Hay, Pedro! Pobrecito!

"If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they'll kill you."
-Oscar Wilde

((OOC: It's me, Flo. I was trying to figure out how to make the content of this entry fit this quote, and I was stumped stumped. So I just gave up and wrote my entry, and it ended up being almost perfect for it anyway! I love when things just work out like that! :D))

Vera and Pedro walked in uncomfortable (for Pedro, anyway) silence for a while, before Pedro summoned the courage to speak. "Vera, I-um-I have something to say." He took a deep breath, and continued, "I know that everyone thinks Myrtle and I are in love, and are bound to be married some day, but-well-what I mean is, I can see why, but I just don't feel...that way about her. I mean, I do care about her, and I suppose I do love her, but I'm not in love with her, really. What I mean to say is that she feels more like a-a sister than anything else, and--"

"Is there a point you're trying to make, because if not, I'll just tune you out," Vera interrupted impatiently.

"What I'm trying to say is that...oh, bugger. Vera, I have very strong feelings for you, and was wondering if you felt the same way." He said this last part very fast, as if he were getting a heavy weight off his chest. Vera could practically feel his face grow hot with embarassment.

She then did what any other jaded, compassionless witch would do: she laughed. Hard. "Pedro-haha!-Pedro, you can't be-hee!-you can't be serious! You're-you're-that was a joke, right? Right? You were just...joking...you weren't joking, were you," she concluded when Pedro failed to join in the laughter. This would have been awkward, were it somebody with a bit more sensitivity in Vera's place. However, she managed to brush away her embarassment with a superior and slightly amused, "I'm very flattered, Pedro, but no. Just-no."

So this was why he had been throwing pebbles at her window! He thought he was going to woo her with pathetic cliches and romantic ideals. It was awfully sweet of him to go to the effort, but Vera had no time for sweetness. She swiftly steered the conversation to Myrtle, before Pedro, who now looked as though he would very much like to disappear, could protest.

"So, according to this Myrtle-ometer, Myrtle should be somewhere in this apple orchard." For indeed, the device had led them to the edge of a vast grove of apple trees. From somewhere in the thick of trees, they heard a faint crash and an alarmed bleeting. "And that would be Myrtle."