(no subject)

[evil_koala_626]

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.)

Comments

[goodolefuntime.livejournal.com]

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

[evil_koala_626]

Stitch blinks.

Oh.

Sigh.

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

[goodolefuntime.livejournal.com]

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

[evil_koala_626]

"Onna beach."

It's not really a question.

[goodolefuntime.livejournal.com]

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

[evil_koala_626]

The alien shrugs.

"You smell."

Tactful to a fault, this one.

[goodolefuntime.livejournal.com]

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

[evil_koala_626]

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.

[goodolefuntime.livejournal.com]

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