#weeeeoooooo

“good thing i'm not trying to fool you.” there's a small smile to be heard in his voice, but it is as fleeting as the wind. the very same that whips the gravel path around the wheels of the car, spinning dust up into the grill and through the fans. the chevy is old and coughs it out into the small cabin.

"Okay, enough." Elaine sets her hand light on top of Guybrush’s, and he stills where he’s pushing their raft along, drawing them to a halt in the murky water. "You’re in much too cheerful of a mood for this dismal little place and I’ve got to have an explanation.”

"What do you mean?" he asks, eyes suspiciously wide and sweet.

"Why on God’s green earth are we taking our one afternoon of relaxing alone time and drifting in aimless circles through the bloody Mysts o’Time Marsh?”

Guybrush just chuckles and starts pulling the raft through the water again, finally lodging them up against some low-slung mangroves. Once he’s sure the raft isn’t going anywhere he steps off onto the grey-mud soil, holding out his hand for her to help her disembark. With another huff and a small eyeroll, she accepts.

"I’ve done all assortment of strange things for you, Guybrush Threepwood, but you usually have some sort of explanation for them before all is said and done!”

"Elaine," he says softly, the cool dense surroundings damping his voice down. "What time is it?"

"I don’t — !" She draws the gilded watch from the pocket of her vest, but the hands on it aren’t making sense; they roll this way and that depending on how she tilts its face, like one of those silly toy balls with the ladybugs inside.

Guybrush, meanwhile, reaches into his ridiculous voodoo pockets and draws out an entire picnic basket, complete with a sitting blanket upcycled from one of their old jolly rogers. It’s delightful, and she’s furious with herself for finding it so - typical. Typical.

"Sit down," he says, and before she can comply he’s already doing it himself, so she curls down next to him, keeping her overlong shirttails clear of the sludgy earth beyond the blanket’s edge. "Have some shrimp salad."

"Guybrush - "

"What time is it, Elaine?" he says again, holding her exasperated gaze with his own, optimistic and fond and so stupid, her bloody husband. “What time was it when we crossed into the Marsh? What time will it be when we leave?”

"It’s - it’s hard to say," she admits.

"Out there, in the real world," he finally says, "we’ve only got four hours this afternoon before you have to preside over your Melee Galleon Gala and I have to go pick Murphy up from daycare at the Voodoo Lady’s place. But four hours in here is nothing. We can have the longest, schmoopiest date night that we want, and when we steer back outta here, it’ll be like no time has passed at all.”