The First Bit of Boring: Kirby

I was feeling rather bored, so I decided to type some nonsense and publish it. I apologize for the lack of pictures, but, as I stated, this isn't an actual chapter... Think of it as fanfic... For my own legacy. *Sighs* Perhaps that doesn't sound as pathetic to you as it sounds it my head? 
This BoB (Bit of Boring, what I'm calling the posts) will focus on Kirby, from generation one, who worked with Alyce Janes and was her friend, until she decided to jet off to Paris with her new found lesbian lover. This is set about a week after Kirby left for France, she's with her girlfriend in the small cottage in the suburbs of Paris that they already paid six months more of rent for.
If you need a refresher, I'd suggest reading posts 1.2 and 1.3 and 1.4, then coming back and reading this.


"We really should explore parts of the cottage, other than the bedroom..." She mused, standing up, slipping on a flimsy, satin robe.
"I know..." I paused, looking at her as she stared into the mirror, examing the apparent blemish on her chin.
"You sound off." She didn't turn to look at me, instead she glided over to the dresser, picking up the pink, plastic makeup bag and grabbing a tube of dark foundation out of it. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." I forced a smile, shivering slightly. The air was chilly against my bare skin.
"I know you better than that." She turned away from her blemish resolving towards me. She sat next to me, taking my hand. "C'mon, Kirb."
"I left a few, well one friend, back in Bridgeport. She seemed upset, yet I was so excited about moving I just babbled on... I've been thinking about it, she's nineteen, I don't know much about her, but her life seems to have been hard. Maybe I shouldn't have left her."
"Oh, baby, don't worry. I'm sure she'll find someone else."
"She's kinda quiet and apologizes too much; I doubt it."
"Have faith."
"Ha! You know I have trouble with that."
"You had faith in us." She kissed my collarbone, batting her eyelashes. We'd met at the Irish pub I took Alyce to when I first met her; she was the bartender who served us. We'd chatted, I was spilling my woes of how I'd yet to be promoted and my love life was nonexistent over a glass of scotch. She confessed that she didn't picture being a bartender at some pub, she wanted to move to Bridgeport, catch the eye of some big shot news company and become their anchor.
"I took a risk and it seems to have payed off." I chuckled, kissing her. When we pulled away from each other I added: "Alyce doesn't seem to be the risk taking type, though. She was crushing on this guy and she was suppose to go to his party. She was is a cruddy mood when I left her, maybe..." She slipped off her robe, raising an eyebrow, as we collapsed onto the mattress together. "Maybe she went?"
"Dammit, Kirb! I'm trying to get it on with you, and here you're rambling about some teenager."
"She was the one I took to the bar, remeber her? She isn't some teenager, she's that teenager and I'm worried about her. We're friends... Or, were. I don't know anymore."
"Look," she stood up, turning to face me, "I'm going to get dressed and go explore the city. When I come back, please make sure your I-Miss-Alyce fest is over."
"You could sympathize with me a bit! I know you were excited for the trip, but we can't pretend that our lives in New York don't exist anymore, okay? I think I love you and if you love me, you'll understand. I'm worried, but that doesn't take away from this."
"Doesn't it, though? We can't even have sex because of that girl. Isn't she meddling with our relationship? Or is it you? I knew you'd never be able to pick up and leave. You were so excited when I told you the idea, you jumped on bored, rush to go take a sabbatical, tell everyone, now what? We're here and you're-"
"Stop!" I screamed. "You're acting self centered, blowing nothing into something huge."
"I do that. I thought I knew you, maybe I do, but I know you don't know me."
"I don't know all of you, but I know enough to know I want to spend six glorious months with you in a country that's language I don't even speak."
"We could have gone to England! Or Australia, but no Paris is romantic. You wanted romace, well fine, guess it is a language you don't speak."
"That makes no sense."
"Neither does this relationship, apparently. Maybe it only does when you're tipsy and I'm horny or bored."
"Take that back!"
"I would if it wasn't true. We met at a bar, you always had an alcoholic beverage in hand, I hated my job, so I was bored and you were attractive. These are F to the A to the C-T-S."
"Just go."
"I will." She stormed out, as I shrieked out in rage, punching a pillow. I thought we had something, but apparently not. I wanted to cry or yell- I didn't know which. Anger or Sadness? Regardless, I didn't want to have to deal with the aftermath of our first fight.