The prompts my buddies from the Torquere Social group at Live Journal came up with were designed to break my brain, but here is the story.
The prompts were:
Addison Albright: spaghetti, girl scout, blue bird
Neriah: vodka, laundry, rooster
Ligea: canned soup, mushrooms, cold water, hot dogs, cloudy, cranky
TC Blue: pineapple, rambunctious, fragile, exasperated, minx
A prequel to the action in Fire on the Mountain, with a little peek into Kurt’s head.
“So, why didn’t you just go to the movies with Lindy?” Kurt asked. He and his fellow ranger, Jake, had gone into town to do laundry, get groceries, meet with the Chief, and have a good time before leaving civilization. They were almost back to the cabin, and they could have been gone a lot longer than they were. Jake had stomped out of the bowling alley, practically before the last set of pins had gone down. Lindy and Tanya had stared after him, exasperated with the tall and handsome young man, and Kurt had needed to do some damage control with the girls. Jake had been so irritated that he’d left a half eaten hotdog behind– astounding, since he was feeling the lack of refrigerated foods rather keenly.
“Movie, singular, in this town, and she’s, well, she’s too damned young.” Jake, normally cheerful, sounded downright cranky. “It’s like she’s a girl scout and working on her “catch a guy” badge.”
“Come on, she’s probably nineteen. That’s too young for an old fart of twenty-two? Or are you the ‘roostah that used ta?’” Grabbing bags of food, Kurt headed up the track to the bear box, cans clinking with each step.
Jake followed with more bags. “The little minx asked you out last week.”
“What a word. Guess you are an old fart.” Kurt started loading the food into the bear box, where only nonperishables could survive the heat and cold cycle of a day in the Colorado Rockies.
“I am well read. There is a difference.” Jake abruptly pitched a can of pineapple chunks toward him, which only quick reflexes allowed him to catch. In short order, Kurt seized canned soup, canned salmon, a tin of mushrooms, and a packet of spaghetti thrown in a perfect spiral by his suddenly rambunctious companion.
“Did the bluebird of happiness crap on you or what?” Kurt marveled, and got no specific answer.
His face cloudy, Jake grumped, “I’m going for a hike,” and headed down the track through the trees.
Wondering at his partner’s fragile state of mind, Kurt considered slipping a slug of vodka into his cold water if he hadn’t settled by dinner time. The guy was acting like he needed to get laid, but he’d walked out on the two most obvious candidates earlier in the day.