Geneva blinked blearily at the use of Naniko’s expletives and shook herself a little. She had always known the white furred, larger wolfess to have a mind of her own, but she could not distinctly recall one time or another when she had used such foul language in her presence. After pondering it for a moment more (and it took her a little longer to process than normal), Geneva shrugged and went in the direction that her best friend indicated. ”I’m moving my ass,” she informed the white wolfess, half smiling at the hilarity she had derived from it. Perhaps Naniko wouldn’t think it was funny, but Geneva found it partly hysterical. She had never imagined herself using such foul language. But when in Rome…How did the rest of that often quoted statement end again? Hell if she knew.
As she moved past Naniko, she instantly felt the warmth of the Angela’s quarters. It was so much warmer in here. She smiled appreciatively of the heat. The trek she had taken through the snow had been cold indeed. And she was not fond of the wintry weather to begin with. But as she turned her lime green eyes to regard her best friend, she instantly decided that her impromptu trip to Anathema had been worth it. ”Have I moved my ass enough, O Angela of Anathema?” she asked ludicrously, bowing her head in a show of mock solemnity, though her shoulders shook with ill disguised laughter. ”I’m sorry…I think…I think I am very funny right now. Funnier than usual. But I think it’s only me. Is it only me?” Geneva asked, her unfocused gaze fixed on Naniko’s face. ”I’m not usually funny at all.” She murmured softly, setting the bottle down gently on the floor. She took one or two steps away from the half empty thing, regarding it rather carefully. She really did not want to spill any of it. It would be a shame. How could she share with Naniko? Her thoughts seemed to travel a lightspeed through her head, but whenever she tried to focus on them, she could not specifically grab hold to one. It was slightly frustrating, but that frustration was balanced out by the white noise of the peacefulness she now felt she possessed.
”You and I are not on the same…plane…” Geneva said contemplatively. She peered at the white furred woman thoughtfully. ”Nani, let’s get on the same plane.” Forgetting the carefulness with which she had deposited the bottle on the floor, she scooped it up and the momentum carried her forward toward the Angela. She stumbled against her, bracing her free hand against her shoulder and righting herself. ”This stuff…it…it’s the bomb!”
WC 450