milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

The last two months have been fairly uneventful for Lysistrata, mostly filled with making lots and lots of baby clothes in her room. However, Strata's bored (and it's nearly her due date) so she waddles downstairs, orders a pitcher of water, and plops down on a sofa. She isn't wearing her usual Athenian dress but rather a bright yellow muumuu with large blue hibiscus flowers printed all over it. She is idly playing with the glass amphora on the chain around her neck and looks like she'd like someone to talk to.

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Smeagol waves from beneath his table.

"Hello, Smeagol!" She gives him a wide grin. "Would you like to come over heare? I'm afraid I can't move very well."

Smeagol crawls out from under the table and ambles over.

"Do you want something from the Bar?"

Because it's a nice thing to do, and he's hungry anyway.

"Could you refill my water pitcher?" She gives him another winsome grin.

Not in the least immune to winsom grins, Smeagol nods quickly and takes the pitcher with him. When he returns it's balanced on top of a tray covered with enough food for him, as well as ice cream, which he ordered specifically, and pickles, which he didn't order, but will probably end up eating anyway, because. Food.

"Would you like anything?" he asks, helpfully.

Strata politely replies, "No, thank you," but is eyeing the pickles. But not the ice cream [ooc: b/c her mun spent 2 months scooping ice cream].

Smeagol is not eyeing the pickles, which he doesn't particularly care for, and is eating a sandwich instead. Main course before dessert, and all. {ooc: His mun can identify, since after her last job she abhorrs the sight of jewelry. Hooray bad jobs!}

"Do, do you mind if I have the pickles?" she enquires after he has eagerly polished off the entire meal. Indeed, she is amazed at both Smeagol's size and the proportional amount of food he just consumed.
"They're a favorite of mine."

"Go ahead," says Smeagol, pushing the pickles towards her. He in turn is continually amazed at the small portions consumed by most humans. These people live in a restaurant, and yet they barely eat at all. It's ridiculous.

Strata, however, wolfs down the pickles at a rate that even amazes her, then lets out a huge burp, which causes her to blush.

Smeagol politely doesn't laugh, but he does smile a bit.

"I have to go back to work now. It was nice eating with you."

"Nice eating with you too. Maybe I'll have to join you for another meal. Second breakfast, perhaps. Night, Smeagol!" She blows him a kiss.

Smeagol blushes bright red.

"S-second breackfast, right," he agrees, and hurries out the door, smiling oddly.

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