Fork tugged at his collar nervously. He had to make a good impression. The fate of his people depended on him. He made a mental note to be as polite and helpful as possible.
Cameron gazed at the assembled party. He hated these cocktail dos. Fights were common, and his only job today was to ensure that there wasn’t one. He pulled together the lapels of his furred dinner jacket and took a deep breath. It was going to be a long night.
“Flovely, fisn’t fit?” Cameron turned. The Gabalean High Commissioner, Fork Fouster, was standing behind him, fangs adding a unique touch to his speech.
“Yes, quite,” said Cameron. The entire hall was, in fact, quite lovely. Crystals glittered at every corner, huge bouquets of frozen flowers studded the hall, the frosted reds and greens adding a lovely touch to the first Intergalactic Ball of the year.
“Flet fme fintroduce fyou,” lisped the Commissioner. Groaning inwardly, Cameron tried to weasel out of immediate socialising. “I’ll catch up with you. Let me just go get some ice for my drink.”
Eagerly, Fork said “Foh, flet fme!” Turning to his right, Fork used his right paw to break off an icicle and crushed it, pouring the debris into Cameron’s drink.
Fork was not an expert in human behaviour at all and wondered if that greenish tinge in this one’s face was natural or makeup.
Cameron tried to fight the bile rising in his throat. One of the Ice Giants stood immobile in shock, his nose crushed and in Cameron’s drink. He wondered if Fork would be left alive at the end of the night.