elasticity

Sally loathed the island and she loathed men. Which was almost inconvenient considering she lived on the island still and lived with a man, but it made sense -- she was angry, everything made sense. She could say the sky was green and she was so angry that everyone was supposed to just agree.

She was practically filing down her nails to sharp weapons of attack in the wake of what had happened with a pinched bottle of wine from the Winchester at her side. "It's just not fair," she complained, half-drunk already. "It's not fair. It's not fair," she said with a deep breath to sum up her thoughts, "that I didn't get the chance to kill him first. Now that he knows what I look like naked."

It's been an embarrassingly long time since Sally has given a facial to anyone other than herself. She knew that her skills were up to snuff because she did them to herself every week in the mirror, but she hadn't exactly done then on anyone else in a long while.

Which meant she could be losing her touch. And besides, it wasn't like the market was any kind of temperature to sell products, so instead she was in the kitchen with all her self-made tools and supplies.

And now she needed a volunteer. The minute she saw him, she knew that she had the perfect suspect. "Charlie!" she excitedly called over. "Charlie! Are you busy?"

There is the distinct hint of man when she arrives home.

This does not bode well. Sally's instincts are attuned to sniffing out the intruder and sending him skittering off with a well placed use of the word 'tampon', but she's displeased with the mere fact that she has to. There should be no men in her humble abode. This is where she strips off all the layers and lets her scary out. This should be a man-free zone.

"Excuse me?" she got out sharply. "What are you doing here?" she demanded of the man, arms crossed firmly as she regarded him and trying not to make notice of the fact that he was handsome.

Sally wasn't sure exactly why she'd turned up at the aforementioned meeting place. Sure, she wanted to meet men as much as ever, but she had never stooped to the point of allowing a shirtless man with wings to tell her that he had a match for her. On the other hand, he was a rather handsome bloke, so at least there was that.

She had put on a decent frock with boots and jacket and was waiting in the kitchen with a book in hand, figuring that whoever she was meeting was going to know her by that. And if she happened to be extremely wary about who came in the door, she could always...oh, well, deck the person making dinner with the book.

In the game of love, sometimes people just got hurt.

The bed was creaking.

Sally had made many a great escape in the mornings after, but none of the men had creaky beds that creaked under the damn weight of her bottom. First it was flaunting its hugeness to the world and then her neck was scaring children like a first-rate horror movie monster and now her massive bottom was making the bed creak as she tried to escape The Night Before. Not that it was bad, of course.

It was just that when a man woke up after sex and you had breakfast, you had to have A Talk and then you had to decide about relationship things and share your souls and other things that Sally had no interest in. She liked her relationships to end just before breakfast.

Escaping Stephen wasn't turning out to be quite so easy. "Damn it," she hissed at the bed. "Shut up or I'll take you down with me."

Presumably, our pups have lives that happen when we aren't playing them, as none of us can play 24/7. Some of the things that happen are tedious and everyday, and not worth thinking much on: It's fair to assume they eat, bathe, go to "work" or school as it applies, etc. But there might be things that happen between pups that, while not necessarily requiring a thread, are important to note for the sake of development. The important stuff should always be played out, but we know you can't always play everything, and sometimes you need a little nudge in the right direction.

PLOT GOES HERE.

MAILBOX of Sally Harper

Susan: What happened to personality, verve, and humour?
Sally: Sod them. After all the men I've been out with - I deserve a full-sized one!
-Size Matters

"I've never understood the male obsession with lesbianism. A whole area of sex with nothing for them to do. Oh, I think I just answered my own question."
-Inferno

Jane: I'm just feeling so ridiculously horny. I swear, if I didn't have my heart set on having sex with a man, you two would be in serious trouble.
Sally: I could never have sex with another woman. What if she had a smaller bottom?
Susan: Excuse me! I have a crisis here way above bottoms on the crisis scale.
Sally: We're women. There is nothing above bottoms on the crisis scale. Bottoms are our natural enemy.
Susan: Sally, please...
Sally: They follow us around our entire lives, right behind us and constantly growing. How do they do that? I'm sure mine's back there secretly snacking.
-The Cupboard of Patrick's Love

Sally: You've never understood about bottoms Jane. Having a bottom is living with the enemy. Not only do they spend their lives slowly inflating, they flirt with men while we're looking the other way.
-Her Best Friend's Bottom

"She's six months younger than me. Always has been, probably always will be. Six months after I die, then she'll catch up. Of course, then I'll be dead, so she'll still have the upper hand."
-Gotcha

Sally: Men always want Susan's number. It's her tiny little bottom isn't it? Tiniest, little bottom in the world. It's like two tiny puppies in a tiny little sack! That's why she bounces when she walks. Her little bottom is just so happy with all the tiny littleness in the world. Probably sings in the shower. It's the Walt Disney arse!
-Remember This

"Always the same with men, isn't it? Looks like a starter handle, works like an off-switch."

-Remember This

Sally: Patrick.
Patrick: Mmm.
Sally: Patrick! Wake up!
Patrick: Can't stay, I've got a breakfast meeting ... Oh. Sorry. Autopilot.
Sally: I've heard about your autopilot.
Patrick: Oh yeah? What have you heard?
Sally: One time you accidentally called a taxi for a girl before you'd had sex with her.
Patrick: That wasn't an accident. There's a difference between a quickie and an accident.
-Night Lines

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