Stuck doing dishes. Again. Stork sighed as he stared up at the large pile, plates and silverware, pots and pans precariously placed like an Atmosian game of Tetris, just waiting for a small gust of wind to send it all to the floor. It was a woe-is-me sigh, as if he were trying to blow all the worries and cares out of his body with that single breath. Instantly, he rushed forward, pale yellow eyes widened, as the pile of dishes wobbled and tipped dangerously. He thrust his body against them, forcing them against the wall.
"Guh...okay..." The Merb glanced at the sink, and, reaching out with a prehensile foot, turned the knob to the faucet. Water spilled out, splashing against the plug that kept it from going down the drain. When he felt the sink was filled to a satisfactory level, Stork twisted the knob once more in the opposite direction and rolled his eyes. This was so... He had no idea why he took a chance in the game "Last One to the Tree Does the Dishes". ...He liked to tell himself that it was better to take a chance and maybe (not likely) win, then have to do these blasted things by default. Still pressed against the pile that seemed to mock him with every stare he gave it, Stork wove a hand around them and began picking dishes off of the very top (which took a bit of standing on his tiptoes). He winced as the pile rattled threateningly, then laid his ears back with relief and allowed himself a small smirk as they remained where they were. Stork dropped the dishes he had gathered into the sink, into the water that was only slightly hotter then what they used for torture. He wore a pair of rubber gloves over his regular uniform pair, ones that reached up to his elbows. He also wore one of his best "work" dresses, a lighter shade of pink with a floral pattern. It would keep the team away, at least, to avoid any awkward, unintentional glances at his outfit (which he made himself), and that was exactly what Stork was going for. No distractions. He was irritated enough already.
It didn't occur to Stork until he had put a small handful of dishes into the sink - and chased away a chicken that had been hiding within the monstrous mountain ("Really? Just...really?") that he hadn't put in any dish soap. Well...he DID need that. Resisting the urge to smack his head, Stork once more used his lower limbs to his advantage. Three green toes grasped the lower cabinet as his eyes darted around the kitchen for witnesses. None. This was good. The lower cabinet was stocked full of supplies, but none of them were to Stork's satisfaction. A trap door that slid off to the side had what he needed...not just any dish soap, but a dish soap GUARANTEED to remove any filth and microorganisms (or your money back). It was one of the many things he bought from...well...that was his secret. He grabbed the item with a sinister gleam in his eyes. The bottle of dish soap was reflected in those devilish orbs. Ohhh, yes. Popping the bottle open with those finger-like toes, he tipped an alarming amount into the sink. The effect was almost instant. The water in the sink bubbled and foamed...but a gas seemed to rise not only from the concoction, but the bubbles that popped once airborne. Stork stared at them in awe for a moment, looked back at the sink, then...shrugged.
"Never seen that happen before." With that, shifting so he had his side pressed against the stack of dishes, he went to work on scrubbing the ones in the sink with a sponge. Ah, well. He'd watch the team for any...dangerous...side effects that might occur using these plates again to consume off of.