A. Too Cool for the Party Bus - With Bonus Shaun (and a CW for implied adopted sibling incest)
Georgia took one look at the party bus and knew she’d rather kiss a zombie than set foot on that rolling migraine for ten minutes, let alone three hours. Fortunately, she has alternative transportation prepared. Her bike, small and fast and not filled with flashing lights and drunk people. And now she has Shaun too, his weight behind her reassuring and familiar.
She has a map prepared, but she stays near the bus anyway. Better to have a guide and backup in case things go wrong. Not that there are zombies here to worry about, but it’s hard to lose the habit of being careful. When they pull off at a rest stop, so does she.
She swings a leg over the side of the bike and stretches. She tugs her helmet off and glances at Shaun through her sunglasses. "Just like old times. Sort of."
Bike with George will beat party bus with drunk strangers every time. Shaun is mid-stretch himself, his own helmet already off -- he’d barely waited for the bike to stop on that one. "Less moaning, less screaming."
"Yeah it’s a nice change. You’ve really matured." Her deadpan, as always, is rock solid. "The lack of zombies was nice too."
Shaun opens his mouth immediately, clearly having something to say to that before he thinks better of it, pressing his lips into a line with the effort of holding it back. Public. They’re in public. "Hilarious. We’ll see how the rest of the ride goes."
They’ve spent enough time not saying things in public that George knows exactly what he’s not saying. She lets her hand brush his arm as she puts her helmet down on the bike. "It’ll go better if we get snacks now. Come on."
B. Outside The Museum
[Georgia isn't exactly kicked out of the museum so much as strongly encouraged to leave with the nice, burly security guards. If Georgia wanted to, she could take them. They know it, she knows it. But she's not interested in making a scene over something this ridiculous, so she lets them escort her outside the museum. The door slams behind her, and she turns and glares.]
Proof of one so-called cryptid does not immediately make the rest true! Use your goddamn brains!
[The doors do not open. Georgia rolls her eyes behind her sunglasses and stalks off.]
Dumbfucks.
C. The Resort.
Georgia's sitting in the shadiest corner she can find, though even that isn't enough for her to take off her sunglasses. If she's going monster hunting later, she's not risking a migraine now. Painkillers fuck her up too much to be safe for using in the field. That means avoiding the light as long as she can.
Right now, she's typing furiously on her phone and scowling. Then she waits. After a moment she shakes her head. "Motherfucking OTO." Then she goes back to typing furiously.
D. Wildcard!
[Hit me up on plurk at antivillain or discord at antivillain#2451 for a personalized starter!]
Georgia Mason | ota
Georgia took one look at the party bus and knew she’d rather kiss a zombie than set foot on that rolling migraine for ten minutes, let alone three hours. Fortunately, she has alternative transportation prepared. Her bike, small and fast and not filled with flashing lights and drunk people. And now she has Shaun too, his weight behind her reassuring and familiar.
She has a map prepared, but she stays near the bus anyway. Better to have a guide and backup in case things go wrong. Not that there are zombies here to worry about, but it’s hard to lose the habit of being careful. When they pull off at a rest stop, so does she.
She swings a leg over the side of the bike and stretches. She tugs her helmet off and glances at Shaun through her sunglasses. "Just like old times. Sort of."
Bike with George will beat party bus with drunk strangers every time. Shaun is mid-stretch himself, his own helmet already off -- he’d barely waited for the bike to stop on that one. "Less moaning, less screaming."
"Yeah it’s a nice change. You’ve really matured." Her deadpan, as always, is rock solid. "The lack of zombies was nice too."
Shaun opens his mouth immediately, clearly having something to say to that before he thinks better of it, pressing his lips into a line with the effort of holding it back. Public. They’re in public. "Hilarious. We’ll see how the rest of the ride goes."
They’ve spent enough time not saying things in public that George knows exactly what he’s not saying. She lets her hand brush his arm as she puts her helmet down on the bike. "It’ll go better if we get snacks now. Come on."
B. Outside The Museum
[Georgia isn't exactly kicked out of the museum so much as strongly encouraged to leave with the nice, burly security guards. If Georgia wanted to, she could take them. They know it, she knows it. But she's not interested in making a scene over something this ridiculous, so she lets them escort her outside the museum. The door slams behind her, and she turns and glares.]
Proof of one so-called cryptid does not immediately make the rest true! Use your goddamn brains!
[The doors do not open. Georgia rolls her eyes behind her sunglasses and stalks off.]
Dumbfucks.
C. The Resort.
Georgia's sitting in the shadiest corner she can find, though even that isn't enough for her to take off her sunglasses. If she's going monster hunting later, she's not risking a migraine now. Painkillers fuck her up too much to be safe for using in the field. That means avoiding the light as long as she can.
Right now, she's typing furiously on her phone and scowling. Then she waits. After a moment she shakes her head. "Motherfucking OTO." Then she goes back to typing furiously.
D. Wildcard!
[Hit me up on plurk at