paramahamsaah
Guy and Lee are ahead of them, as usually, sprinting on at a breakneck pace (a light jog, for them) and Tenten only shakes her head in resignation before she looks up at Neji out of the corner of her eye.
"They'll never change, will they?"
Neji says nothing, but only offers her a half-smirk of understanding in response, and together they continue on down the path.
A witch's cabinet was usually filled with a great many things: potions ingredients, flasks, tumblers, and the like. Andy's kitchen cabinets, by contrast, were at the moment rather mundane and bereft -- which, in Oscar's opinion, was actually rather sad, because normally they were filled with all sorts of delicious snacks and the like, and so he decided he'd go grocery shopping for her at the first opportunity, if only so that he wouldn't be left to eat only instant noodles and stale potato chips the next time he came over.
"Oh, shit." Andy froze in the doorway with her favorite old, chipped teapot in hand, eyes wide and body tense. "This is awful."
"What do you mean?" Oscar seemed entirely unconcerned by the expression of abject horror currently contorting his wife's features as he continued settling fertilizer into the pot of a small fern. Behind him, Godot was making her way across the shelf of succulents and cacti, carefully avoiding the sharp spines as she stalked a butterfly that had found its way into the room. "I don't think I've quite got your green thumb, but I think I've been doing a relatively decent job at this."
Somehow, his words seemed to snap Andy out of her reverie, and she blinked owlishly at him before scowling. "Not that," she said tersely. "You'll forgive me if I'm as appreciative of your handiwork as I might usually be, but right now it's the middle of rush hour traffic and I think my water just broke." She was strangely out of breath when she finished, and Andy, unsure of what else she might do, simply looked at Oscar expectantly, waiting for his reaction.
Oscar didn't react immediately; he finished filling the pot with fertilizer, pulled off his gloves, set them on the floor before rising to look her in the eye. He wiped his hands on his thighs, and left behind a large, dark smudge of dirt and fertilizer on his jeans.
"Oh," he finally said after a very long moment. "That is awful."
She paused, fingers brushing against the feathered end of the arrow out of habit. "And exactly why should I listen to you?"
"Because," Elec began grumpily, "I'm trying to tell you that you can't do it. You can't kill me, even if you wanted to.
Priscilla struggled to keep her expression schooled as she approached the taller man. "Of course I want to do it — you're a traitor. You know what we do to traitors."
He shrugged. "I also know that you're one of the finest snipers I've ever met, and one of the brightest people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing." And then he smirked at her. "But I'm rather smart too, you know, and I know a few things as well."
"And what, pray tell, might that be?"
"Well," Elec continued, "I was technically never part of your, ah, 'court'. And the entire thing with the Marquise — that was also a set up." Then he paused. "And I know something else, too."
Priscilla glared at him, even as she furiously blinked back the tears that had suddenly come to her, unbidden. "What?"
Elec's normally haughty expression fell, and for the first time Priscilla could remember in the entire time she had known him, he seemed to her vulnerable and fragile, like a child. "You're the best marksman, tracker, and hunter I've ever met, but even you couldn't see something as plain as the nose on your face."
She couldn't stand it anymore, and before she was completely aware of what she was doing, Priscilla ran up to Elec and grabbed his shirtfront viciously, pulling him down until they were at eye level with one another. "Just say it, damn you."
"I love you," he replied simply, "and I know you love me, too."