milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Autumn in the northern hemisphere is not a pleasant meterological setting for those hailing from tropical locales. It's wet. It's cold. It lacks the curtesy to offer up a decent snow fall to detract from either factor and so there is a soggy alien sitting in an armchair by the fire. He's not so much drinking from the steaming mug clutched in his claws as he's warming his hands and muttering rude things regarding the weather into his beverage.

(OOC: Car keys bait for Hurley and Raoul of Goldenlake but anyone's welcome.)

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X notices Stitch. Then she notices the wet.

Then she notices the grumpy.

It is not long after that when X slips up beside him and offers a towel.

"You are dripping."

"Ih."

Sneaky towel bearing assasins are sneaky. Thankfully, Stitch has a very sharp nose. The mug is carefully balanced on the chair's arm as the towel is snagged, used... and returned in a moist bundle.

Oh right.

"Takka."

Edited 2008-10-28 03:47 (UTC)

X does not appear disturbed to be holding a damp towel in her hand.

"You are welcome."

Beat.

"You were training? Outside?"

He peers up at her, sulk momentarily forgotten in favor of curiosity.

"Playing."

Well. Intending to. The rain and wind had kind of put the kebosh on that.

Edited 2008-10-28 03:57 (UTC)

"Oh."

Beat.

"But you do not like being wet?"

He grimaces.

"Naga-takabah. Is-"

Beat.

"You wanna siddown?" An empty chair is waved at vaugley. The other hand has reclaimed the mug of hot chocolate.

"Okay," X says.

And sits.

"You are hungry?"

"Naga."

Not particularly. Of course when is Stitch not hungry on some level, right?

"Oh."

X falls silent again.

Conversation is not her forte.

But eventually--

"You have been busy."

Hurley sort of stares at Stitch, not sure what the heck Stitch actually is.

He has no idea what to say. He has no idea what to do. So he stares.

Hurley might as well be holding a giant neon "Potential Entertainment" sign over his head.

The big man is considered through narrowed black eyes. The returning stare is punctuated by a rather loud and prolonged slurp of hot chocolate.

"Uhhh," Hurley says. "Hi, dude?"

Oh, what the heck. Maybe today won't be boring after all.

"Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii."

Grin!

"Oh good, you speak English," Hurley said. "You got a name?"

You're reactions aren't very entertianing, Hurley. You'll have to make up some serious bonus points if you want to advance to the next round.

"Name is Stitch." Stitch has not moved overly much during the exchange. Now, however he cranes his neck forward, snuffling loudly.

"Mine's Hurley," he replies. "Ummm... sorry if I smell, dude."

Hurley smells of many things. Chief among them is the rather strong aroma that is eau de Hurley but mingled in with it are the scents of sea salt, fruit, pork...

Snuffle snuffle snuffle.

Headtilt.

"Gaba ika tasoopa?"

"Gabba huh what?" Hurley says. "Dude, I have no idea what you're saying."

Stitch blinks.

Oh.

Sigh.

"Where you from?" The English is rather stilted. As if he's carefully choosing each word.

Edited 2008-11-08 05:39 (UTC)

"Santa Monica," Hurley says. "But like... kinda on an island, place, thing... right now."

"Onna beach."

It's not really a question.

"Yeah," Hurley said. "You... how'd you know?"

The alien shrugs.

"You smell."

Tactful to a fault, this one.

"Yeah, sorry," Hurley said. "Kinda... stuck on that island."

Specifically he smells like a guy who's kinda living on sand 24/7. And there's the aforementioned salt. So... beach scent. ~~Whoops?~~

Stitch takes another loud slurp of hot chocolate, burrowing slightly farther into the chair.

'Stuck on an island' doesn't really explain why Hurley's sleeping in the sand rather than going indoors and taking advantage of the A/C or the fridge... or.. y'know, the bed.

The derisive expression might be belying some of this thought process.

Hurley frowns. "Come on, little dude. We crashed there, okay? We don't exactly have a shower."

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