On the transportalizer sits a large, wrapped package and a sizeable gift bag decorated in photogenic kittens. The contents are:
A nice plateful of dinner rests carefully atop the largest box; still warm and healthily topped with sweet potatoes. You are so good at making sweet potatoes. Dinner for his fab wife.
Merry Christmas, Roxy.
Just before she leaves to go check on her moirail, she checks the room and smiles brightly when she sees the gifts and oh fuck a meal there. The plate goes into the fridge because she doesn’t have time to eat it, and then she tears open the bigger box and almost shrieks with joy. Yes, fuck yes, hell fucking yes.
The second one, she opens, and…her face just drops a little. It’s the thought that counts, but it makes her feel sad that it’s going to end up locked in her closet with the rest of the booze.
She’ll tell him later. Right now, she’s just excited for the PS4.
