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Birthday Party for Laura/X-23
It's a pretty low-key party, all things considered, and not significantly different than the one Parker or Meg would have thrown in a dorm room for a friend at home, not-exactly-traditional menu not withstanding.
There's music, low enough to talk over (and maybe with a little more folk in the mix than one expects to find a party). Balloons and streamers in purple and blue and red. A place to leave presents. People to meet or catch up with.
And, most importantly, a chance to wish X-23 (or Laura) a very happy birthday.
There's music, low enough to talk over (and maybe with a little more folk in the mix than one expects to find a party). Balloons and streamers in purple and blue and red. A place to leave presents. People to meet or catch up with.
And, most importantly, a chance to wish X-23 (or Laura) a very happy birthday.
Re: Food and Drink
"Um . . . . hello?"
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"Eh?"
The creature blinks up ah her through enormous black eyes.
"Heh-ha-Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii."
Grin!
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"Um . . ."
What, exactly, is she supposed to say here.
"Would you . . . like a napkin?"
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"Naga."
Hey look! Meatballs! The bowl is seized and tilted towards his gaping maw. A few meatballs land on target. Several others do not.
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Not effective at all.
Meg steps over, picks up the not-exactly-a-birthday cake and retreats to a safe distance. She can get more spaghetti later.
And a new table cloth.
But she doesn't want anything to happen to Laura's birthday garlic bread.
"You're a . . . friend of Laura's?"
Re: Food and Drink
"Ih. Achi-baba mockeecha. Cousin."
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Well, okay then.
Laura knows . . . interesting people.
"I'm Meg."
Re: Food and Drink
In contrast to the rapid fire jabbering of Tantalog, Stitch's English is stilted and deliberate. There is an unmistakable firmness tacked on to the last word. A clawed hand is extended towards the loaf of gar- Stitch freezes, eyes locked on the carton of ice cream farther down the table.
"Tukibowaba!"
He scuttles forward and seizes the box with visible glee.
Re: Food and Drink
Meg has heard of Stitch.
She smiles slightly.
"I'm guessing you don't need a spoon."
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Meg adds that to the mental list.
And then looks at the . . . can she use the word "carnage" for a buffet table.
And decides to chuck the list and just redo all the food.
When he's done.
"Lemonade?"
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"Ih!"
"Please."
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She starts to pick up a glass, too, and then, with a quietly amused glance back at the table, simply holds out the whole pitcher.
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Stitch helpfully offers the pitcher back.
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It's a very nice pitcher, after all.
Meg can't help it; she holds out a napkin, too.
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And, having finished dining, he begins to wipe himself off.
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(She thinks a fire hose might not be an unreasonable clean-up method, honestly.)
"I'm . . . glad you could come."
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Blink.
"Gaba?"
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"I'm sure Laura is pleased that you're here."
The buffet table may have died a horrible death, but in a good cause.
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"S'okay." He repeats.
Re: Food and Drink
Meg smiles.
And, once Stitch has retreated from the field of glory, takes fifteen minutes and three trips down to bar to undo the damage.
When she steps away from the buffet table, everything is clean and neat, the bowls are full again, and Laura's be-candled bread is back in place.