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Description
Gift art to in honor of our one year anniversary writing Fanfiction together!

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, STRAY!!!!!

Confused by this picture? That's probably because you haven't read our collaboration, "The Art of Pretending It Isn't Your Fault". To fully understand the value of this illustration, click here: [link] And, more specifically, the end of Chapter 10.

But, in case you'd rather see a summary:
The story takes place on Playa De Losers beginning with Duncan's arrival. A few days in, he has the radical idea to freeze the pool and play ice hockey on it, with the help of Harold. They manage this, but...

--------------------------

"WHAT in seven HELLS is—?" Hatchet roared, still gripping his key ring like a weapon, even though it looked more like a small metal Frisbee. He stopped short, though, as something amid the gathered campers (nearly all paralyzed with acute Hachetphobia) caught his attention.

Chef gritted his teeth so hard, his face turned red and the vein in his temple nearly exploded. To Duncan and Courtney, it looked like he wanted to say something, scream something at them at the top of his lungs, but all that managed to make it past his clenched teeth was a strangled, but still incredibly menacing, snarl. "RRRRRrrrrrrr…!"

He didn't need to say anymore, though, because Geoff finished the sentence. Without even waiting for his own signal, Geoff spun on his heels and tried to sprint (though he kind of just galloped in place thanks to the foil shoes, à la style Scooby-Doo) as he instructed the others to, "RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"

The campers scattered as Hatchet, with a speed that shouldn't have been possible for someone of his size, made a dash for the pool surface. By this time, he was seeing far too much red to realize the implications of the fact that teenagers were not yet able to stand on liquid water, so he blindly stomped onto the edge of the rink. Then, in one impossibly-long second, he slipped backwards onto the ice, hitting it with his full weight and causing the already questionably solid surface to crack, producing in the process a sound like the peal of thunder.

Unsure if she was more terrified of Chef chopping her into mystery meat-ready bits or drowning in two meters of freezing water, the sound of cracking ice awoke Courtney from her paralysis, her CIT training (and very basic survival skills) informing her to get out of there, fast. But by the time both Duncan and Courtney realized exactly what was happening, the cracked ice had already zigzagged halfway to where they were standing, almost completely across the rink from the rest of their scrambling companions.

Duncan immediately tried to take a step back, making a break for the solid edge of the rink, just as the same thought crossed Courtney's mind. She pushed off with the intention to skate past Duncan and to the rink edge behind him quick as she could, yet she couldn't get enough push to go far (foil reduced friction whether you wanted it to or not, apparently.) But as she passed Duncan, the ice cracked in the space between them, throwing Courtney off balance and forward—straight into him.

She reached out to grab something to keep herself from falling. Unfortunately for her (and Duncan), the only thing in grabbing distance was the boy himself, who looked first confused at the physical contact and then surprised when she inadvertently pulled them both down to the ice, knocking his legs out from under him with her flailing hockey stick in the process.

In accordance with the Laws of Gravity, Courtney landed back-first on the icy surface. The CIT had a mere two seconds to freak out over the situation before Duncan came crashing down right on top of her, completely sandwiching her between his torso and the increasingly unstable ice, thus knocking the wind out of her and sending her into complete panic.

They stared at each other for a moment, unsure of what to do. Courtney's entire face was flushed red, but Duncan couldn't be sure if it was because she was pissed at him, frostbitten from the temperature of the ice, had windburn from the game, or because their alignment could have easily been misinterpreted as being quite conducive to activities other than ice hockey.

Duncan felt his mouth go desert dry as he tried to keep a straight face, wracking his reeling mind for something clever to say. "Well, uh… This totally redefines 'body-checking'."

"Don't move you idiot!" Courtney hissed at him in warning, grabbing at her hockey stick with one hand and at the front of Duncan's shirt with the other (though this hand was painfully trapped between their bodies.)

The ice groaned more ominously beneath them.

"Oh, believe me, Princess," he promised, a lusty smirk finding its way back onto his lips and his saliva glands starting to work again as he named and identified exactly which parts of her were touching which parts of him. "I have absolutely no plans of doing so."

But before Duncan got a real chance to enjoy the situation, he was lifted clean off Courtney—completely off the ground, too—by the neck of his shirt. After a millisecond of being violently whipped through the air, it was Chef Hatchet's face that was just centimeters from his own. His very, very angry face…

-------------------

And, voila! Here you have a visual representation to aid your imagination. Oh, yeah. Chef's French Maid costume is referenced at other points in the story. Chris forces him to wear it when he performs his maidly duties around Playa. Poor guy. /:

Happy anniversary to strayphoenix, the most amazing co-author a girl could ask for.

