Ready...Aim...FIRE! (Macy)

[safetypinalert10]

Macy was still annoyed, and mad about her purse. Which she had left way back when she first encountered Matt. She glanced awkwardly over her shoulder—someone had probably picked up the purse by now. Luckily she had it for decoration, and there was nothing but her ID and some cosmetics in it. A good person would hopefully return the thing to her. But she wasn’t going to hold her breath about it. The pocket in the skirt of her dress had a small change purse with her money in it—and luckily, even through the tumbling, she felt the weight of the pouch against her thigh.

When he flailed, her attention was brought back to the boy she was tangled with. Macy flinched, her face scrunching up to avoid the dirt he was shaking around. “Actually, I’m quite comfortable with laying here.” The two bodies formed a plus (+) shape, and she wasn’t shy with putting her weight on him to hold him down. She rested her elbow on the ground, and put her chin in her hands—it was uncomfortable, but hopefully she would come across just as cocky as he had in the tree.

“I’ve got all day. Plus, if you apologize you might get a reward or something. Ice cream, candy, money for a hotdog or something.” She raised her brow at him, and lifted her head, and moved the hand that her chin was previously in—to pinch the unnamed boy’s side. “That’s all I want, Mud-Boy-To-Be.”

[MATTHEW PETERSON]

"Oh, you are?" The apprehensiveness in Matt's voice was strongly masked by his apparent indifference. He shifted slightly beneath her, if only to put his hands back behind his head. Get comfortable. "Good, 'cause I am too," They were obviously going to be here for quite some time, as she didn't seem too keen on giving up any time soon, and he knew he certainly never gave up for anyone or anything. Except maybe sometimes Addison, but she wasn't here right now so he didn't quite think she mattered.

Matt smacked his lips together and closed his eyes; for all appearances he was drifing off to sleep. Or, at least he was, until a reward was mentioned. Only just able to restrain himself from sitting bolt upright, Matt instead managed to contain his interest to peeling back just one eyelid and raising his head a tiny bit, so he was wink-squinting at Macy as she offered her proposal. He never took his eyes off hers as she spoke. Once she was quite finished, Matt made sure to settle back down in the same manner as he'd sat up; calm, cool, confident. Not betraying the intense battle of wills going on inside him. Ice cream vs. Pride. It was quite honestly one of the toughest decisions Matt thought he'd ever had to make up until this point in his life.

But he couldn't let her know how it was affecting him. "Ow!" he yelped, jerked out of his dilemma by a sharp pinch in the ribs. "You know, I sorta like that name...it's gotta a nice ring to it..." he shifted his lips back and forth before offering up what he found to be quite the hefty, subtle deal. "You know," he sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes once again. "I've always thought apologies were worth a whole lot more than just one of those things..." unable to resist, he peeked open his eye ever-so-slightl to watch her reaction.

[safetypinalert10]

Aha! Ice cream, that seemed to get his attention. Her lips curled in a slight smile, and she turned her head to look at him, face to face, still slumped across him. Macy tilted her head, bouncing her toe against the ground idly while she waited for his decision. She snorted, and sat up slightly, to look more directly at him.

"You have one of a few options, buddy. You can apologize, like a good boy, and get some of the best ice cream in New York. Not to mention you can actually get candy mixed in the ice cream. Or we can sit here all day until you give up. Or I could kiss you." She smiled mischeviously, and leaned in daringly. Of course--she wouldn't actually kiss him. But the way he had taunted her about being a girl, suggested that he was quite immature. Which in turn--would mean Macy still had cooties. To some degree.

"Your choice." She purred, moving in closer, her greenish brown eyes staring at him, sparkling with mischeif and excitement. "And I'd decide a little faster, if I were you." She murmured, dropping her voice, just for Matt's ears.

[MATTHEW PETERSON]

Matt didn't much like options. He liked chances, and he liked odds, and he liked shattering them beyond all recognition with his incredible prowess at everything he ever attempted to do. Options, however, were limiting; it was hard to find loopholes in options.

There wasn't a trace of extra emotion on his face as she began listing his supposed choices. They were all horribly predictable. Even the candy bit, as appealing as it sounded, didn't seem to phase him. He'd known from the minute she'd mentioned ice cream what she was going to say-- Wait. "What?!" he started, brown eyes growing wide as saucers in less than a second. "I--you--No you can't!" he squirmed beneath her grip. Hands digging roughly into the mud beneath him, he found himself leaning as far away from her as possible (which wasn't very far at all, considering their current position).

