[Wow, okay. The raucous applause is more than a little unexpected, and honestly all of the noise and attention is almost more overwhelming than the tension from before. Here he thought he was going to get pelted with rocks again for not being funny.
At least this time he's more prepared for the inkwell and pen to come hurtling from the ceiling, as he catches the page in one hand (the bread one gets dropped, bye bitch) and the inkwell in his other, just barely managing to snag the pen between a pair of free fingers still gripping the paper.
Okay. He hates this. But he has to write something here, right? Maybe if he just...hm...
It takes him a moment to get the inkwell open since he's standing and has his hands full, but somehow he manages to get the pen dipped into it without getting too much ink everywhere. Writing is a different story since he has nothing to press down on, but write he will do.
no subject
At least this time he's more prepared for the inkwell and pen to come hurtling from the ceiling, as he catches the page in one hand (the bread one gets dropped, bye bitch) and the inkwell in his other, just barely managing to snag the pen between a pair of free fingers still gripping the paper.
Okay. He hates this. But he has to write something here, right? Maybe if he just...hm...
It takes him a moment to get the inkwell open since he's standing and has his hands full, but somehow he manages to get the pen dipped into it without getting too much ink everywhere. Writing is a different story since he has nothing to press down on, but write he will do.
And what does he write?]
The flesh is sweet underneath.