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Turtle & Canary, Tuesday

George had ~~handwavily~~ switched days, so now, she was here on Tuesday. And it was Tuesday, so she was here.

Tuesday seemed to suck just as hard as Thursday had. George couldn't begin to tell you how amazed she was, by that.

Whatever. The store was open. Buy something. Or don't.

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Regular ray of sunshine.

Robin was probably the last one who should be out and about on a day like this. He was from Florida after all.

But darnit he wanted hot chocolate, and he wanted enough to share. So he'd braved the cold to come get a large box of cocoa mix.

George had dealt with a lot of weird shit in her time at Fandom -- hell, she was dead, and she wasn't sure where her roommate fell on the live-or-dead spectrum, for that matter, because he had to be straddling that line pretty hard -- but she wasn't expecting a felt puppet thing to pop into the store looking for ... cocoa.

"You're a frog."

This was all the greeting Robin was likely to get.

A cold frog. Even with the heavy parka he was wearing.

"Y-yes I a-am." he said, letting the store's heat do it's work. "My name is Robin, nice to meet you."

"... You're not even a real frog," George said. Staring. Because any second now, this would make sense. "Which ... would be weird enough. You're, like, felt or something."

She had always assumed felt was, you know, fabric. Silly her.

"No I'm real." Robin explained patiently. "Muppets only look and feel like they're made of cloth."

"Then ... what the fuck are you made out of?" she said. "If it's not cloth. Because it really looks like cloth."

Robin shrugged. Well, as best as something without shoulders could anyway. "Skin. Fuzzy skin. Which looks and feels a lot like cloth." He also had very little in the way of a bone structure.

"Is ..."

George couldn't believe she was attempting to talk to the cloth-thing. Frog. Muppet. Thing.

"Is that some kind of ... so ... predators won't eat you because they ... think you're cloth?"

Ow, her brain. Her brain was going to grow arms just so it could grab pencils and jam those into her eyeballs.

If it was it didn't work against the Velociraptors way back when. "I'm not sure. A few things have tried to eat me in the past though." Might not have killed him. He'd likely just have climbed right back up the throat and out the mouth. Muppets were somewhat like toons in their resiliency.

"Huh."

George ... didn't really ... have a good response to that one.

"What kind of ... natural predators to fake-cloth puppety things have, anyway?"

Just, you know. Making conversation while she waited for her eyes to implode.

"Well there's been some monsters that've tried, and the Swedish Chef tried to cook me once." But all was forgiven in that respect. "And there were some dinosaurs on the island once."

George was going to continue staring at the ... not-cloth puppet frog thing.

"But you ... survived," she said. "... Didn't you? I mean. I'm guessing."

Maybe he was dead. It wouldn't be any fucking weirder.

"Oh yeah I got away all those times. I think the dinosaurs were the scariest. But most animals leave Muppets alone, and most Muppets, even if we don't get along, don't try to kill each other." Though he wouldn't put it past Piggy.

Puck was, at best, oblivious. At worst, he could be malicious and stupid simultaneously, but today he was a harmless oblivious as he wandered in, tipping a wave to George as he headed for a Squishy. "'Sup," he called, smiling over at her. "How've you been?"

Oh, Noah.

Oh. Look who she totally didn't expect and should have, considering that he was either a fucking moron or doing this on purpose.

"Me? Great," she said, with a forced air of chipperness. "So glad you liked that phone message! Yours was hilarious. Great of you to drop in!"

Hey, look, there were miscellaneous candy bars here, near the register! Good times. George could think of a good place for those. Like, say, right on Puck's smug fucking face.

"So what the fuck" -- candybar! headed for his head! -- "do you" -- and another! -- "want?" -- make that three!

And the first one hit him right in the face, because yeah, he was a fucking moron. Sorry, George.

He ducked before he could be pelted with the other two, peeking up over a magazine rack as soon as they stopped flying. "What the hell is your problem?" he yelled, indignant. "And what phone message?"

"My problem!?" George shouted. "You haven't talked to me! Since -- you know when! I called to ask if I had leprosy and you called me a sexy milkmaid! What the hell is wrong with you!?"

... the candy bars were expected, at this point, which meant they were easy to duck. That did not seem to slow George down any. Really, the noise they were making was cathartic as all hell.

"That message was for Kennedy!" came Puck's voice from behind that rack, where it was safe.

Probably not helping things.

"I didn't mean to call you! And you don't have leprosy! I mean, I think. My junk hasn't fallen off or anything."

"Maybe you have gangrene from fucking a dead girl," George called out.

Which earned her a look from Apu. "Mind your own business!" she snapped.

Since, clearly, he was in the wrong here. He was attempting to work while she was having a private life, here in the public store and all.

"Learn to fucking dial a phone," she added. "And stop hiding! I can't hit you if you're behind that fucking rack!"

"That's why I'm hiding," Puck pointed out helpfully. "Why are you throwing shit at me? I didn't do anything!"

"No, you didn't!" she shouted back. "You didn't do anything! You didn't ask if I was okay, or how I've been, or even want to be my friend any more! Do you have any idea how that made me feel?!"

... shit. That was a little more honest than she had intended on being.

Puck peeked up again, over the rack. "I still want to be your friend," he offered carefully, moving out a little and holding up his hands. "I just didn't -- I didn't want to like, cuddle or whatever, and I thought you were fine. That's all."

"I didn't mean cuddling," she huffed. The barrage of candy bars seemed to have stopped, at least for now. "I am fine. I'm fine, you're fine, everything's fine. I just ... it was weird."

She shrugged, awkwardly. "I don't know ... how to do any of this."

"Are you pissed 'cause I didn't call?" Puck wondered, now feeling safe enough to stand up. "'Cause I was gonna, but it was weird, and I didn't want you to feel weird, so I kinda just did my thing and figured you were fine."

Stupid Puck.

Thank you, come again.

Ugh, the roads suck today.

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Turtle & Canary, Tuesday

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