[shadow=black,left]PAOLA VASQUEZ[/shadow]

At Georgia’s sudden arrival, Paola seems to brighten more, offering the somali a bright smile in greeting. ”Hey, Geo,” she calls out, waving the tip of her tail before breaking out in a quiet snicker at the other’s snide comment towards Aphra. She feels better, now with a surge of familiar faces popping up who weren't as displeasing as the oriental cat, and the black she-cat gets comfortable listening to their back-and-forth.

While she hasn't known Michael long, she’s not blind to the effect he has on the newest teenagers of the Typhoon. Sure, she neither knows or remembers what it’s like to have a father, but if anybody can fill that papa-shaped hole in her heart, Michael would certainly be the best candidate… not that she’d ever admit it out loud, or even in secret. She hardly knows the person, and he undoubtedly hardly knows her.

Falling back into the present, she smiles in greeting at the newest arrivals to the scene before turning back to the parent-to-be, snorting amusedly at his comment. ”Whadayamean? You’re pretty cool. I bet your kids would turn out pretty cool, too,” she teases gently. ”I call dibs on teaching them how to lob fish at people.”

At his approval, she quickly slinks forward and grabs two bottles from the collection, plucking one by the teeth and carrying the other with her tail. She isn’t quite sure what either of them are, but Paola looks satisfied enough by her haul, resuming her position next to Georgia and setting them down. ”Thank you, Mr. Michael, sir!” She brushes the tip of her tail above one eye in a playful salute.

Armed with bottles, Paola settles down to continue listening to the conversation, giggling at Harlow’s question. ”It’s to make sure they’re healthy,” she adds to Michael’s explanation, following his lead and leaving the why and how vague. She opens her mouth to offer more non-specific information when her ears twitch at Aphra’s outburst, her eyes immediately moving up in a roll.

”It sure didn’t sound like a joke,” the she-cat mutters under her breath, lip curling but otherwise looking satisfied by Roxanne’s reprimand. She shakes her head, pushing the bitter feelings away. ”Hey, we have a collection of bottles now between us and the tavern. Why not crack some open, and bring in some non-alcoholic drinks? We’re all gathered here anyway, maybe we can have a tiny little celebration for Mr. Michael?”