Description
Gift art to in honor of our one year anniversary writing Fanfiction together!

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, STRAY!!!!!

Confused by this picture? That's probably because you haven't read our collaboration, "The Art of Pretending It Isn't Your Fault". To fully understand the value of this illustration, click here: [link] And, more specifically, the end of Chapter 10.

But, in case you'd rather see a summary:
The story takes place on Playa De Losers beginning with Duncan's arrival. A few days in, he has the radical idea to freeze the pool and play ice hockey on it, with the help of Harold. They manage this, but...

--------------------------

"WHAT in seven HELLS is—?" Hatchet roared, still gripping his key ring like a weapon, even though it looked more like a small metal Frisbee. He stopped short, though, as something amid the gathered campers (nearly all paralyzed with acute Hachetphobia) caught his attention.

Chef gritted his teeth so hard, his face turned red and the vein in his temple nearly exploded. To Duncan and Courtney, it looked like he wanted to say something, scream something at them at the top of his lungs, but all that managed to make it past his clenched teeth was a strangled, but still incredibly menacing, snarl. "RRRRRrrrrrrr…!"

He didn't need to say anymore, though, because Geoff finished the sentence. Without even waiting for his own signal, Geoff spun on his heels and tried to sprint (though he kind of just galloped in place thanks to the foil shoes, à la style Scooby-Doo) as he instructed the others to, "RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"

The campers scattered as Hatchet, with a speed that shouldn't have been possible for someone of his size, made a dash for the pool surface. By this time, he was seeing far too much red to realize the implications of the fact that teenagers were not yet able to stand on liquid water, so he blindly stomped onto the edge of the rink. Then, in one impossibly-long second, he slipped backwards onto the ice, hitting it with his full weight and causing the already questionably solid surface to crack, producing in the process a sound like the peal of thunder.

Unsure if she was more terrified of Chef chopping her into mystery meat-ready bits or drowning in two meters of freezing water, the sound of cracking ice awoke Courtney from her paralysis, her CIT training (and very basic survival skills) informing her to get out of there, fast. But by the time both Duncan and Courtney realized exactly what was happening, the cracked ice had already zigzagged halfway to where they were standing, almost completely across the rink from the rest of their scrambling companions.

Duncan immediately tried to take a step back, making a break for the solid edge of the rink, just as the same thought crossed Courtney's mind. She pushed off with the intention to skate past Duncan and to the rink edge behind him quick as she could, yet she couldn't get enough push to go far (foil reduced friction whether you wanted it to or not, apparently.) But as she passed Duncan, the ice cracked in the space between them, throwing Courtney off balance and forward—straight into him.

She reached out to grab something to keep herself from falling. Unfortunately for her (and Duncan), the only thing in grabbing distance was the boy himself, who looked first confused at the physical contact and then surprised when she inadvertently pulled them both down to the ice, knocking his legs out from under him with her flailing hockey stick in the process.

In accordance with the Laws of Gravity, Courtney landed back-first on the icy surface. The CIT had a mere two seconds to freak out over the situation before Duncan came crashing down right on top of her, completely sandwiching her between his torso and the increasingly unstable ice, thus knocking the wind out of her and sending her into complete panic.

They stared at each other for a moment, unsure of what to do. Courtney's entire face was flushed red, but Duncan couldn't be sure if it was because she was pissed at him, frostbitten from the temperature of the ice, had windburn from the game, or because their alignment could have easily been misinterpreted as being quite conducive to activities other than ice hockey.

Duncan felt his mouth go desert dry as he tried to keep a straight face, wracking his reeling mind for something clever to say. "Well, uh… This totally redefines 'body-checking'."

"Don't move you idiot!" Courtney hissed at him in warning, grabbing at her hockey stick with one hand and at the front of Duncan's shirt with the other (though this hand was painfully trapped between their bodies.)

The ice groaned more ominously beneath them.

"Oh, believe me, Princess," he promised, a lusty smirk finding its way back onto his lips and his saliva glands starting to work again as he named and identified exactly which parts of her were touching which parts of him. "I have absolutely no plans of doing so."

But before Duncan got a real chance to enjoy the situation, he was lifted clean off Courtney—completely off the ground, too—by the neck of his shirt. After a millisecond of being violently whipped through the air, it was Chef Hatchet's face that was just centimeters from his own. His very, very angry face…

-------------------

And, voila! Here you have a visual representation to aid your imagination. Oh, yeah. Chef's French Maid costume is referenced at other points in the story. Chris forces him to wear it when he performs his maidly duties around Playa. Poor guy. /:

Happy anniversary to strayphoenix, the most amazing co-author a girl could ask for.