[The jello salad sits like a blob of sadness on his plate, as Aleksander tries to find a seat at this... party, but every table is occupied and games are played. Games he doesn't know the rules to, but they look too intense for what he wants this night, which leaves him to balance a glass of (probably) rum and coke and this hideous concoction of jello (which he thought he liked from Yelena's shots on the station) and something that might have been food, once.
It wriggles on the plate, and he stares at it.]
Who could think up something so-- [the blob of jellified salad mocks him with a jaunty jiggle-] this.
no subject
It wriggles on the plate, and he stares at it.]
Who could think up something so-- [the blob of jellified salad mocks him with a jaunty jiggle-] this.