[fic] My Roommate Is A Monster! (Twitch City/Sesame Street, G)
Next icon fic (I *am* writing them, it's just taking longer than I thought). fox1013 wanted either Twitch City or Grover. She gets both, because I heart her like whoa and this idea was too ridiculous to resist.
Title: My Roommate Is A Monster!
Media: Sesame Street/Twitch City
Rating: G
Summary: Hello, everybody! It is I, your blue and furry roommate from down the hall, Grover!
Disclaimer: Henson, Oz, and the Children's Television Workshop; McKellar and the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Nothing here is mine.
Warnings: Liberal use of exclamation points!
Notes: For the Foxlet, with tons of love. thenotoriousg both audienced and beta'd.
After the almond cookie smugglers and the macrame-addicted Hell's Angels and the gay neo-Nazis and the Inuit shaman with dreams of becoming an R&B diva, Hope had to admit that their new roommate was...different. Much, much better.
Even though Curtis insisted on charging him in US dollars, he still paid his rent on time. Granted, the rent came in a big sack of quarters -- "I like to go to the arcade where the lights go flashy-flashy-flash and the machines go beepety-beepety-boop, so I hope these shiny new quarters are acceptable to you, Mr. Curtis the Landlord!" -- that took him two days to count out.
He was also very clean. Not as clean as Nathan, because that would be impossible, but far cleaner than Curtis. He even made up songs to go along with sweeping, vacuuming, and dusting.
In fact, he had insisted on dragging Curtis into the bathroom with him, just to show him how it was done. "Tub time is very important, if you want your fur to be bright blue and squeaky-clean, you see. You just take the soap, like so, and -- hey, where are you going? I am not finished demonstrating the proper methods of washing with the soap!" he yelled as Curtis fled to hide in the attic.
Of course, despite -- or perhaps *because* of all those traits -- Curtis hated him.
"I think he's sweet, Curtis," Hope said when Grover went out to pick up some groceries. "I don't see any problem."
"He messed up my tapes," Curtis grumbled, waving vaguely at the heap of videotapes. "My *tapes*."
Hope squinted, but she couldn't see anything different about the chaotic stacks. "They look fine to me," she said brightly.
"He's practicing the alphabet," Curtis muttered. Crossing his arms and turning his face away, he added, "But I detest alphabetic filing systems. Everyone knows that."
Hope patted his arm. "Of course you do. But how could he know that?"
Curtis belched and slid further down into the depths of the couch. A few stray Fruity-O's crunched somewhere in the upholstery. "He could listen, for one thing. And, for another --" He straightened up slightly and shook a dank lock of hair from his eyes. "For another, he keeps calling me Greasy Baby. I don't like it."
Hope could only pat his shoulder soothingly. "But you *are* greasy," she couldn't say.
The hall door creaked as it was unlocked. "Hello, everybody!" Grover called from the stairs. "It is I, your fuzzy blue and strikingly helpful roommate, Grover, back from the store with the snacks and the foodstuffs and some treats for Lucky the cat! Cat in Spanish is 'el gato'. Can you say that with me?"
No one answered him, though Hope wanted to. One glance from Curtis kept her quiet. Lucky thumped down the hall, however, meowing as she went.
"¡Hola, Lucky, el gato bonito! ¿Como estas?"
"She's a girl-cat!" Curtis shouted back. "And speak English, for Chrissakes!" When Hope poked him warningly, he rolled his eyes. "Or French! We *are* in Canada, you know."
At that, there was only silence from the hall. Lucky mewled pitiably, Hope held her breath, and Curtis chuckled.
Quiet, rapid footsteps pattered down the hall before the door to Grover's room opened, then slammed shut, hard enough to shake the windows in their frames.
"Now you've done it!" Hope hissed at Curtis.
He turned up the volume on a rerun of The Beach Combers.
Shaking her head, feeling her cheeks burn, Hope made her way to Grover's door. She knocked lightly; when there was no answer, she knocked again, a little more loudly. In the living room, Curtis turned the volume all the way up to 'blaring' in retaliation.
Undeterred, Hope pushed open Grover's door. The cape to his superhero costume, hanging on the back of the door, brushed softly against her arm.
Grover lay on his back on his neatly made bed, staring up at the ceiling. As she neared the bed, Hope could see that his wide, smiling mouth was downturned, even trembling, and his googly eyes were slightly bloodshot and shining with tears.
