R.J. tossed the stick aside. He dropped to his knees and clutched his chest, overacting violently. He sold his "death" like a Loony Tunes character, falling flat on his back, tossing his legs in the air, face in all manner of silly contortions, before laying out flat, eyes closed, tongue hanging out of his mouth.
"Ohmigod, R.J.! Don't do that! You scared me!"
...Was his performance that
bad? He opened his eyes to see Mary-Ann tearing up, before sitting up, a worried look overtaking his face. "I'm not dumb. I get what you were trying to do,"
she continued, letting the gun fall to the dirt, before rushing toward him. She threw herself on the ground next to him, wrapping her arms around him and crying into his shirt. He sighed, gently reciprocating Mary-Ann's embrace. They were only just starting, and she'd done as well as he could've hoped given the circumstances. Maybe even better. She really was stronger than she gave herself credit for.
"I'm sorry I yelled. You only want me to know how to protect myself. But please don't leave me alone like that again. Don't leave."
R.J. pressed his lips against the top of her head. Without looking, he dropped his left hand to the dirt next to them, using his index finger to scrawl out five simple letters.
((R.J. Lowe and Mary-Ann Warren continued in Feral Intelligence