Jono had threatened to drag Hannibal off to do something for his birthday, and really, there hadn't been many stipulations set down, beyond not deliberately increasing the population of the flamingos on Hannibal's lawn, given how old he was turning today. Jonothon was pretty certain he'd managed that much, and while he'd wanted to do something that
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... Jono didn't phrase it that way, though.
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He just waved a hand as if doing so would better punctuate what he was trying to get at, here, without him coming off as... zombie racist? Was that a thing? Being biased against the living-impaired? They kept rotting into things, and given a choice between zombie rot and greasy fries, there had been a clear winner, was all.
//I really will make it up to you,// he added, shrugging his shoulders. //It was either this, or else I find some way to keep people from making up the difference with the pink birds living on your lawn, and this seemed like the lesser of the two evils.//
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He sighed. "The thought is appreciated."
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She achieved some truly stellar, nigh-yoga-ian poses as she did so. And rolled a perfect strike almost* every time.
* once or twice she got a seven-ten split, just so she could get the spare in the most spectacular earth-physics defying manner possible.
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She was sort of hoping someone would catch her doing it, so they could yell, and then she could throw a proper stroppy fit.
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Jono did at least manage to arrange for some handwavey gourmet hors d'oeuvres, though, courtesy of Karla's cook back in Glacia. So at least something here is edible.
He also swears to god he had nothing to do with the cake.
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Anybody trying to take his food would get forked. With prejudice.
"And who made the cake?" he asked Jono.
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Any cake that was not contributed by Karla was, by comparison, safe. So.
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"Maybe later."
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"Happy birthday!" she cried, and blew a little tinsel covered party horn while presenting a jaunty little birthday fez to him with her hoof.
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Congratulations, Pinkie. Cartoon physics win.
Hannibal jumped and spun around to see her, then took a moment just blinking at her. "Thank you," he finally said, taking the fez from her, since it seemed the thing to do.
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This party is all class.
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This particular envelope happened to contain two Portalocity vouchers for a return trip to London (for Hannibal and whoever he so desired to bring along. Jono had decided not to presume and went for something that didn't need names on the tickets), complete with lodgings at the Café Royal Hotel, and a pair of tickets to take in the London Philharmonic.
He'd said he'd make it up to him, hadn't he?
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And he meant that, too. He wasn't going to be completely heartbroken if Hannibal had somebody else in mind, though at the same time, he'd actually be a little thrilled if he was the one to get the invite.
Hannibal feelings were complicated feelings.
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