"Hello, Roommate Hope," Grover said morosely and turned on his side. "I am sad. Are you sad?"
She found herself patting his wiry little arm and sighing. "Yes," she admitted. "Why are you sad?"
"Mr. Curtis the Greasy Landlord can be very mean," Grover said after a bit. His voice was quavering. Before she quite knew what she was doing, Hope reached over and pulled him onto her lap. Grover slung one arm around her neck and sighed. "I try and try to show Mr. Curtis that I am the best roommate he ever had who is not you, Hope. (I believe that I could be as good as you, but I do not think I feel like kissing him. He does not own a toothbrush.) But I do not think that he is impressed by me. I think, in fact, that he may dislike small skinny little me."
"That's not true --" Hope started to say, but she found it impossible to lie to him. Biting her lip, she settled for rubbing his back.
"He often says very mean, cutting things to me," Grover said.
"He didn't mean to say that thing about French," Hope said, rather helplessly. In the privacy of her own mind, she wasn't exactly sure about that; Curtis *could* be fairly mean, and sometimes that was purposeful of him. "He's very sorry."
Grover sniffed and Hope handed him a tissue. "It is hard for me, you know, that language. And after Louis --" Here he broke down, shaking his head and burying his face in Hope's shoulder.
His fur was pleasantly rough under her hand, the skin beneath very warm. Hope rubbed large, slow circles over his back and didn't say anything for a long time.
She didn't know *what* to say, truth be told. When the powers that be at the CBC had cancelled Canadian Sesame Street, replacing it with the all-CanCon, all-the-time Sesame Park, she hadn't paid the change much mind.
Not until the morning a little blue monster appeared, huffing and puffing as he pushed a giant steamer trunk up the stairs, to apply for the open room. American monsters were out of their jobs, replaced by Chaos the cat and, worst of all, given his arrogance and offhand cruelty, Louis le Francophone otter. He didn't have a job to go back to at home, either; he wouldn't speak of *that* situation beyond vague references to red monsters with big egos and bigger paycheques.
"No, it is in Canada that I hope to remain," he told them, sitting cross-legged on top of his trunk and scritching Lucky's ears. "Canada is a very nice country! There are ten provinces and three territories here. Nor is Canada made up of all igloos and Mounties as I, Grover, once believed. Toronto alone has the largest Italian-speaking population outside of Italy. Italy is shaped like a boot, but a boot is not alive, even though it moves..."
"Fine, fine," Curtis said, cutting him off. "What about the rent? How are you going to pay that?"
"I have been employed in many capacities! Grover has been, let me see --" He counted off on his long furry fingers. "I am a superhero, a professor, a farmer, a waiter, an elevator operator, a taxi-cab driver, and a camp counsellor!"
"That's wonderful," Hope said. She could barely get through cake-decorating school, after all. Maybe this new roommate could help her get on track, career-wise. "So many jobs!"
"Yes, yes, ah, ah," Grover replied and beamed at her. "Working is good for the soul, you know, and I like to work." He puffed out his chest. "I am not strong, but I am *wiry*, and I have energy. Lots of energy!"
"Yeah, about that --" Curtis said sharply. They both turned to look at him. He scowled. "The living room's mine and I like to have quiet."
"Oh!" Grover looked around the room with wide eyes. "Is this a secret hideaway, I am wondering? Perhaps a laboratory where you cook up strange and steaming concoctions?"
"No, that's the kitchen," Hope said. When no one laughed, she sagged a little. "Joke. Curtis doesn't cook, see, so..."
"I do not cook, either, Mr. Curtis!" Grover linked his arm through Curtis's; Curtis looked down at their arms, baffled and irritated all at once. "I am not allowed to turn on the stove, you see. Stoves are hot, just like fire, so one must be extra-careful. My fur could get singed or burned or *worse* and you do not want that, do you?"
"Ri-i-ight." Curtis seemed to finally summon the energy to shake free his arm. "I can knock ten dollars off the rent if you're not going to use the stove. But the living room's still off-limits."
"Okey-dokey," Grover replied as he jumped to his feet and clapped his paws. "I am looking forward very much to being your roommate. We will have much fun and all pitch in together to make this the best apartment in all of the Kensington neighborhood!"
"Yeah, whatever." Curtis wielded the remote like a scalpel; although Grover blocked the television as he struggled to push his trunk back out into the hall, Curtis bounced the remote's infrared off the trunk's latch and succeeded in switching the channel to the CityLine talk show.
