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Cafeteria | Afternoon | Thursday | November 25

It was Thanksgiving Day. It was time for parades, football and food. Currently, Alex was leaning against one of the walls in the kitchen, watching the catering company set up for dinner. There was a shitload of food and his stomach growled just watching.

It was good to be president. He got to delegate everything.

When one of the caterers stepped forward and thrust a plastic wrapped garment bag in his hand, Alex frowned.

"What?"

"Outfits for the dinner," the caterer said. "The contract states that we make and you serve the food. No fulfillment of the contract, no food."

Confused, Alex unzipped the bag and peeked inside. The costume was not cool at all.

"Are you serious?" Alex asked, glaring. "No way!"

"No costumes," the caterer said, already signaling his workers to get ready to package the food up, "no food."

Alex continued glaring at the caterer and the costume. He hated his life.

[OCD is up and this is posted early for SP, of course!]

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Bobby could have gone home for the holiday, but it wouldn't have been Thanksgiving yet there anyway, thanks to weird timeline stuff he still didn't really get. And Thanksgiving food was not something he would willingly pass up, as evidenced by the heaping plate he prepared.

//Add a bit more to yer plate, mate, you can have my share, as well.//

Guess who was peering across the room at your plate with his eyebrow raised, Bobby!

//That'll knock you out for a bleedin' month once you've eaten yer fill, won't it?//

Bobby's head snapped up at Jono's voice and grinned as he caught sight of him.

"This?" he replied. "A month? Nah. It'd take a lot more than that to put *me* in a food coma. My metabolism is sort of... Overactive." that was putting it mildly, really.

//Well, so long as it isn't explosive, I suppose you can eat all you can fit in yer gob, then,// Jono replied, a hint of a teasing smile lurking around the corners of his eyes. //Me, I'm not really th'turkey sort. Too dry.//

Too difficult to eat without a mouth. One of those.

Smiles from Jonos weren't the most common of things, Bobby knew. So if teasing was what drew it out, well. Bobby didn't really mind.

"Makes excellent ammunition, though," Bobby pointed out thoughtfully. Just because Jono couldn't eat didn't mean he couldn't participate in certain other food-related festivities...

//... Mm, I suppose it does,// Jono agreed, all too thoughtfully. //And adequate cat food later, for that matter.//

Hey, just because he couldn't eat the turkey, didn't mean he couldn't smuggle some out for Joni.

//Which do you suppose would be th'most aerodynamic? Th'turkey, or th'mashed potatoes?//

"Turkey, definitely," Bobby nodded. "The advantage of the mashed potatoes is the blast radius."

//And I suppose th'peas could substitute well enough for buckshot,// Jono noted, looking at the serving table with due consideration. //You don't imagine the caterers would take off at a run if we were to start flinging this around, do you?//

"Pfff," Bobby said dismissively. "That's what hazard pay is for."

//Well. In that case...//

Jonothon was already on his feet, heading for the mashed potatoes.

What? It wasn't his holiday. And he was a very skilled man when it came to dishing out anything with a blast radius.

"Knew you'd see it my way," Bobby smirked, loading up his own spoon with some mashed potatoes and a few slices of carrot.

//A bloke needs to do something to commemorate holidays spent in other countries,// Jono replied, getting himself a plate and loading it up with anything that looked like it could get some decent distance on it. //I wouldn't want to completely ignore th'spirit of the holiday, after all.//

"I'd have to make a very sad face at you if you did, and you don't want that," Bobby declared, as he let his spoonful loose at his target.

Jono watched the potato gloop fly, and then gave his head a shake, clearly bemused as he loaded up some cranberries onto his plate for good measure.

At the rate he was going, considering the fact that he didn't eat, he'd have enough ammunition to at least keep him going for a minute or three.

//No, th'last thing I want is to see you making a sad face,// Jonothon agreed, readying his own spoonful of mashed potatoes and then looking around the room for a target of his own...

Ah, perfect.

"That," Bobby said, "was beautiful," he mimed wiping a tear from his eye. "Truly inspiring."

//Now, now. No getting all soppy on me, mate. If you start blubbering, you'll be th'next one with potatoes for a hat.//

... Which would be kind of amusing, so sue him.

"Well, if you ask some people, getting all weepy is also part of a holiday tradition," Bobby had to point out. "However, I'd like to avoid vegetable haberdashery, so I'll try and pull myself together."

//I appreciate that,// Jonothon chuckled, shaking his head a little. //There are just some things that aren't intended to be worn in mixed company, and I'd like to think that potatoes are one of those things.//

Brightly-coloured tights were a completely different matter entirely.

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Cafeteria | Afternoon | Thursday | November 25

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