(Untitled)

[theunsmiling]

Michael makes her way from the front door to a corner booth, tossing her bike helmet onto the seat. She passes the booth, however, and swings by Bar herself

Comments

[evil_koala_626]

Truer words have never been narrated. The coffe might grow tepid. The pen might run dry. But that donut doesn't have a snowball's chance.

The scent of freshly baked goodness wafts its way up out of the booth like a particularly aromatic siren song. With sprinkles.

Snuffle. Snuffle snuffle. Snufflesnufflesnufflesnuffle. "Oooooh....."

It was only a matter of time, really.

[theunsmiling]

Michael continues to slouch, all unsuspecting.

Her crossword puzzle is very absorbing.

As is her coffee.

[evil_koala_626]

The snuffling is abruptly cut off, replaced by the rapid pattering of small feet on the approach. As they draw closer, the feet accompaniment of wet, whiffling breathing becomes more apparent. Especially when they stop a short distance away.

There is a moment's pause as the person in the booth is eyed speculatively.

[theunsmiling]

The person in the booth does not seem to be eyeing him in turn.

How odd.

[evil_koala_626]

A grin splits the alien's face. It is not a particularly nice grin.

Five feet from target. Two feet. One! A furry arm carefully extends out over the table, clawed fingers closing on the prize!

[theunsmiling]

As the weight of the donut leaves her midriff, Michael carefully lowers her newspaper.

She blinks once at the blue alien who has snagged today's sugary confection.

How --

Odd.

[evil_koala_626]

Stitch freezes, donut halfway to his mouth. His jaws fall open in mute surprise. Two enormous eyes respond with a blink of their one once.

Twice.

And then, expression never wavering, eyes never leaving hers, the donut disappears in to his maw.

[theunsmiling]

Michael blinks.

Once.

Twice.

"Next time you have a donut craving, little creature, get your own."

[evil_koala_626]

This is the second irked vaguely Nani-ish type person he's encountered in as many visits. Bar must be putting something in their drinks. Stitch's eyes track to the right (though, having no visibly sclera, this might be difficult to ascertain.) A passing waitrat's tray is relieved of its cargo. One blueberry muffin is gingerly placed on Michael's midriff.

And then Michael will be treated to the view of the back of Stitch's head. Leaving. That is not a power walk. Shut up.

[theunsmiling]

Michael, after making sure the little blue creature has made his way -- elsewhere --

Philosophically eats the muffin.

It was freely given, after all.