Fifth Floor Common Room, Saturday Evening

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

Katchoo being shorter than Francine wasn't new; Katchoo being this much shorter than Francine was.

Also not new: Francine feeding people, where for the time being the term 'people' encompassed her tiny four-year-old roommate-slash-girlfriend, currently plunked down three feet in front of the TV and flipping through the channels because nobody wanted her anywhere near the food preparation. That remote control might get thrown sometime soon.

Why?

"STUPID GOLF! I WANNA WATCH SOMETHING ELSE!"

Because of that.

This could get messy, and that was even before the food.

[OOC: Francine modded with permission, common room is open. Beware of Chewie-flung projectiles.]

Comments

[thatsamilkshake]

"Like the wild spaghetti?" Francine asked, dishing some up and offering him a plate and fork. "Fearsome."

[bitchprince]

Arthur shot her a vaguely maligned look. Was she not taking him seriously?

He did take the plate, though. "Please. Like this is anything anyone has killed," he said, poking at the spaghetti with his fork.

[thatsamilkshake]

"The meatballs were."

Yes, and now they were back at cow.

[bitchprince]

Arthur granted his food another careful look before he finally, finally rolled his fork up in it and took a big bite. It was hard, considering the noodles wouldn't stay on, but eventually he got some of it.

"It is unwielding but satisfactory," he said, with a tiny pout.

[thatsamilkshake]

Try to think of it as a challenge, Francine started to say, then wondered how many times in his life he'd been told that. "I could cut it up for you," she suggested instead.

[bitchprince]

Arthur's features hardened. "Do people normally eat it like this?" he inquired.

So that answer would be 'often enough that he doesn't need to be told anymore, Francine'.

[thatsamilkshake]

"Only if they want to," Francine answered, recognizing that look but not too sure she'd be successful at making it disappear. "My mom used to cut mine up for me." Until she got tired of her brother razzing her about it.

[bitchprince]

"But you're a girl," Arthur pointed out, and wrestled with his noodles. He'd get it down right.

[thatsamilkshake]

"Yes. Which means I'm bad at sports." Dear women everywhere: sorry. "Eating spaghetti isn't a sport. It's supposed to be fun."

[bitchprince]

"Almost everyone else is eating it without cutting," said the boy who didn't actually know anything about spaghetti. Or contemporary Italian cuisine.

[thatsamilkshake]

"Because it's fun," Francine repeated. "Not because they have to."

[bitchprince]

"But cutting makes it easier," Arthur pointed out, "You said."

[thatsamilkshake]

None of the legends Francine had ever read said the stone he had to pull a sword from was his head. "Did not." This would be so much easier if she was little too. "I just offered to do it for--" Francine Peters, future kindergarten teacher. Maybe. "Hmm. What if you cut it up yourself?"

[bitchprince]

Arthur parsed that, and squinted down at his spaghetti. He was trying to determine whether doing so himself would be a show of weakness or not, and if not, how he should go about it. Exactly. Without damaging his pride.

[thatsamilkshake]

"How about I just leave the knife on the table there, and you can decide." A butter knife, hush. But not a plastic one. There was a fine line between not giving sharp objects to children and getting glared at if she handed him a utensil he could bend in his hands.

[bitchprince]

"That sounds reasonable," he said, at last. And took the knife. Thoughtfully.

In a tiny boy's voice, it didn't sound as proud as he was going for.

[thatsamilkshake]

Dammit, if she hugged him now, it would ruin the whole... thing.

Also he was holding a knife.

Rassenfrassen.