<strong>Name:</strong>Terry Hunter (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=264761.msg13074475#msg13074475)<br/><strong>Time / Location:</strong>Evening - Ortiz Backyard and Kitchen<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Savannah Ortiz<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Preparing for treatment<br/><br/><hr/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/Setting%20and%20RP/black-metalhead-2.jpg?1490501433475&amp;1490501435218&amp;1490501437401)</div>The glowering look the woman gave him as he confessed his age reminded him of a teacher he had back in high school. What was her name again? Misses... Covalik? No! Covachek. Misses Covachek, the art teacher. Terry was never really too good with sketches or anything, but he really enjoyed making clay sculptures. When his parents turned music down he thought maybe he could focus on a different kind of art, but that got rejected as well. The expression this woman gave him looked very much like the less-than-amused gaze of Mrs. Covachek when Terry created a rather... phallic looking clay sculpture.<br/><br/>His brash, youthful idea of flirting with the teacher.<br/><br/>The woman's fingers were careful, but her voice was stern. Another commonality with Covachek, though with the added flair of an hispanic accent. His gaze followed to the mentioned gate, head nodding rather idiotically as she commanded him to use that entrance the next time.<br/><br/>Wait, next time?<br/><br/><strong>"Alright, mijo, let's go. Let's get you inside so I can get you patched up."</strong><br/><br/>No time to reflect or ruminate on potential meanings of "next time" -- including the fact that it probably meant nothing at all. The woman stood, pointing the way into her house. Terry nodded again, standing up from the chair. He looked down at himself for a moment before finally shrugging. He placed his clothing onto the chair but for his boxers, which he did his best to keep covered over his sex. Sure, nothing the woman "hadn't seen before", as she had stated, but there was still a sense of politeness to keeping oneself concealed. So she'd only get glimpses of himself hanging freely as he hurried his legs into his boxers, pulling them up to cover his shame. At least, best he could. This particular pair lacked a button on the front, allowing the fly to open every so often.<br/><br/><strong>"You can clean up and dress and then tell me your name and why on earth you decided going around hopping fences was more fun than a party. Come on."</strong><br/><br/>He grabbed the rest of his clothing, bundled beneath one arm as he snagged his sneakers in the other, following the woman into her home.<br/><br/>"Name is Terry," he said. He almost blurted out that he's living with his Uncle, but decided to keep that a secret for now. In the event the woman later decided she'd be pressing charges he didn't want her to know where to find him. Not until he had a better handle on... whatever this was so far. At the very least it was an opportunity to be reminded of his teenage crush on his art teacher, though based on how those jeans wrapped around this woman's rump, Mrs. Covachek<em>never</em>had an ass like that.<br/><br/>"It wasn't the fence hopping I was planning on doing instead," he explained, crossing the threshold into her home. "Me and um... Yoga-man decided to take a dip in a hot tub." He might be giving too much away, but he didn't want to<em>directly</em>sell his partner in crime out. "When the owner of the home came out instinct took over and I fled." After a moment of reflection, Terry paused. "Shit," he mumbled, "I hope he didn't get in trouble on account of me..."<br/><br/>With a sigh he continued following the woman through her kitchen, looking at the assortment of fruit, whipped cream, and chocolate syrup. His eyebrow rose taking a gander at it all. "I'm sorry," he said, though a bit light-hearted. "If I knew I was going to interrupt a late night snack I'd have gone to another backyard." He flashed a smile at the woman, hoping to lighten the mood somewhat before glancing about. This place was even larger than Uncle Gavin's place, and a completely different interior design. No clue where he'd even find the restroom. "Where do you keep your medical stuff?" he asked, glancing down to make sure he wasn't getting blood on the floor... or at least, not a lot. Crap, he was gonna have to clean that up for her, too.