Victory Road IC Inbox

[pidge_out]

 


Hey, it's Pidge. Can't answer right now-- Rover quit it! --so leave a message and I'll get back to you when I can.
Rover, what did I say--?!?!

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[pidge_out]

[Defeat tastes like horrible, nasty beach sand. She can't even say anything about Lance taking the opportunity to wipe imaginary boogers all over her shirt, because of course he did. Right now she has sand everywhere, and she knows she's going to be finding more of it all day which sucks because she really did try hard to dress like a human being that knows how clothes work. So she doesn't move right away. She just lays there, staring up at the sky, partially buried and groaning in complaint.]

I blame you for this. One hundred percent.

[spacebaloney]

Mmmhmm. I love you too, my little booger queen.

[With a pat to her shoulder, Lance shifts to sliding his hands under Pidge, helping her to sit up and then hopefully, onto her feet. She really looks a hot mess with grains of sand all over her, but at least he has the decency to start brushing off what he can reach.]

Blame me all you want, but we both know it was your own feet you tripped on.

[pidge_out]

[She doesn't protest as he helps her to her feet, just kind of... glares indignantly at some random spot in the distance. There isn't even any real anger behind any of it and certainly nothing directed at anyone but herself. Because Lance is right; she did trip over her own feet. How dumb is that.]

...You were distracting me.

[Yep, that's her story and she's sticking with it. And she's definitely not pouting by the time her gaze resettles on Lance's face.]

With your booger-crusted fingers.