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Dinah Lance blondecanary
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A tent on the beach, Monday morning
So, Dinah and Priestly had decided to camp out on the beach Sunday night. The weather was warm enough, they'd gotten a tent and a double sleeping-bag in town, and a cooler full of drinks and snacks. It had been really, really nice.

And as the Monday morning tide rolled in, Dinah turned over with a sigh, to find her hair no longer chin-length, the sunlight in her eyes, and herself no longer married to the guy sharing the sleeping bag. She really ought to be used to this by now, and yet somehow....

Cue awkward morning conversation, take-- crap, what were they on now, take six? Argh.

[ooc: for the BFF.]

And true to form, Priestly was refusing to wake up properly. He rolled over with a grumpy little murmur and snuggled deeper into the sleeping bag.

Give him a minute, he'd work out this wasn't a bed eventually.

Dinah could wait. At least by this time she was familiar with this particular part of the morning.

She propped her head on her hands, and watched the ocean. Because watching your best friend sleep after the night they'd just had might be interpreted by some as... awkward. Yes. Awkward. That was the right word.

If he took too long, she could always kick him a little.

That was certainly one way to get past the awkward stage!

Priestly mumbled something that sounded like "No, Stevesie, not the aardvark" and rolled over -- right into Dinah's side. He blinked sleepily. "Whuh?"

Dinah snickered. And nudged him with her foot, but decided not to kick him since he was about 40% awake now.

"Not Stevesie. Or the aardvark."

"Mmph." 40 percent and slowly climbing. He closed his eyes and attempted to fall back asleep -- and then caught up with the various things he'd sleepily noticed. ". . . Oh."

"Yeeeeeah." Dinah cocked an eye at him, gauging how aware he was. Plenty enough, it looked like.

Suuuuper awkward.

"How much do you remember, of..." Ahem.

"Well," Priestly said, a slow grin growing. "I remember you were a terrible wife."

She should hit him.

Does trying to smother him with a pillow count? It should!

"Excuse you, I was an excellent wife--" Well, she wasn't entirely sure she remembered that right, but close enough. "We were on vacation, how could you tell if I was a bad wife?" WHAP!

Priestly couldn't answer; he was too busy laughing. And trying to fend off death by aggrieved friend with pillow.

"Jerk!" Whap. "Brat." Whup. "Twerp." Whuff.

Dinah collapsed back to the sleeping bag, giggling, and managed, "Well, that decides it, you just had a weekend-long hallucination, or you were married to someone else all that time."

"Well, that's a relief," Priestly said. "I'd hate to think I'll grow up to actually marry a purse."

Dinah chortled. "I hate those stupid name-tags, especially when I'm wearing a dress where people would stare at my cleavage, okay?" She yawned and considered. "I still like the idea of a fleet of rogue food trucks though."

"Pirate foods. Stealing from the haute cuisine and giving to the schmoe on the street."

"Showing up in downtown New Gotham without warning, and vanishing like ninjas back into the night." Dinah yawned, then grinned. "I would be a better city dictator than some of the ones who've tried it."

"You totally would. Though then you'd be getting into supervillain territory and I'd have to object to you on principle."

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