Hope kicked Curtis in the ankle. He glared at her, then shook his head in incomprehension as she gestured at Grover. Finally, sighing heavily, Curtis said, "Good to have you. And stuff."
Hope was shaken out of her reverie as Grover shifted his weight on her lap.
He blew his round red nose noisily. "Thank you so much, Roommate Hope. You are so nice and kind! You have reminded me to look on the bright side."
"I...I did?" she asked.
Grover nodded vigorously. "Sometimes, I blame myself for Landlord Curtis. You see, I believe that all the work my friends and I have done over the years in the area of educational televised entertainment is a *good* thing. A very good thing, yes, yes! But some viewers, maybe they miss the educational portion of our adventures and see only the entertainment." He leaned close to whisper in her ear. "Curtis is one of those viewers, it seems possible to me."
He kissed her cheek with a loud smack, then slid off her lap. His characteristic grin had returned, along with the bounce in his step.
"I'm glad," Hope said with feeling. "That you're feeling better, I mean. But with Curtis, I think --" She didn't know, quite, how to phrase her advice. Her hands twisted in her lap. "He -- it's better to leave him alone."
Grover stood in front of the small mirror, going up on tiptoes to adjust his professor's mortarboard. "Oh, no, no! That is not the way I intend to tackle this situation."
Before she could stop him, Professor Grover bounded out of the room, thundering down the hall and into the living room. After sitting still and silent for a long time, she managed to rouse herself. With great trepidation, Hope followed him.
"Now, today we are going to talk about inside! And outside!" Standing between Curtis and the television, Grover had his fists planted on his (nonexistent) hips. "Right now, we are, ah-ah, *inside*. Inside has walls and a ceiling, yes?"
"And a couch," Curtis muttered.
"Yes, yes, and a couch! A long, comfy couch that is squishy and a little stinky! But a couch nonetheless. Now, what does the outside have?"
"Also, there's a TV."
"Ah-ah-*ah*, a television! But that is the inside." He waggled his finger in gentle reproval. "Now we are talking about the outside." Grover skipped over to the window and, after a short struggle, managed to push it open. "Outside, there is so much to see! Why, there is the fresh air blowing in the wind, and there are green leafy trees, and --" He leaned halfway out the window. "Okey-dokey, *this* outside has lots of buildings and power lines and not so very much leafy trees and other growing things. But still there are many people who are going about their exciting daily business!"
Hope leaned in the doorway, watching Curtis. He seemed to struggle with himself -- his eyes kept straying to Grover, but his body was set in its usual defensive, arrogant lines.
Grover darted over to the coffee table. "I am inside!" He dashed back to the window and crawled through it. "Now I am outside! Look at me!"
And the miraculous thing was, Curtis *did* look. He was scowling, but sitting up a little straighter and *looking*. His scowl even twisted into something resembling a smirk when Grover sprinted back and stood in front of him. When Grover pointed at him, waggling his eyebrows under the mortarboard, Curtis said, "Inside."
"Yes! Ah-ha, *yes*, very good, Landlord Curtis! Now where am I?" Breathing heavily, Grover ran back to the window and clambered through. He danced from foot to foot on the rickety balcony.
"Outside," Curtis said.
Grover cupped his ear. "I can't hear you!"
"Outside!" Curtis shouted.
Grover twirled ecstatically. "Yes! Very, very good!" Each word was accompanied by a puff of white breath. He was wheezing slightly as he crawled back through the window. Once inside, he paused, leaning over and gripping his knees.
"Now you're inside," Curtis said, entirely on his own volition.
Hope thought she might faint. Grover, however, just beamed at him. "You are very intelligent! I am so impressed, I do not mind telling you, that I, your slightly asthmatic and totally exhausted roommate, Grover, am thunderstruck!"
"Uh," Curtis said, eyes darting. "Thank you?"
"Thank *you*," Grover said, crawling back to the coffee table. He gripped its edge and pulled himself to his feet. "Now, let's do this together, shall we? Teamwork is so much more fun, do you not agree?"
The moment stretched almost endlessly. Even Lucky was transfixed, sitting on Hope's right foot, holding completely still. Grover panted shallowly.
Curtis rubbed the back of his neck and swallowed audibly. "Sure," he said. "Why not?"
As Curtis stood up, Grover launched himself forward, hugging Curtis around the shins and refusing to let go. "Excellent news, yes-*yes*! Ah-ha-ha, Curtis, I am so happy that I might bust!"
