“Clam it, crabcakes,” she says and fastens the helmet she had snapped out of her sylladex under his chin while he pushes at her face and squirms. He’s a fucking pill, but cute as a pearl. Nerd.
“Unhand me you salt-encrusted harpy, or at least tell me why in God’s little rotten apples you’re forcing me into a fracture protection bowl, I said get off!”
“Cause we’re goin’ skatin’,” she grins in his face and high-fives herself for the most righteous and subtle pun. Skate. As in the fish. Yessss. He stares up at her like she’s gone off the deep end. Hehehe.
“Uh, yeah kiddo! We’re doin’ it.”
“Ohhhhh no, I will skin you and fry you up for dinner if you even dare finish that reference-“
“Oh reeeeelly?” she says and flashes every single hook tooth in her face at him and he puffs up his chest.
“You bet your bass, aholehole.”
She grabs him around the middle and whirlwinds, squealing and cackling right next to his ear. He rolls his eyes right into orbit.
(And laughs with.)