Wallace let out a whoop of victory as he chased after the basketball, “That’s what now? Thirty-three to two? You’re disappointing me, Veronica Mars.”
“Oh sure, like the star of the basketball team picking on the vertically-challenged school newspaper photographer is something to be proud of,” she panted out in response.
Wallace grinned – being winded really did a number on the snarkiness levels of her tone. “Also,” she said while sitting down heavily at the free-throw line, “I’ll have you know that my enormous ego is so bruised that I’m re-thinking ever making you those famous snickerdoodle-filled Spirit Boxes again. Just think about what you’re doing here. You’ll have to make do with Madison’s imposter, store-bought oatmeal raison cookies! Or God forbid she might actually try baking and you’ll end up with rock-hard shortbread and no teeth left to speak of.”
He arched an eyebrow, “So what you’re saying is that by hurting you I’m only hurting myself?”
“Ding ding ding! Tell him what he’s won, Johnny!” she said, giving him that patented Veronica Mars smile. “So whaddaya say, turn a blind eye and let the little lady even up the score?”
Laughing, he tossed the ball at her and made a grand bow, sweeping his arm in the direction of the net with a flourish, “The court awaits, madam.”
Veronica curtsied in response with the ball tucked under one arm. “And they said chivalry was dead!” she said in mock surprise, fluttering her hand in front of her face. Then she turned her attention back to the ball, making a few practice dribbles before squinting at the hoop in deep concentration.
“Still, you’re resorting to blackmail tactics over a friendly basketball skirmish. Why am I not surprised?" he called out to her.
“Elementary, my dear Wallace. You’re obviously the Watson to my Sherlock and if you hadn’t figured out that much about me by now I’d have fired you from the ‘Best Friend’ position. Now quit talking, I’m trying to defend my honour here.”
“Since when do blackmailers have honour? And you never said anything about no distractions,” he pointed out smugly.
“Curses! The fatal flaw to my otherwise perfect plan!” she groused dramatically as she lined up her shot. Bending her knees and holding the ball before her, she took a deep breath and then jumped, extending her arms up and out—
“RABID RACCOON!” bellowed Wallace.
“What?!” squeaked Veronica.
Klang! - went the ball as it hit the rim.
Wallace merely grinned innocently, “My bad, just a shadow. Guess it's still thirty-three to two!”
no subject
---
Swish!
Wallace let out a whoop of victory as he chased after the basketball, “That’s what now? Thirty-three to two? You’re disappointing me, Veronica Mars.”
“Oh sure, like the star of the basketball team picking on the vertically-challenged school newspaper photographer is something to be proud of,” she panted out in response.
Wallace grinned – being winded really did a number on the snarkiness levels of her tone. “Also,” she said while sitting down heavily at the free-throw line, “I’ll have you know that my enormous ego is so bruised that I’m re-thinking ever making you those famous snickerdoodle-filled Spirit Boxes again. Just think about what you’re doing here. You’ll have to make do with Madison’s imposter, store-bought oatmeal raison cookies! Or God forbid she might actually try baking and you’ll end up with rock-hard shortbread and no teeth left to speak of.”
He arched an eyebrow, “So what you’re saying is that by hurting you I’m only hurting myself?”
“Ding ding ding! Tell him what he’s won, Johnny!” she said, giving him that patented Veronica Mars smile. “So whaddaya say, turn a blind eye and let the little lady even up the score?”
Laughing, he tossed the ball at her and made a grand bow, sweeping his arm in the direction of the net with a flourish, “The court awaits, madam.”
Veronica curtsied in response with the ball tucked under one arm. “And they said chivalry was dead!” she said in mock surprise, fluttering her hand in front of her face. Then she turned her attention back to the ball, making a few practice dribbles before squinting at the hoop in deep concentration.
“Still, you’re resorting to blackmail tactics over a friendly basketball skirmish. Why am I not surprised?" he called out to her.
“Elementary, my dear Wallace. You’re obviously the Watson to my Sherlock and if you hadn’t figured out that much about me by now I’d have fired you from the ‘Best Friend’ position. Now quit talking, I’m trying to defend my honour here.”
“Since when do blackmailers have honour? And you never said anything about no distractions,” he pointed out smugly.
“Curses! The fatal flaw to my otherwise perfect plan!” she groused dramatically as she lined up her shot. Bending her knees and holding the ball before her, she took a deep breath and then jumped, extending her arms up and out—
“RABID RACCOON!” bellowed Wallace.
“What?!” squeaked Veronica.
Klang! - went the ball as it hit the rim.
Wallace merely grinned innocently, “My bad, just a shadow. Guess it's still thirty-three to two!”