fandomhighdorms | Fourth floor Common Room, Sunday evening

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Fourth floor Common Room, Sunday evening

Dean had went and grabbed food and brought his cat Hunter out with him, and now he was sitting on the couch with a slice of pizza in one hand and petting a purring cat with the other. On the tv was the Golden Globes; Dean wasn't sure if this was something he wanted to watch but the remote was sitting on the coffee table out of reach unless he shifted Hunter and he didn't feel strongly enough about the viewing material to do that.

"You're lucky I'm such a softie," he said to his cat. Hunter just butted his hand to get more petting.

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Lois was on the hunt for a fridge that actually had Dr. Pepper (she had a craving) and stopped in her tracks as she tried to process Dean + the Golden Globes.

"Watching for the stirring acceptance speeches?" she guessed.

"I'm trapped under a cat," Dean explained.

Lois walked close enough so she could see over the back of the couch. "Oh so you are. Cute cat. Is it yours or is there a plague of cats going around sitting in people's laps and forcing them to watch award shows?"

She was a strange person, yes.

"There may be a plague but this one is mine."

"I had to ask. You never know," Lois said as she walked over to the fridge. She was very pleased to see that, yes, the fourth floor fridge knew good soda. She took one out of the fridge before taking a seat in front of the TV.

"I'd be nice and offer to hand you the remote but I kind of want to see what everybody is wearing," Lois said, cracking open the Dr. Pepper.

"Eh," Dean said shrugging. "I've got pizza and a purring cat. I can survive."

"You might be singing a different tune once we get to the fifth or sixth person bursting into tears and claiming that they don't deserve such an honor," she said with a grin. "It takes a brave man to stomach that horror."

"Maybe there'll be a wardrobe malfunction," Dean suggested hopefully.

"I'm hoping for a drop of the f-bomb," Lois said. "From an old established actor. Extra points if they're British. It's not the same if it comes from Jack Black or something."

"Hopefully they'll get more creative than that -- the f-bomb is so last year."

"Please, the f-bomb never goes out of style. The right people just have to say it," she replied. "Or jazz it up with a creative adjective or something."

"That's what I mean -- you gotta do something to spice it up nowadays."

Lois shook her head with mock-sadness. "It's a sad society we live in when even cursing during an awards show has to be big and spectacular."

"Hey, I can't help it if I have standards."

Lois laughed. "It's nice to have standards when it comes to cursing during classy events like the Golden Globes."

"I'll have you know I have standards when it comes to cursing anywhere."

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"Hey, Lois," Peyton said. "Pastries?"

"Oh, no thanks," Lois said. "Christmas did me in with the sugary stuff. I ate every piece of candy that came out from behind a doorway or out of my closet."

"Well, I spent the day with an empathy belly on," Peyton said with a smile. "I've earned one. And a massage probably."

"Yikes," Lois said, wrinkling up her nose. "That was for class, right?"

"Extra credit," Peyton assured her. "And the fun of watching Angela wear one too. But still, not an experience I'm eager to repeat anytime soon."

"Yeah, I think that's an experience I'm hoping to avoid for a long, long time," she replied. Lois as a mother would be a scary thing. "What class is that for, anyway?"

"Child development," Peyton said. "And I'm blaming the whole experience on Angela. We kind of started this little daring thing and next thing I know we're signing up."

Lois laughed. "I've gotten in a lot of trouble doing the same thing. Only never with empathy bellies."

"Yeah, I do find my mouth can tend to get me into trouble," Peyton agreed. "Though in this case it was my pen."

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