Curtis looked down at the blue monster. "Cool. Let's go outside."
[end]
Title: My Roommate Is A Monster!
Media: Sesame Street/Twitch City
Rating: G
Summary: Hello, everybody! It is I, your blue and furry roommate from down the hall, Grover!
Disclaimer: Henson, Oz, and the Children's Television Workshop; McKellar and the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Nothing here is mine.
Warnings: Liberal use of exclamation points!
Notes: For the Foxlet, with tons of love. thenotoriousg both audienced and beta'd.
After the almond cookie smugglers and the macrame-addicted Hell's Angels and the gay neo-Nazis and the Inuit shaman with dreams of becoming an R&B diva, Hope had to admit that their new roommate was...different. Much, much better.
Even though Curtis insisted on charging him in US dollars, he still paid his rent on time. Granted, the rent came in a big sack of quarters -- "I like to go to the arcade where the lights go flashy-flashy-flash and the machines go beepety-beepety-boop, so I hope these shiny new quarters are acceptable to you, Mr. Curtis the Landlord!" -- that took him two days to count out.
He was also very clean. Not as clean as Nathan, because that would be impossible, but far cleaner than Curtis. He even made up songs to go along with sweeping, vacuuming, and dusting.
In fact, he had insisted on dragging Curtis into the bathroom with him, just to show him how it was done. "Tub time is very important, if you want your fur to be bright blue and squeaky-clean, you see. You just take the soap, like so, and -- hey, where are you going? I am not finished demonstrating the proper methods of washing with the soap!" he yelled as Curtis fled to hide in the attic.
Of course, despite -- or perhaps *because* of all those traits -- Curtis hated him.
"I think he's sweet, Curtis," Hope said when Grover went out to pick up some groceries. "I don't see any problem."
"He messed up my tapes," Curtis grumbled, waving vaguely at the heap of videotapes. "My *tapes*."
Hope squinted, but she couldn't see anything different about the chaotic stacks. "They look fine to me," she said brightly.
"He's practicing the alphabet," Curtis muttered. Crossing his arms and turning his face away, he added, "But I detest alphabetic filing systems. Everyone knows that."
Hope patted his arm. "Of course you do. But how could he know that?"
Curtis belched and slid further down into the depths of the couch. A few stray Fruity-O's crunched somewhere in the upholstery. "He could listen, for one thing. And, for another --" He straightened up slightly and shook a dank lock of hair from his eyes. "For another, he keeps calling me Greasy Baby. I don't like it."
Hope could only pat his shoulder soothingly. "But you *are* greasy," she couldn't say.
The hall door creaked as it was unlocked. "Hello, everybody!" Grover called from the stairs. "It is I, your fuzzy blue and strikingly helpful roommate, Grover, back from the store with the snacks and the foodstuffs and some treats for Lucky the cat! Cat in Spanish is 'el gato'. Can you say that with me?"
No one answered him, though Hope wanted to. One glance from Curtis kept her quiet. Lucky thumped down the hall, however, meowing as she went.
"¡Hola, Lucky, el gato bonito! ¿Como estas?"
"She's a girl-cat!" Curtis shouted back. "And speak English, for Chrissakes!" When Hope poked him warningly, he rolled his eyes. "Or French! We *are* in Canada, you know."
At that, there was only silence from the hall. Lucky mewled pitiably, Hope held her breath, and Curtis chuckled.
Quiet, rapid footsteps pattered down the hall before the door to Grover's room opened, then slammed shut, hard enough to shake the windows in their frames.
"Now you've done it!" Hope hissed at Curtis.
He turned up the volume on a rerun of The Beach Combers.
Shaking her head, feeling her cheeks burn, Hope made her way to Grover's door. She knocked lightly; when there was no answer, she knocked again, a little more loudly. In the living room, Curtis turned the volume all the way up to 'blaring' in retaliation.
Undeterred, Hope pushed open Grover's door. The cape to his superhero costume, hanging on the back of the door, brushed softly against her arm.
Grover lay on his back on his neatly made bed, staring up at the ceiling. As she neared the bed, Hope could see that his wide, smiling mouth was downturned, even trembling, and his googly eyes were slightly bloodshot and shining with tears.
"Hello, Roommate Hope," Grover said morosely and turned on his side. "I am sad. Are you sad?"
She found herself patting his wiry little arm and sighing. "Yes," she admitted. "Why are you sad?"
