The Guilt Trip [slow updates]

[25] Desert Of Lions

   "Let's go to France," announced Wade, his words almost drowned by the sound of him slamming the door. Skipper glanced up from the map which lay on the ground in front of her, travel journal not too far from reach. One of her legs was folded beneath her, the other hugged to her chest with knee supporting her chin. She glanced at him with puzzled eyes, not completely hearing his statement due to the door slam.

   "Let's go? Go where?" She queried. He held Charles's leash and allowed his pet to stray a little.

   "To France. Let's go to France, I said."

   "But we can't drive there. There's an ocean." She gestured to the map.

   "Maybe we could take a boat?"

   Skipper thought about it, resting her chin on her knee again. "Intercontinental ferries can be more expensive than flying," she muttered. "Why is it you want to go to France?"

   "Change of scenery," he shrugged. "Eclairs. I thought you wanted spontaneity."

   "But I haven't been to Brazil, and that's closer than France." She pretended to pout. Wade frowned and briefly turned his attention to detangling the leash Charles was winding around his legs.

   While it was true that Skipper had asked for spontaneity not more than a couple days ago, there was still so much she wanted to see before her time was up. For the sake of practicality, it made more sense to visit places that were within distance of each other, rather than hopping large distances at a time and wasting precious minutes on a plane.

   "Dude, you literally just said the other day that you're bored and want to be more spontaneous. So let's be spontaneous." Wade looked mildly annoyed, almost tripping over Charles' leash. "Geez, buddy. One would think you've got ants in your pants."

   "Maybe he does," Skipper observed, eyebrows raised. "He is an anteater, after all..."

   "Oh, shut up. You're not funny," growled Wade, a sour expression on his face.

   "Somebody's grumpy," snickered the girl. "I thought you liked it here in Mexico."

   Wade scowled. They'd spent their entire time here traveling to different beaches and amusement parks, and his lack of sleep had caught up to him. Charles had also started to get restless, which was inevitable but inherently exhausting.

   "Here," Skipper got out her phone and opened a search tab. "You need something invigorating to do."

   A sneer tugged the left corner of his upper lip. "Why does that sound bad?"

   "Because you have a dirty mind," she shrugged. "Hmm...let's see. Ooh. Looks like there's some sort of festival going on...kind of like a big block party."

   "No."

   "There's dancing."

   "No."

   "Yes. You can dance the salsa while eating salsa. Didn't you say you wanted to do that?"

   He just glared at her, letting his breath out through his nostrils like an aggravated bull. "I am not in the mood for social events and dancing. I'm burnt out."

   "Yes, your skin is very brown," she considered, giving him a once-over. "And peely. Should've worn sunscreen."

   "Heh, unlike you, I prefer not to encourage cancer," he scowled.

   "As if I had a choice, idiot! Don't make me throw this at you!" she brandished the travel journal menacingly. In that same moment, Charles succeeded in knocking his master over, and proceeded to climb over the fallen man with a searching, sticky tongue. Skipper covered her mouth with her free hand in an attempt to smother her giggles. It didn't work.