fandomtownies | The Perk: Saturday afternoon

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The Perk: Saturday afternoon

Mercy wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but she'd decided to find a place where she could observe without looking too much like she was just staring at people.

Besides, the Perk had great hot chocolate.

So, she'd settled in with a cup of hot chocolate and a pastry to enjoy some people watching.

The handsome guy in the corner with dark sunglasses, well... he looked as if he might be doing some surveillance as well.

[Completely open! Both Mercy and Michael Samuelle are here.]

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Mercy sipped at her hot chocolate, wondering just what the island had up its sleeve this time.

Michael wasn't certain how he'd ended up back in Fandom and wasn't having any luck just yet reaching Section. For the moment he was here with a cup of coffee and a croissant assessing the situation.

Priestly finished off his shirtless, kilted run at the Perk for a coffee (as had been pointed out, everyone in fic was addicted to coffee). He lifted his chin in greeting at Mercy. "Baaaabe."

Because that was how assholes greeted women, you see.

Parker was having a weird, weird day. Which put her in a terrible mood.

She stared at Michael as she walked in, and suddenly her gun was in her hand. "This is so not happening."

Mercy looked up at him curiously. He looked a lot like her teacher. Except for the hair and well... She sniffed at him, because that was how she always used her super sense of smell, regardless of whether people noticed or not - though normally no one seemed to notice it at all.

No, he didn't smell like Dean Winchester, not nearly as much scent of gun oil and much more crazy hair product.

He was odd, but his near nakedness did wake up her coyote hormones a bit.

"Um... Hi. Do I know you?"

"Nah," Priestly said. "But you want to."

You really don't want to, Mercy. Not this weekend.

"Parker."

Michael wasn't surprised. He was never surprised. He was Section's top operative after all.

"You look well. Not that I'd expect anything less."

"How many years has it been?" Parker paused. "Seven, eight? I'd expect you to be dead by now. Spy-work being what it is."

Aaaand the gun was not being put away.

"Do I?" She leaned back in her chair and shoved another out for him with her foot.

Of course she was always this forward. In a snarky way, obviously.

He shrugged. "I'm good at what I do."

His accent deepened slightly. "As are you. I've kept an eye on you over the years. Very impressive."

Priestly spun the chair around to sit on it backwards -- while wearing a kilt, which was a good several inches shorter than it usually was -- and leaned his arms on the chair. "So." He waggled his eyebrows. "How you doing?"

Oh honey. No.

"Because that's not creeper-levels of stalkitude."

But she was still sitting down at the table with him now. Very suddenly. Because someone forgot to write her walking over there.

Dinah was here to meet Priestly and go running! In a very cute top.

Also, to dish about Jak and last night, maybe? "Hey, you!"

Oh please. Hadn't he read any of that NC-17 werewolf fic? Had he no idea just how well hung all the werewolves were? Did he not know that Mercy had grown up in a world where these amazingly gorgeous, well-hung werewolves got naked around her all the time?

Still... the hormones he was pumping out...

She smiled at him, then looked at him a little warily, thoughts of Samuel suddenly springing to her mind. (No one said the fic writers were consistent!) "I'm okay... You must be... very warm."

"Oh, I am hot like a furnace, baby."

Well, sure, but Priestly was from a romantic comedy universe. Which totally meant everyone had sex with everyone else all the time.

Or . . . something.

"Almost as hot as you look, right now."

"Sweetcheeks!" What? "You know, you'd look great if you wore shorter shorts."

Because that cute top wasn't cute enough. And Priestly was an asshole.

Bzuh? Okay, 'babe' was one thing, but that... "Is today Ironic Day? 'Cause that sounds very-- post-modern. Deconstructed. I don't even know." She wasn't an English major, okay?

And then Dinah opened her mouth and said, "And you'd look better in a Speedo. Or not."

"You like it, though," he said, stretching out one hand to brush lightly against hers before pulling it back. "Knowing I was out there. That I never stopped thinking about you."

Priestly looked down at his shirtless chest, and his kilt that was getting shorter as they spoke. "I would look hot in a speedo," he acknowledged. "But I'd look fucking awesome wearing anything."

Because he certainly wasn't known for his confidence issues or anything.

Parker made a very Parker face of meh, I am not that vain! Which wasn't a no.

"What about your true love there? Nikita? How's she doing?"

Yeah, she wasn't that easy, Michael.

"Or nothing!"

Dinah was joking. No really. NO REALLY DAMNIT KARLA AND MOMOKO, STOP WRITING ALREADY.

"...um. Yeah. Anyway." Awwwwkward. "Jak and I had a wonderful evening!"

That had weirdly faded to black after some awesome kissing.

Mercy was suddenly even better looking than she usually was, silken black hair, glowing skin, luminous eyes. "Oh, I'm looking hot, am I?"

She purred a bit. Coyote, cat, same thing, right?

His face went completely blank. Er. Completely blank-er, because Lord knows it's not as if he had ever had much of an expression to begin with.

"Nikita is..." He shrugged ever so slightly. "Section does not permit fraternization among operatives."

Which wasn't precisely an answer, but, eh.

"Oh my gawd, Dinah, I don't want to hear about Jak!"

He wanted to talk about how hot he was, duh.

Parker pointed the gun at him again. Because seriously? She'd always wanted to.

"I am no one's consolation prize, you jackass!"

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The Perk: Saturday afternoon

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