[FLUFFCEMBER] Seasons greetings dearest manager~ I have been absolutely delighted by the lounge's delectable offerings I've had the pleasure of sampling thus far and can I just say, *masterful* work darling! I cannot thank you enough for the immaculate services you provide. If I may, I simply must submit a reservation request for this year's Fluffcember! Might I please claim Day#21 for the penguins theme with the lovable rascal, Ruggie Bucchi? Perhaps the reader reminds him of a penguin in their appearance and/or behavior, and he teases them often about it? And then one day, in cheeky manner, the reader presents Ruggie with a pebble, a known penguin courtship ritual? My sincerest gratitude to the kitchen for considering my request <3
Ah, esteemed patron! Seasons greetings!
My, my, "masterful work"? "Immaculate services"? You are going to make the Manager (myself) blush! We are absolutely delighted that our menu has pleased your palate.
And you have placed a Fluffcember reservation just in time!
Your order for Day 21: Penguins, featuring the lovable rascal Monsieur Ruggie Bucchi, is joyfully confirmed!
A "dish" that combines Ruggie's relentless teasing with a deeply specific, biological courtship ritual? Magnifique. Ruggie knows the value of everything—even a rock—and the fact that you are speaking a "language" of animal courtship to a Beastman is a flavor profile of pure genius.
We do hope this preview is to your satisfaction!
Serving: Penguins
"Look at ya. You're waddlin' again."
Ruggie Bucchi was leaning against the wall of the hallway, snickering. You were bundled up in so many layers against the winter chill—a thick coat, a scarf wrapped three times, heavy boots—that your range of motion was effectively zero.
"I am not waddling," you argued, though the effect was ruined when you had to shuffle-step to turn around.
"You totally are!" Ruggie cackled, pushing off the wall to walk beside you. He poked your puffy sleeve. "You look like one of those birds. The black and white ones on the ice? Penguins! Yeah, that's it. A little, puffy, waddlin' penguin."
He’d been calling you that all week. Penguin. It was his new favorite way to tease you about your intolerance for the cold.
"If I'm a penguin," you huffed, stopping in the middle of the courtyard, "then you should show some respect. We're very dignified creatures."
"Dignified? You tripped over your own scarf yesterday!" Ruggie grinned, his hands behind his head. "But hey, stick with me. I'll make sure the polar bears don't get ya. For a price, of course."
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. You reached into your deep coat pocket. You had been waiting for this exact opening.
"Actually, Ruggie," you said, your voice taking on a mischievous edge. "Since you insist on the comparison... I have something for you."
Ruggie’s ears perked up instantly. "Oh? A tip? A snack? What we got?"
You pulled your hand out. You weren't holding a doughnut. You weren't holding a thaumark.
You were holding a rock.
It wasn't just any rock. It was a perfectly smooth, round, pleasingly grey pebble you had found near the greenhouse.
Ruggie stared at it. He looked at you. He looked back at the rock.
"Uh..." Ruggie blinked, his tail giving a confused twitch. "It's... a rock. Is this a prank? Did Ace put you up to this? 'Cause if it's not edible or shiny, the exchange rate is low, [....]."
"It's not a prank," you said, stepping closer (waddling slightly). You held it out to him with solemn ceremony. "It's a pebble. A perfect pebble."
Ruggie took it, mostly out of reflex. He turned it over in his hand. It was a nice rock. Good weight. Smooth.
"Okay..." he drawled, looking at you suspiciously. "And...?"
"Don't you know your animal biology, Ruggie?" you grinned. "When a penguin finds a mate... they search the entire beach for the perfect pebble. And they present it to the one they like best. If they accept it... they're partners for life."
Ruggie went dead still.
His brain processed the information. Penguin. Mate. Perfect Pebble. Partners for Life.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. The tips of his large, round ears turned a violent shade of red. His tail puffed up to twice its normal size.
"Y-You..." he stammered, staring at the grey stone in his palm as if it were a diamond the size of his fist. "You're... seriously...? With a rock?"
"You called me a penguin," you shrugged, your grin widening. "I'm just acting the part. Do you accept the pebble, Ruggie?"
He looked at you. You looked ridiculous in your puffy coat, your nose pink from the cold, looking at him with that hopeful, cheeky expression.
Ruggie Bucchi, the scavenger of the Savannah, closed his fist tight around the rock. He shoved his hand—and the pebble—deep into his pocket.
"Shishishi..." he laughed, but it was a breathless, flustered sound. He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, his face burning. "You're... you're unbelievable. Ushers in a 'contract' with a piece of gravel..."
He stepped closer, bumping his shoulder against yours.
"...Yeah. I accept it. It's... it's a good rock. Don't think you can take it back later, either. It's mine now."
"And the penguin?"
"Mine too," he mumbled, grabbing your hand to drag you toward the cafeteria. "Come on. I'm buyin' you lunch. Penguins gotta eat, right?"
A "dish" served with biological romance and a very valuable stone! The kitchen is thrilled to confirm your reservation.
What are they doing in Tims office, at Tims computer, without Tim?😆😆😆
Plus, Do you see those stares? Since Angela and Nyla already know about Chenford proposal, do you think they would tell Celina and Aaron? If so, I need them to tell Nolan too. And Miles of course😁😁😁❤️❤️💜💜💍
Draco frowned at Harry. “Must you wear that rag?” he asked. “I’ve seen elves with better sartorial sense.”
Harry smirked, well used to Draco’s retorts. His blue tee-shirt – gotten free with two boxes of Cheeri Owls – had faded in places. The collar was loose and the sleeves were frayed. Quite honestly, he only wore it to bug Draco.
“Ask me what it’s made of.”
Draco plonked himself down on their settee. “I’m not falling for that old chestnut,” he replied. “Boyfriend material. You need to find some new chat-up lines, Potter. That one is older than the moths in Weasley’s wallet.”
“I wasn’t going to say that,” Harry pouted, looking a little hurt. “Go on, Draco. Ask me what my tee-shirt is made of."
“Alright,” Draco answered, taking the bait. “What’s that decrepit, unkempt and altogether shabby tee-shirt made of?”
“Husband material,” Harry answered, chortling.
🥁🥁🥁
This is a @drarrymicrofic and it is based on the prompt of blue.
