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"Sheldon! Hey Sheldon, look!" Singsong lilt to her voice, Silvia called out to her roommate and wrestling trainer.

"No," Sheldon flatly replied.

"Come on, don't be like that!"

"I will be like that," the Shelgon snooted. The clatter of dishes and silverware could be heard as the Dragon-type put his nubby limbs to work.

The Salamence blew a raspberry. Shifting in place, butt cheeks spilling well over the sides of her seating arrangement, she gleefully made herself comfortable. Creaks and the groaning of metal sounded out from beneath her. "You know that stool we picked up from the thrift shop the other week? The one you blew off as a waste of money because it'd turn into a metal pancake as soon as I sat on it? Well check it out! It's still holding!"

Bowing inwards, the stool's reinforced steel legs struggled to remain vertical.

"...For how long?"

Popsicle in hand, Silvia tapped at her soft chin with her free hand. "I give it... two, maybe three, more slurps?"

A bitter and resigned groan wafted out from the kitchen. "What are you ruining your dinner with this time?"

"Pikachu Pop! Or... maybe an Abra? I can't tell, I already ate the cheeks."