kismet_loop | [locked from Dirge]

Entry tags:

unknown armies | samantha patchowski (oc

[locked from Dirge]

[It’s Sam in the ~~last presentable~~ corner of her kitchenette, looking slightly disheveled but pretty pleased.]

Does anybody want to come over and help eat a bunch of food in oh… about forty minutes? Additionally, does anybody who wouldn’t be eating want to come over and hang out anyway? These questions are aimed at people who’d fit inside the apartment, but we’ll have the window open if any of you tall dudes want to stop by and heckle cause that’s cool, too.

[Private to Drift]

Could I possibly call in a favour and bum a ride? [She shrugs, apologetic but still smiling.] Gotta make a speed run and I’d rather not risk it on the stree’doo.

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[Hiro's is a despairing squeak, flailing around and then immediately going boneless, all his tiny weight slumping onto Sam's lap. Gonna take your legs hostage now, in vengeance.]

[ohhhh no]

[wait]

[oh well]

[Sam simply takes hold of one wrist and one ankle so that as she rocks forward and off her seat to stand, she can sort of slide Hiro to the floor.]

Now what?

[Welp, having been officially thwarted, Hiro's going to flop onto the floor, sprawling across Sam's feet. This is his home, he lives here now.]

Now food.

Food in like, thirty-eight minutes. I gotta run to get some dropped off quick, and should be back before anybody shows, but I'm still going to ask you to hold down the fort meanwhile. You mind?

[Loud melodramatic groaning.

Then, promptly:] Yeah, no problem. Can I decorate?

[Sam answers with absolutely no hesitation.]

I have a feeling I'm going to regret this but sure, have at.

[While waiting for confirmation that agreeing was an awful idea, she wiggles her toes pointedly; her feet are still trapped between the couch and the noodle she lives with. HIRO. PLZ.]

[Slow fistpump of triumph, no small feat while sprawled on the floor, then amid much wiggling, Hiro rolls to his back -- still on Sam's feet.]

Somethin' wrong?

I'm not usually the most mobile, but better than this. [Sam frowns, though that frown is gradually eclipsed by a growing and grossly over-acted alarm.] I can't feel my toes, I can't feel my feet, and---oh, no! I think they're gone! And my ankles...!

[Yeah, so this is a thing that's happening; Hiro can roll out of the way, or find himself caught with Sam's knees coming down on his stomach as she s l o w l y sinks to a kneeling position. Your move, noodle.]

[There's a moment of flailing, but then Hiro rolls away right in the nick of time! Because, you know, there wasn't much reaction time at all, right?]

Ugggg, rude.

[Right.]

You're one to talk, bud. But anyway, [yeah just going to straighten up and step over the human speedbump] this won't be long.

[Prepping won't take long, either---crossing back to the foodstuff, Sam loads a good-sized bake-and-take bowl with a portion of everything savoury (plus the mandatory cranberry sauce) and a wee spice jar with one large spoonful of Sex In A Pan. Both containers are carefully loaded into her carry-all, and she salutes Hiro as she shoves her feet into her shoes.]

Righto. Be back quick as I can!

[Hiro's suddenly regained the ability to mobilize, leaping up and following Sam over to the food, which he's been eyeing hungrily like a dragon appraising it's hoard. He may or may not attempt a finger-swipe of mashed potatoes for the fifteenth time that day.

Have a return salute.] Don't get stepped on!

[Although Sam gives him a look for nicking straight from the bowl with his hand, she nods, and is out the door.]

[Hiro makes a face at her retreating back and, predictably, takes some more potatoes to eat on his way to get decoration supplies. Be prepared for a home filled with robot turkeys made out of tin foil, Sam.]

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[locked from Dirge]

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