thatsamilkshake | Francine and Katchoo's Dorm Room, St. Louis: Saturday Afternoon

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Francine and Katchoo's Dorm Room, St. Louis: Saturday Afternoon

Leftover pizza made a great breakfast even when you were five, and Saturday morning cartoons were a pretty good distraction from the impending arrival of lunchtime, but it did finally catch up.

"I'm hungry." Let's see just how waiflike Francine could make herself look, shall we? "I want ice cream!"

_
[OOC: For the girl and an eventual bewildered guest, but open for calls set before he arrives, too.]

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"DAVID DON'T BE EXTRA DUMB!" Katchoo was set on ice cream now, David; did you really want to stonewall on that? "'S MEEEEEEEE 'MEMBER I YELLED AT YOU INNA GALLERY AN' THEN WE WENT FOR COFFEE?"

"You had COFFEE with him?"

Feel lucky you were getting this reaction as a kid, Katchoo, followed as it was by, "Eww, coffee. Yuck."

"I had coffee with Katina," David insisted, trying not to be extra dumb, but really. Tiny children. "Is she... supposed to be babysitting you two?"

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NO DAVID NO. WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND.

"He followed me like a puppy," Katchoo complained to Francine, in a tone that used puppy not at all unlike something that stuck to my shoe euuuuuuugh. "A puppy who doesn't know -- I DON'T BABYSIT!"

Sit down on the floor, cross her arms, and glare, yes, but that didn't count under the term, did it?

"Chewieeeee, we can't get ice cream if you don't get up!"

Priorities, Katina!

"And also put some pants on."

What. Why was he even. God only knew. Someone had to be responsible for them.

His methods were going to go over so well.

"Pants are stupid," Katchoo declared from her spot on the floor. Ice cream wasn't winning over contradicting David just because she could, sadly.

She had priorities too, Francine, see?

"No pants, no ice cream."

Which meant he'd just implied he would take them for... sigh.

HE BETTER TAKE THEM FOR ICE CREAM.

And as it happened, being a pain to David was slightly less compelling than keeping Francine from making the wibble-face, so Katchoo bellowed "ICE CREEEEEEEEEEEEEEAM!" and got up to go find pants. They were covered in fingerpaint smudges and had a huge rip in the left knee, but everybody could just deal, okay? DEAL.

. . . actually, that abrupt reversal counted as being a pain too, huh? Yay, two figurative birds.

"I can pay for it. I gots moneys!" Francine shook her purse, then eyed David. "I will buy you two scoops if you promise to never marry Katchoo."

"I'll buy you a sundae with sprinkles if you'll tell me where Katchoo is," David shot back.

Way to bargain with a five year old, boy. Your family would be so proud.

Chewie was right about the peepee brain, though Francine was too nice to say so. Mostly. "She's right there, duh." Stabby stubby finger towards the pants-putter-onner.

"'s what I've been sayin' all along! I'mma have to pound it into your head," complained Katchoo, struggling into her pants both legs at a time (and three toes temporarily snagged in the knee-rip). "TOLD YOU ABOUT THE PEEPEE BRAIN, FRANCIE."

She wasn't too nice to reiterate that part.

Darcy was probably giving herself (and whatever hapless house staff happened to be in the vicinity) such a headache right now.

Francie, like... "Francine?"

Like Katina's roommate. Except roommate hadn't exactly been the word used, but David had learned to take a lot of what certain people said with a grain of salt.

Like, for instance, that stuff from a year or so ago about wizards...

"Yuh-huh, that's my name. Helen Francine Peters." Francine crossed her arms. "And not ever Silver. YUCK." He wasn't even a fireman, and besides, it made too many hissy sounds right next to each other in her name.

Oh, you were so lucky that A) Katchoo lacked the verbal capacity to unleash a really acerbic commentary on that grain-of-salt-taking, and B) it was in the narrative anyway, David. So, so lucky.

"Anybody named Silver better stay away from you," Katchoo contributed, be-pantsed now but glowering even more. "I'll kick 'im where it really really hurts!"

Or headbutt. Whatever. Her legs weren't long enough for that kind of kicking yet.

Spotting a bit of lint on the floor, Katchoo reached down to snag it as she trotted back over and held it up in front of David. "I think you dropped a piece of your brain, David! The 'membering things part!"

"That's not very nice, Ka--" Oh sweet Lord, he was actually calling her that. "Katina?"

She certainly acted like the girl he'd had coffee with. But then there was the NOT POSSIBLE thing.

"Katchooooooo," Francine corrected, helpfully. Sort of.

"'S WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING ALLA TIME AN' HE DOESN'T BELIEEEEEEEEEEEEEVE ME!" Yes. Yes, that top-of-lungs bellow came complete with FLAILING ARMS OF RAGE and STOMPY FOOT.

Ulp.

"No yelling if you want ice cream!"

Keep trying to sound commanding, there, Davey-boy. Maybe you'll hit it someday.

"No marryin' if you want ice cream!"

Francine might be a little fixated, but BAD WORD SYMBOLS if she wasn't going to ram home that idea into his head.

"Franciiiiiiiiiiine!" Tiny Katchoo wasn't any better at stage-whispering than college-student Katchoo was. "We're the ones who want ice cream!"

To David, she added a very demandy little "Fine! So say you were wrong when you thought I wasn't me!"

Oh, this couldn't go anywhere good.

"I...am very sorry I thought you weren't you. You couldn't possibly be anybody but you." That was almost clever, for somebody with a peepee brain. "But Ka--- uh. Somebody so owes me an explanation later."

"Somebody owes us ice cream!" Not that Francine was quite sure how he suddenly owed them when she'd offered to pay, but, uh. Whatever, he was the grownup!

She stuck out her hand for someone to take it because that was what you did when you went outside.

With a strange grownup.

Oh, Marie. Stop crying.

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Francine and Katchoo's Dorm Room, St. Louis: Saturday Afternoon

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