while until the next chapter of my FNAF fanfic, Everything is All Right, Part IV: New Faces, Old Bones updates. Hopefully, tonight’s chapter will give readers plenty to think and/or scream about until then. If you want to check it out, head on over to archiveofourown.org or fanfiction.net! If you’re enjoying the read, why not leave a review/comment? It really does make a huge difference as far as the site’s search engine is concerned, and more exposure for the fanfic means more exposure for all my books, so you’d really be doing me a solid.
“Yer lucky ye caught me,” Foxy said as he locked up again. “Don’t usually come out this way.”
“You don’t usually come out at all,” she retorted, ignoring Tux as he called her an inquisitive chap. “How’s the roof holding up?”
“I’M SORRY. COULD YOU REPHRASE THE QUESTION?”
“No leaks in the Cove.” Foxy found a place on the wall to lean and watched her peel off her work-shirt and wring it out onto the floor. “Road washed out?”
“Not yet, but the night’s young. Ow, what the fucking fuck!” she snarled as the security camera snapped on, shining its light like a dagger unerringly into her face. “Someday, you are going to do that to the wrong person,” she told it, glaring at it balefully through her shielding fingers, “and she is going to go at you with a motherfucking hammer.”
The camera remained unimpressed.
“Watch how ye say things like that,” Foxy warned, pretending to examine his hook while glancing at the camera from the side of his eye. “It be against the rules to disable any part o’ the security system, even the bloody annoying ones.”
“I can dream, can’t I? Okay, I’m going to get into dry clothes. Start thinking about what you want to do for fun tonight, Captain.”
“Take ye out o’ the wet ones,” Foxy replied promptly.
“Yeah, yeah, insert virtuous squeak of outrage here,” she said, rolling her eyes. “The rest of us are probably going to watch a movie or maybe fire up the Super Nintendo. If you think you can grow up for one night, you’re welcome to join us.”
“Yer a one, telling me to grow up so’s I can come watch cartoons and play kiddie games with ye,” he said with a snort. “I’ll be in me cabin, luv, but if’n ye cares to come tip a bottle, I’d make meself fair company.”
“I’d better not do any bottle-tipping. If this storm gets any worse, I might get called out.”
“Sounds to me like ye ought to tip it harder, then. They won’t let ye work if’n yer drunk.”
“Good point, but I like money.”
“Sure and yer a pirate,” he agreed, “but a good pirate knows the secret to happiness is moderation. Swag one day, rum the next. Murder, mayhem and swiving, lass, each in their own time.”
“Zen and the Art of Piracy, huh? There’s been altogether too much mayhem in my life lately.”
“Aye, but when was the last time ye done any swiving?” he asked pointedly.
She knew better than to encourage that line of inquiry, but to herself, she thought there were probably enough reward points on her celibacy punch card by now to buy a mechanical bull. At least then she’d have something to ride on the weekends. Aloud, she said only, “Much as I’d love to stand here and talk about my sex life, I’m going to go ahead and get changed now.”
She went to her room, knowing he was watching her go and fairly confident that if she turned, she’d find his eyes considerably south of her belt-line, not ogling her so much as wanting her to catch him ogling so he could laugh at her indignation and walk away. Well, she’d never been one to get bent out of shape by a little mental undressing, and with Foxy, at least she knew it was never going to go any further than some playful catcalling.