fandomhighdorms | 3rd Floor Common Room [Tuesday Evening]

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3rd Floor Common Room [Tuesday Evening]

You'd think food class yesterday would've meant Bobby got his fill of pizza for a while.

You'd think wrong, of course, as here Bobby was, flipping through channels in the common room with a stack of pizzas on one of the tables. Maybe he'd even be able to lure in some new kids this way...

[ooc: ooooopen.]

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"Pizza?" Gabrielle asked hopefully, having tracked it by its smell.

. . . okay, no, she'd just gotten lucky wandering up a floor.

"I hereby," she said, dropping onto a corner of the couch, "exercise my authority as Queen of the Amazons to declare you -- well, I can't declare you my hero for the night, technically, but the doer of a heroic deed. I don't think I've had pizza since before I went home. How are you, Bobby?"

"Doing better than you in the pizza department, apparently, since the last time I had some was, uh... yesterday," Bobby admitted. "How come I can't be a hero for a night?"

"I don't think it's in line with Amazon philosophy," Gabrielle told him conspiratorially, reaching for a piece. "I mean, I could pass it off as a bardic exercise in creative irony, but I'm not so sure the tribe would agree."

But she could compromise, right? And pizza was good fuel for thought, so she munched contemplatively at her slice of Hawaiian until she came up with what she thought was a brilliant solution.

"All right. You can be the hero-at-large of the third floor common room, if not mine personally. How's that?"

"And the last thing I wanna do is get on the bad side of a tribe of Amazons," Bobby replied in all seriousness. He'd done that once, had no desire to repeat the experience. "Hero-at-large seems an acceptable compromise, though."

Gabrielle grimaced. "No, believe me, having cranky Amazons after you is no fun at all." Yes, Gabrielle, the odds that he would believe you were actually pretty good. "I like the sound of hero-at-large. You could even have an epic poem composed about your valiant pizza-providing efforts!"

"Would it be against the rules for you to write the poem?" Bobby wondered. "You're the only bard I know and all," he added by way of explanation.

"I don't think so," Gabrielle decided. "And it would be something new to write about. I sing of Bobby, the bringer of pizza, heroic conqueror of students' hunger . . . I like how this is starting already!"

Bobby straightened up in what he thought was an appropriately heroic pose. "I can't exactly say I have any complaints myself."

"No, no, no," Gabrielle laughed, gesturing vaguely with her pizza-free hand. "I think you should stick your chest out a little more. It always looks good in the sculptures."

"...I'm not gonna have to take my shirt off or anything, am I?" Bobby asked suspiciously. Look, he'd seen Greek sculptures.

And hung out with Hercules, who apparently had an aversion to shirts. And proper pants.

Hey, Hercules wore perfectly nice leather pants. And sure, the tunic tended to hang open a lot, but it was a shirt! It counted!

"I don't think that's necessary at the moment," Gabrielle assured him.

Clearly Gabrielle's version of Hercules was a bit more... fashion conscious maybe wasn't the right term, but it was close enough for government work.

"Good, cause I don't think shirtlessness really goes with potentially messy food," he replied.

Hercules? Fashion conscious? Ha.

"It's less of a hassle to clean your leathers," Gabrielle considered, but she was used to that sort of hassle anyway. "But hot melted cheese on -- ow."

"Yeeeah exactly," Bobby nodded. Of course, hot-cheese-level burns weren't usually a problem for the kid who could make ice, but given his recent experience with rather more severe burns, he wasn't going to chance it. "So how was your summer, anyway? I missed having you around, you know."

"Long," Gabrielle said, slumping back into the couch. "Summer . . . and fall . . . actually, it was winter when I first got there. Warlords to put in their places, giants to defeat, great war heroes to escort home, insane immortals to imprison."

Her laugh was just a tiny bit strained. "The usual."

Well, mostly it was . . .

And Bobby could... kind of relate, actually. To both the timeline part and "the usual". Not that he could say that second part out loud. "And now you're back here where we've got... syrup rain and tiny invading things and not-so-tiny invading bugs sometimes."

"And helping hands," Gabrielle added, with a little, more effortless chuckle. Oooh, good pun. "Did I miss anything really bad?"

"Oh, just the whole island tearing to pieces and some of us getting flung into uber-creepy alternate universes," Bobby said offhandedly.

Well, she wasn't new, but she was hungry, and she was reasonably fond of Bobby, so Sookie bounced into the common room on her way to meet Jessica for radio. "What're we watching?" she asked, grabbing a slice and going to curl up with Bobby on the couch. She could spare a moment on her way into town.

"I haven't really settled on anything," Bobby admitted. "There was some terrifying food show with pickles, but I changed the channel as soon as someone tried to use them in a dessert."

"Were they pregnant?" she asked, slanting a suspicious look at him.

"I don't think so?" Bobby said. "Just... weird."

"I mean, maybe it's good," Sookie tried optimistically. "You should try it."

Yep. Drafting her poor boyfriend for that little experiment.

Now it was his turn to give her a suspicious look. "...Do you secretly hate me?"

Oh, sad eyes. Such totally, totally sad, huge eyes. "No, honey, I love you. But don't you want to try it? What if it's wonderful and you missed out?"

"Yeah?" Bobby folded his arms across his chest. "If it's so great, why don't you try it?" Don't you remember the horrible ice cream flavors list, Sookie? Pickle ice cream was on there.

"Wouldn't want to deny you the privilege, sweetheart," Sookie drawled innocently.

"Yeeeeah no," Bobby shook his head. "Pickles do not belong at the end of the meal."

"What if I made it for you?" she wondered. "You still wouldn't eat it? Even if I tried real hard to make it yummy?"

"I would think you and Karla had switched bodies or something," Bobby replied.

"Don't say that," she said, arching a brow as she finished her pizza. "'Round here, it's likely to happen. And I've got to go meet Jessica for radio in a second here, sadly. Wanna come over after?"

"Only if you swear there will be no pickle-related desserts."

"I promise there won't be any tonight," she assured him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before getting up to head toward the door.

Roy wasn't new, but he was looking for dinner he didn't have to buy or cook, and he smelled pizza. "Bobby, my man!" he said enthusiastically.

"I'm not sharing the pizza," Bobby announced. "Just taunting people with it."

"That's terrible. And cruel. You're a cruel man, Drake."

"Yes, it's true," Bobby nodded. "I'm secretly a supervillain, out to crush other's pizza-related joy."

"Well, then I'll have to stop you," Roy said. "And take your pizza."

"You can try," Bobby said, waving a piece of pizza around theatrically. All this accomplished was sending a piece of pepperoni flying off said slice.

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3rd Floor Common Room [Tuesday Evening]

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