Moving on.
Yes, but first, Roo slipped some coin through the crack to cover repairs and then yes, time to move on.
Savor Peaches’ wonderful peaches and cream body odor that he knew embarrassed her enough to always cherry up those pixie face cheeks of hers since sweet sweet naive childhood whenever he quipped about it.
It was as clear as the strawberry sky, that after stopping at that stand beyond the bottom of the hill, Peaches was so headed beyond the gates looming ahead, the ones arched as high as his hopes for this future love, just beyond the pouty frown of the usual drawbridge slapped down over the wide jagged abyss that doubled as the town’s moat and was as dark as the best morning coffee.
Even if Peaches insisted on calling it road sludge.
No one was perfect.
Even the perfect elf girl.
Two town guards in brigandines and slacks, and they even had the town surcoat showing the town emblem of a branch coiled around an apple. They were collecting the entry toll and the line of folk over the bridge and well beyond … quite a line.
Like usual.
Roo was even nearing the bottom of the hill.
Perfect.
Good thing no wagon could hope to squeeze through this narrow alley (or was it a throughway?) and in their rush, ruin this most critical of moments.
So what if every half-timber house here along this whole entire block only had one, sometimes occasionally two, floors overhanging its lowest stone one?
It only meant it’s just one less bath needed later once the storm struck.
Yup.
No awkward (but natural) let’s bath together moment either (but you never know …)
So now focus on savoring the sight of the apples roasted beyond reproach down at the stand at the bottom of this hill, where Peaches was clearly headed to, but, lucky for him, she was more than a few loooong steps away.
Yes.
Enjoy eyeballing those apples carved in the stand’s wheel spokes as if his eyes could ever be bigger than his stomach.
Yes.
Definitely savor the sight of real roasted apple goo dripped all over the table. A table carved full of wood imprints of leafy apples. Just like the orchards beyond the gates that the two of them used to raid all the time as little obnoxious brats. And best of all, among all the rows and rows of holes …
Only one roasted apple on a stick was left …
Just like the time he first met her.
Perfect.
His thumping heart, like a countdown to the race, no, the thunder of hooves to the finish line. That clomp of hoof to cobble road elsewhere in the not so distant distance, now actually horses, that thunderous sound.
But now, that apple cart: the best chance of a lifetime.
And mere steps away.
All of its apple goo, its apples roasted beyond reproach …
No, its last apple roasted beyond reproach …
He couldn’t help but savor the memory of his rock-paper-razors match with Peaches to determine who’d get the last roasted apple way back when, savor how despite winning the match Roo split the apple halvies because winners should always be good sports, as his old man, mother’s second husband and his second father, not by blood but still a good father, Light bless his departed soul, had always said.
Lived by.
Got exiled for.
But no worries.
Just because she had a gorgeous tall hourglass to mankind’s doom kind of figure …
Her boots were stiletto dagger sandals declared her a potential menace to mankind. Clever girl.
No demon hunters would take her too lightly.
Or should.
Her thigh boots doubled as leggings hugging legs a guy wouldn’t mind getting strangled by (if push came to shove and they wrestled like lovers should at times). Only a few choice inches of peachy thigh between her boot’s sleeves and ultra sexy short minidress too.
To top it off, she cleverly had cut-outs of hearts up those sleeves so she definitely knew it herself too.
That they were dark pink rather than the tradition elven green, even more clever.
Her toes were amazing clean so definitely some cleaning curse woven into her outfit and those toenails were painted bright pink, as pink as the sky, as her minidress.
And all pink outfit, of course, of different shades — because what elf didn’t wear green everything?
So maybe … not an elf?
He-he.
Even her gloves, and as she looked toward the stand even more, Peaches fisted those gloved hands against her lust hips … enhanced by the gloves being fingerless except for a loop around the middle finger as if ready to give mankind the sassy middle finger …
Yes Roo would, he would so … despite his boots sinking deeper. and deeper. into each stray puddle. of soggy sand. with every step forward (yes, forward). Roo forced himself to stroll — no no no, strut up to Peaches.
Better go grab that last roasted apple.
Now.
Before she did.
Before he missed the perfect moment.
The thunder in the distance, getting louder every moment, like the perfectly timed dramatic moment in those plays Peaches loved so much to play out randomly on the spot here and there.
Even musical scores, as odd as that sounded.
As he got closer and closer — yikes. Her minidress it was faintly … transparent? Silk? Very. high. quality. silk.
Ha!
She even had a tight sash around her chest — no no, not a sash, a tight bra! Heart-shaped cups actually. A strapless bra underneath her minidress! Oh praise the Light, bright red panties and the string lace bikini sort.
(She really knew how to tempt a guy wrong.)
Both also faintly transparent … transparent enough to scorch his naughty cheeks hotter, naughtier than the sun.
Ha!
Nice try, Peaches. Seduce and slash all the way, of course.
Roo. still. strutted up. and up. toward her.
She turned.
Strutted toward the last roasted apple? Shit!
Roo dashed.
And—