We're gonna have a good time.

[ooeeooahah]

Phone, Sunday Afternoon, filtered to Ray Stanz: Dr Stanz? I wanted to see if you would be available to come to dinner tomorrow night?

Phone, Sunday Evening, filtered to Peter Venkman: Dr Venkman, I would like for you to come to dinner tomorrow night.

1490 Kramden, Monday Evening, open to housemates and Egon's co-workers:
[ Ilsa has been busy. She

Comments

[velesdonnersen]

[Peeks in the door, looking a bit worried. He knows how hard Ilsa is working to make Egon feel at home and wanted -- and he's got a grim suspicion Egon's going to work just as hard to take anything Ilsa offers and turn it into more reason to hyperventilate.]

Hello, schatzi. Looks good. You keep reminding me I owe you a birthday.

Do you want me here, or should I disappear?

[ooeeooahah]

Nah, come in, 'bibi. I'm hoping his friends come over. I know he doesn't want to be comfortable here.

[ She sighs. ]

Not like I can not cook, and might as well make an effort for special occasions.

[velesdonnersen]

[Slips a comforting hand on her shoulder...and then, eyes twinkling, swipes a taste of icing from one cake.]

Lucky me, then!

I hope they come, liebchen. I hope they make Egon's birthday happier,too.

[They'd better find some way to at least pretend to be happy, and more to the point, polite to Ilsa, or Tarvek's going to have some sharp things to say...]

[ooeeooahah]

[ Swatting his hand is second nature, now. ]

Stop that. You know better.

[ Catching his hand, she murmurs. ]

...and don't worry. Forcing someone to be happy only makes them miserable.

[velesdonnersen]

[Grins, and turns her hand to drop a kiss on it, before replying.]

It's not about making Egon happy. He can be happy or not, and lighting strike him if he chooses misery. It's about displaying at least a minimum of manners to you, liebchen. You did not create Mayfield, ask to arrive here, or force him into your house. You have done nothing but treat him as a friend when he arrived, support him as he adjusted, and tried to adapt to his desires since he was placed in *your* house as your not!husband. In return he is treating you as the monster representative of Mayfield, and for that he deserves a slap on the face and pistols at dawn.

And I would present them to him, if I thought it would make you happy. It would not...

But [Darkly glowering] I may still shoot him, if he doesn't learn some manners soon.

[ooeeooahah]

No. You know better. The negative karma from that would bite you in the seat. It wouldn't make a difference, and the next day we'd be back where we started, only with more vitriol.

[ She gives him a slight nudge. ]

You might need the ammo for something else, instead.

[velesdonnersen]

[Looks at her wickedly, from under his lashes.]

Hmmm. If that's a double-entendre, I'm delighted. If not -- what game did you have in mind, love? I'll bring you back a brace, plucked, gutted, and ready for the oven.

[drspengler]

[Egon's stayed at work a bit later than usual today specifically because it's his birthday. It's not that he fears the attention, he just doesn't like getting older and the more he's reminded of it the less he likes it. Still, his friends seem to like celebrating it so he humors them. He's just figured out ways to minimize the amount of time dedicated to it each year.

He even walked to work today so he's even slower about getting home. The front door opens and Egon comes in wearing his dirty coveralls, his face and hands also a bit smudged. With the colorful bruises on his face (now starting to turn funny shades of black and green) he looks even dirtier.

After spotting Ilsa and Tarvek in the kitchen he walks over and peeks in, acknowledging the cakes on the counter with a small smile and a nod.]

Who told you?

[ooeeooahah]

I found it in the paperwork.

[ She'll tell him why she was checking the Mayfield-generated legel papers later, when he's less likely to snap at her. ]

Hang on...

[ Crossing the room to him, she lightly touches the side of his head, looking at the bruise. ]

I couldn't do anything before, when you were droned, but let me see if this helps now -

[ Ilsa puts her hand on his cheek, Egon's bruises fade... and appear on her. ]

There, that's better. You go wash up, Dinner will be ready in a little while.

[velesdonnersen]

Happy birthday, Egon.

Get you a beer? [Confidential] It's not terribly good beer, but that's Mayfield's fault.

And... well, it might make the bruises feel better, whatever Ilsa couldn't fix.

[drspengler]

[Smirks] Thanks, Tarvek. I might have one a bit later. [Probably not, though, as he isn't really a beer drinker.

Egon hadn't been paying too much attention to what Ilsa was doing but now that he looks at her and sees that the bruises have transferred to her face he makes it immediately obvious that he's having none of that. No one's going to take his injuries for him, especially not Ilsa.

He gives her a completely disapproving stare and shakes his head.] Huh-uh. Put them back. I haven't been beaten up since I was twelve years old. I earned those fair and square.

[ooeeooahah]

Sorry, hon - I wanted to see if it actually would work, since it didn't while you were... not yourself.

[ The bruises are fading, not immediately, but they are more yellow-green than blue-green. ]

Consider it a birthday present.