It was Funky Town. After hearing that his kid wanted to have a party, Papa G wanted to help out, and nothing would keep him from doing that. He brought out the Lava Lamps, baby. He brought out his newest creation to open up the doors and greet people. Well, not really greet, he wasn’t a talker, but he could make little whistling noises. He even put on his best suit, and Figaro really wasn’t going to try to dissuade him. They were a different person around their pops, which Willem would soon figure out.
“How do I look, honey?” Papa G would ask, doing up his jacket. Fig had taken him to the barber that very morning for a nice new hair cut and a shave. “Oh, look, it’s Willem! Hi there, my boy,” He’d say, reaching out to shake Willem’s hand - as he did just about every time that they saw each other. It would have taken a couple of mentions that his name was Willem and not William, but he got there eventually.
Figaro was very attentive to their dad, very patient. None of the crazy slang or the weird things that they sometimes said would come out of their mouth because he just didn’t understand anymore. He was forgetting things, slowly and surely, and it hurt their very heart to see it. But! Papa G had spirit in heaps, and was ready to get his party on.
“You look great, Papa G,” Figaro would compliment, and allow him to give her a feminine twirl under his arm, rolling her eyes over at Willem. “I think you’re going to be the life of the party. Did you lock up Punch?”
“He’s entertaining the ladies tonight,” Papa G would grin, and give Willem a little nudge. “Much like you, eh boy?”
A knock at the door. First guests are arriving. The new guy would take care of it. “Now, dad, remember what we practiced? When you’re introduced to new people, say their name three times out loud. That’ll help you to remember. We don’t want another incident.”
“Yes, yes, it’ll be fine,” Papa G said. A ‘whoa, nelly’ and ‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ’ came from the door, and two guys came strolling in, both looking nervously over their shoulder.
“What is that thing?” Ronno asked, balancing a cooler over his head.
Fig bit back a biting remark. They’d come out more when her father was distracted. “My new best friend. Hey rhinestone cowboy. And - jockstrap.”
“Fig,” Iain would laugh, holding up some plastic bags. “Figured since it was mine and Will’s idea, I’d help out by bringing some snacks. Got chips and thangs. Is this your dad?”
“Hi, I’m Papa G, or Geppy,” The old man would introduce. And true to what his kid had advised him on, he’d say each name three times. Iain, Iain, Iain. Ronno, Ronno, Ronno. “Right this way, we’ll get a bowl!”
Fig smiled watching as her pops took the guys into the mint colored kitchen where there were already some snacks and some drinks put out. Not like her dad would remember the difference. He’d probably turn in shortly after dark and sleep through the rest of the party, or work in his studio inspired by some faces that he saw. “So the fun begins.”