Francine Peters (
thatsamilkshake) wrote2009-12-23 02:46 am
Room 505: Tuesday -- no, make that Wednesday - after Radio
You know, four hours after radio? Long enough for the CD to replay three times before she turned it off, the candles to burn down, the chicken to get cold, the phone to be picked up and then put down about five times because it was supposed to be a surprise, and the girl to fall asleep on top of the covers with the back of her dress still unfastened.
As you do.
[OOC: For the roomie. BFF. Person. Other girl. SP? Ahahahaha.]
As you do.
[OOC: For the roomie. BFF. Person. Other girl. SP? Ahahahaha.]

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Francine rubbed muzzily at the back of her head. "M'fine. What... sorry, I fell asleep. Time is it?"
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That one.
"It's gotta be at least three," Katchoo said, rubbing at her hip. "Is the island growing random furniture now?"
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She still figured the island had done it, and sighed. "There was fruitcake. Evil fruitcake."
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"Oh, um, yeah. There's chicken. Probably need to microwave it now, sorry." Francine, as someone who had actually tasted decent fruitcake, may have scared the Fandom ones away today. Of maybe she was just too busy obsessing over making the room and the food ready that she didn't notice them. "You got attacked by fruitcake?"
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Okay, the food and the table sounded less accidental. "Chicken? And . . ." A moment for further exploration, possibly aided by the lamp. "Oh, geez, Francie, you did this?"
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Katchoo, who was maneuvering around the table successfully this time to drop onto the bed beside Francine and reach out to put an arm around her shoulders. "God. Francine, I didn't know -- stupid squirrels didn't say anything about this, just that you were cleaning the room."
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"You did all this for us. And I didn't come home."
. . . and yet, there was the odd, so nebulous it was nearly imperceptible sense that this could have been a lot worse somehow.
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Francine put her hand to the back of her head where she'd bumped it, wincing and blinking hard.
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"Francie?" Katchoo peered around to look at the back of her head. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."
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Her brain just wasn't in the mood to cooperate with a flight of fancy like that, though, and she ran her thumb over Francine's knuckles.
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