And then. It was time. (To think. In dramatic sentence fragments.)
Scott had been dreading dinner since the second he had seen the wreck that was Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pancake™. He couldn't avoid it, though. He had to go, if only because if he knew that if he skipped yet another meal, a hole would rip in the fabric of space-time inside his stomach, causing the end of all existence as the multiverse knew it.
(Also because he was betting the soldiers wouldn't take kindly to a request to cower in another room until nightfall.)
And so, Scott stepped into M85 with his head drooped in a picture-perfect relief of a dog that knew it had done something wrong. He looked over to the bed where he knew Guybrush would be. The pirate was sunken into the mattress like so much piled up rubble. Pretty much exactly as Scott had imagined he might look.
Scott gave a sigh to announce his presence, not moving further into the room just yet.
"So."
The awkward was so thick you could carve it up for Christmas dinner.
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Scott had been dreading dinner since the second he had seen the wreck that was Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pancake™. He couldn't avoid it, though. He had to go, if only because if he knew that if he skipped yet another meal, a hole would rip in the fabric of space-time inside his stomach, causing the end of all existence as the multiverse knew it.
(Also because he was betting the soldiers wouldn't take kindly to a request to cower in another room until nightfall.)
And so, Scott stepped into M85 with his head drooped in a picture-perfect relief of a dog that knew it had done something wrong. He looked over to the bed where he knew Guybrush would be. The pirate was sunken into the mattress like so much piled up rubble. Pretty much exactly as Scott had imagined he might look.
Scott gave a sigh to announce his presence, not moving further into the room just yet.
"So."
The awkward was so thick you could carve it up for Christmas dinner.
"Sorry. Doesn't really cover it, does it?"