"Mr. Curtis the Greasy Landlord can be very mean," Grover said after a bit. His voice was quavering. Before she quite knew what she was doing, Hope reached over and pulled him onto her lap. Grover slung one arm around her neck and sighed. "I try and try to show Mr. Curtis that I am the best roommate he ever had who is not you, Hope. (I believe that I could be as good as you, but I do not think I feel like kissing him. He does not own a toothbrush.) But I do not think that he is impressed by me. I think, in fact, that he may dislike small skinny little me."
"That's not true --" Hope started to say, but she found it impossible to lie to him. Biting her lip, she settled for rubbing his back.
"He often says very mean, cutting things to me," Grover said.
"He didn't mean to say that thing about French," Hope said, rather helplessly. In the privacy of her own mind, she wasn't exactly sure about that; Curtis *could* be fairly mean, and sometimes that was purposeful of him. "He's very sorry."
Grover sniffed and Hope handed him a tissue. "It is hard for me, you know, that language. And after Louis --" Here he broke down, shaking his head and burying his face in Hope's shoulder.
His fur was pleasantly rough under her hand, the skin beneath very warm. Hope rubbed large, slow circles over his back and didn't say anything for a long time.
She didn't know *what* to say, truth be told. When the powers that be at the CBC had cancelled Canadian Sesame Street, replacing it with the all-CanCon, all-the-time Sesame Park, she hadn't paid the change much mind.
Not until the morning a little blue monster appeared, huffing and puffing as he pushed a giant steamer trunk up the stairs, to apply for the open room. American monsters were out of their jobs, replaced by Chaos the cat and, worst of all, given his arrogance and offhand cruelty, Louis le Francophone otter. He didn't have a job to go back to at home, either; he wouldn't speak of *that* situation beyond vague references to red monsters with big egos and bigger paycheques.
"No, it is in Canada that I hope to remain," he told them, sitting cross-legged on top of his trunk and scritching Lucky's ears. "Canada is a very nice country! There are ten provinces and three territories here. Nor is Canada made up of all igloos and Mounties as I, Grover, once believed. Toronto alone has the largest Italian-speaking population outside of Italy. Italy is shaped like a boot, but a boot is not alive, even though it moves..."
"Fine, fine," Curtis said, cutting him off. "What about the rent? How are you going to pay that?"
"I have been employed in many capacities! Grover has been, let me see --" He counted off on his long furry fingers. "I am a superhero, a professor, a farmer, a waiter, an elevator operator, a taxi-cab driver, and a camp counsellor!"
"That's wonderful," Hope said. She could barely get through cake-decorating school, after all. Maybe this new roommate could help her get on track, career-wise. "So many jobs!"
"Yes, yes, ah, ah," Grover replied and beamed at her. "Working is good for the soul, you know, and I like to work." He puffed out his chest. "I am not strong, but I am *wiry*, and I have energy. Lots of energy!"
"Yeah, about that --" Curtis said sharply. They both turned to look at him. He scowled. "The living room's mine and I like to have quiet."
"Oh!" Grover looked around the room with wide eyes. "Is this a secret hideaway, I am wondering? Perhaps a laboratory where you cook up strange and steaming concoctions?"
"No, that's the kitchen," Hope said. When no one laughed, she sagged a little. "Joke. Curtis doesn't cook, see, so..."
"I do not cook, either, Mr. Curtis!" Grover linked his arm through Curtis's; Curtis looked down at their arms, baffled and irritated all at once. "I am not allowed to turn on the stove, you see. Stoves are hot, just like fire, so one must be extra-careful. My fur could get singed or burned or *worse* and you do not want that, do you?"
"Ri-i-ight." Curtis seemed to finally summon the energy to shake free his arm. "I can knock ten dollars off the rent if you're not going to use the stove. But the living room's still off-limits."
"Okey-dokey," Grover replied as he jumped to his feet and clapped his paws. "I am looking forward very much to being your roommate. We will have much fun and all pitch in together to make this the best apartment in all of the Kensington neighborhood!"
"Yeah, whatever." Curtis wielded the remote like a scalpel; although Grover blocked the television as he struggled to push his trunk back out into the hall, Curtis bounced the remote's infrared off the trunk's latch and succeeded in switching the channel to the CityLine talk show.
Hope kicked Curtis in the ankle. He glared at her, then shook his head in incomprehension as she gestured at Grover. Finally, sighing heavily, Curtis said, "Good to have you. And stuff."
