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"What is going on in here?"
At the nervous psychic voice, Harry turned off the vacuum and looked toward the window. Mewtwo was perched in the open window frame and looking down at the confetti-covered floor, like a nervous Litten on a branch over a lake.
"Oh, hey! Have you heard the news?" Harry suspected not. He and Tim were its mane source for human news. "Howard Clifford's sentencing came through."
"I had not heard. It ended badly?" Mewtwo's gaze settled distrustfully on the vacuum. "You hope this noise machine will fend him off if he comes here for revenge?"
"What? Oh! No—he got a life sentence. We're celebrating." Harry surveyed the blanket of confetti that had once been his living room. Pikachu was rolling across the floor, turning himself into a static-powered ball of multicolored crepe paper. "Or, we were celebrating. I'm cleaning now. I can call Tim home and pull out some of the leftover snacks if you want to restart the party?"
"You celebrate by ripping up your own papers and covering the floor with them? I was given to understand humans conceal important information in their papers."
"Well—it sounds silly when you put it that way," Harry said. "No, this is— It's special celebration paper. Confetti. No important information." Honestly, it didn't sound much less silly when he explained it.
"Celebration paper." Mewtwo sounded dubious. "How does it work?"
"Well, uh, we just..." Harry pantomimed weakly, "We sorta toss it around, y'know, for fun—"
Without warning, every scrap of loose confetti in the room lifted, floating a foot over Harry's head. And then, for thirty seconds, the room was a confetti blizzard. Pikachu squealed in surprise.
The paper tornado settled down, confetti drifting slowly to the ground again. A few pieces landed on Harry's head.
Solemnly, Mewtwo thought, "That was fun." It was almost smiling.