"That's not fair!" his heart was quickening its pace, thumping hard against his chest as her lips drew closer. There was no way in the world he was ever kissing her. Nu-uh. He'd rather die first. Shaking his head wildly, Matt closed his eyes tight, squeezing them until it hurt. Suddenly, he froze. Peeling his lids back incredibly slowly, he found himself staring into the greenish brown eyes of a fiend, slightly closer than they'd been before he'd closed his own. Biting his lip, he considered all possible outcomes.

"So if I just...say sorry...you'll buy me ice cream?" he was incredibly skeptical about the whole thing. But perhaps he could milk this obviously fake apology for all it was worth and more. "A big one...with candy mixed in and sprinkles? And syrup?" he closed one eye as he stared up at her, a hopeful sort of grin spreading over his face. Maybe "Sorry" wouldn't be so bad, after all.

[safetypinalert10]

That seemed to scare him enough. Macy’s lips curled into a smile when this man-child seemed to be frightened of the idea of her kissing him. Granted, it wasn’t something she really wanted to do either. He was cute, and maybe if his personality wasn’t so fucking irritating, he could have been attractive. But he was a little too…clean cut to be Macy’s type. “Oh, I sure can.” She purred, her grasp on him tightening when he squirmed.

When his eyes shut, she grinned, only to push it quickly back when his eyes opened slowly. She hadn’t stopped moving in closer, but she paused when he asked her a question. She could easily get up, get her bag, and go back home before re-doing her outfit again. Not having to pay this brat a single thing. But it was now the moral, the fact that she was getting what she wanted, even if it felt like moot now. “Sure, but…” Macy moved in again, her nose bumping momentarily against his. Maybe she could invoke a bit of terror in him, she just hoped a rabid girlfriend wouldn’t come around the corner and rip her hair out, “You have to mean the apology, and you have to say, ‘Macy is a pretty girl, and I shouldn’t have thrown a water balloon on her’. It’s only fair, what with the addition of syrup. I’m sure a sensible boy like you, completely understands, right?” She chirped curiously, tilting her head to the side.

If only she wasn’t afraid of him running, she’d whip out her—hopefully not damaged—cell phone to record this confession. “If you don’t, then I’ll just have to kiss you until I get bored. And heaven knows, I don’t get bored.” She murmured again, trying to push that fear back into him if he tried cancelling out on the deal, with her addition to the bargain.

[MATTHEW PETERSON]

“Nu-uh. No you can’t,” he was just speaking to keep her mind off the idea of kissing him. Of course, Matt had yet to deduce that not only was his conversing still on the topic of kissing, but the more often he opened his mouth to speak, the more it increased his chances of her planting a bit, sloppy, wet one on his lips. She was a heck of a lot stronger than any girl he’d ever met before, that was for sure.

Matt flinched as her nose touched his. He didn’t mean to—in fact, if he’d actually thought about it for more than a split second, he would have blamed in on the blonde—and mentally cursed himself for it immediately. Once she spoke again, his face fell, mischievous smile at the idea of a loophole long gone with it. He was trapped. Completely and utterly trapped beyond belief. “But…” he hesitated for what was probably only the second time in his life, trying to think of whether he really wanted to go through with these next words. As it had been the first time, his split-second thought process did no good; Matt never said anything he’d had to think through first. It was far too much effort for a silly little sentence. “What if I don’t think you’re pretty? You want me to lie?” Perhaps the worst of it was that the widening of his eyes held no mockery. He was honestly confused as to how to go about this whole process, and more than aghast she would ask such a thing from his as an outright lie. The fact of the matter was simple: Matthew Peterson just didn’t give must thought to whether anyone was pretty, unless the words “great” or “cool” followed the p-word.

Immediately, he regretted saying anything at all. Or, he would have, had he been capable of such emotions. Instead, he gulped. His eyes grew wide again. For a moment, he could have sworn the hairs on the back of his neck stood up; but that would be just plain nonsense. Matthew Peterson didn’t get frightened. He got amused and he got bored and he got angry and annoyed, but never frightened. So no, that certainly couldn’t be fear he was feeling as his stomach did flip-flops and his heart ran a marathon as Macy threatened him once more. Really, there was no other option. He was a prisoner of war faced with the worst torture imaginable, and as adventurous as Matt was sure death would be, he didn’t think he was quite ready to face it yet. So he sighed. He narrowed his eyes in hopes to display all the displeasure he felt at this whole situation and what it was forcing him to become: an apologizer. It should have come as no surprise that he practically spat the words out, for they tasted worse than bile (not that he’d ever been sick).“Fine. I’m sorry. And you’re very pretty and maybe I shouldn’ta hit ya with a balloon. Now can I get my ice cream?”