Hope was shaken out of her reverie as Grover shifted his weight on her lap.
He blew his round red nose noisily. "Thank you so much, Roommate Hope. You are so nice and kind! You have reminded me to look on the bright side."
"I...I did?" she asked.
Grover nodded vigorously. "Sometimes, I blame myself for Landlord Curtis. You see, I believe that all the work my friends and I have done over the years in the area of educational televised entertainment is a *good* thing. A very good thing, yes, yes! But some viewers, maybe they miss the educational portion of our adventures and see only the entertainment." He leaned close to whisper in her ear. "Curtis is one of those viewers, it seems possible to me."
He kissed her cheek with a loud smack, then slid off her lap. His characteristic grin had returned, along with the bounce in his step.
"I'm glad," Hope said with feeling. "That you're feeling better, I mean. But with Curtis, I think --" She didn't know, quite, how to phrase her advice. Her hands twisted in her lap. "He -- it's better to leave him alone."
Grover stood in front of the small mirror, going up on tiptoes to adjust his professor's mortarboard. "Oh, no, no! That is not the way I intend to tackle this situation."
Before she could stop him, Professor Grover bounded out of the room, thundering down the hall and into the living room. After sitting still and silent for a long time, she managed to rouse herself. With great trepidation, Hope followed him.
"Now, today we are going to talk about inside! And outside!" Standing between Curtis and the television, Grover had his fists planted on his (nonexistent) hips. "Right now, we are, ah-ah, *inside*. Inside has walls and a ceiling, yes?"
"And a couch," Curtis muttered.
"Yes, yes, and a couch! A long, comfy couch that is squishy and a little stinky! But a couch nonetheless. Now, what does the outside have?"
"Also, there's a TV."
"Ah-ah-*ah*, a television! But that is the inside." He waggled his finger in gentle reproval. "Now we are talking about the outside." Grover skipped over to the window and, after a short struggle, managed to push it open. "Outside, there is so much to see! Why, there is the fresh air blowing in the wind, and there are green leafy trees, and --" He leaned halfway out the window. "Okey-dokey, *this* outside has lots of buildings and power lines and not so very much leafy trees and other growing things. But still there are many people who are going about their exciting daily business!"
Hope leaned in the doorway, watching Curtis. He seemed to struggle with himself -- his eyes kept straying to Grover, but his body was set in its usual defensive, arrogant lines.
Grover darted over to the coffee table. "I am inside!" He dashed back to the window and crawled through it. "Now I am outside! Look at me!"
And the miraculous thing was, Curtis *did* look. He was scowling, but sitting up a little straighter and *looking*. His scowl even twisted into something resembling a smirk when Grover sprinted back and stood in front of him. When Grover pointed at him, waggling his eyebrows under the mortarboard, Curtis said, "Inside."
"Yes! Ah-ha, *yes*, very good, Landlord Curtis! Now where am I?" Breathing heavily, Grover ran back to the window and clambered through. He danced from foot to foot on the rickety balcony.
"Outside," Curtis said.
Grover cupped his ear. "I can't hear you!"
"Outside!" Curtis shouted.
Grover twirled ecstatically. "Yes! Very, very good!" Each word was accompanied by a puff of white breath. He was wheezing slightly as he crawled back through the window. Once inside, he paused, leaning over and gripping his knees.
"Now you're inside," Curtis said, entirely on his own volition.
Hope thought she might faint. Grover, however, just beamed at him. "You are very intelligent! I am so impressed, I do not mind telling you, that I, your slightly asthmatic and totally exhausted roommate, Grover, am thunderstruck!"
"Uh," Curtis said, eyes darting. "Thank you?"
"Thank *you*," Grover said, crawling back to the coffee table. He gripped its edge and pulled himself to his feet. "Now, let's do this together, shall we? Teamwork is so much more fun, do you not agree?"
The moment stretched almost endlessly. Even Lucky was transfixed, sitting on Hope's right foot, holding completely still. Grover panted shallowly.
Curtis rubbed the back of his neck and swallowed audibly. "Sure," he said. "Why not?"
As Curtis stood up, Grover launched himself forward, hugging Curtis around the shins and refusing to let go. "Excellent news, yes-*yes*! Ah-ha-ha, Curtis, I am so happy that I might bust!"
Curtis looked down at the blue monster. "Cool. Let's go outside."
[end]