Despite how promising breakfast had been— his conversation with Doctor Facilier, not the actual meal itself— all of it was pushed from Guybrush's mind as the soldier led him to the place he dreaded most of all: the showers. They were a nightmare to the Mighty Pirate™, who felt far less mighty than implied by his title when surrounded by porcelain and plagued with the memory of his shower-time conversation with LeChuck, which resulted in a mental image that was forever scarred into his mind.
And much like the nurse, the soldier wasn't taking any of his excuses for an answer. "I'm really not dirty," he insisted as the soldier continued toward the showers without a word. "In fact, I feel cleaner than I have in years! I should probably not risk being too clean by just staying in the Sun Room for now. I could use the exposure anyway. Have you seen how pale—"
"The showers, Moriarty," the soldier said sternly as they reached the door. "You will be having one."
"Ooor I could just skip it" Guybrush replied with a sheepish smile. "I took one a few days ago, and still feel pretty fresh."
"You will be taking one, or we will put you on report and you'll not get any meals for the rest of the day."
"You say that like it's a bad thing. Have you even seen what they're feeding us?"
The soldier passed between Guybrush and the rest of the Sun Room, stepping forward to force him into the bathroom. "Shower. Now."
And so came the walk across the bathroom, through which Guybrush had to be toted by two soldiers due to the mildly shameful, panic-stricken fit he immediately had. It was a good thing he was flimsier than most pirates: it made carrying him past the numerous urinals easier. Beyond the blatantly porcelain toilets and into the room of questionably porcelain tiles (they could have been another kind of ceramic, he told himself), he was left to his own devices. Once he was finished huddling in a corner, rocking back and forth, convincing himself that this still wasn't the most traumatic thing he'd ever faced, he undressed and headed toward an empty shower head.
He picked a relatively secluded one in the corner this time, deciding that his previous choices of ones near the entrance were just asking for someone like LeChuck to come looking for trouble. As much as he didn't want to see his nemesis, the knowledge he hadn't escaped after all would undoubtedly be one positive mark in the sea of increasingly unpleasant happenings.
Speaking of unpleasant happenings, Guybrush's towel began to slip as he squeezed shampoo into his hand (which, with the other hand being a hook, was more awkward than one might expect). With his natural reaction being to catch the falling towel, the shampoo bottle clattered noisily to the floor. These kinds of locations were just plain problematic.
no subject
And much like the nurse, the soldier wasn't taking any of his excuses for an answer. "I'm really not dirty," he insisted as the soldier continued toward the showers without a word. "In fact, I feel cleaner than I have in years! I should probably not risk being too clean by just staying in the Sun Room for now. I could use the exposure anyway. Have you seen how pale—"
"The showers, Moriarty," the soldier said sternly as they reached the door. "You will be having one."
"Ooor I could just skip it" Guybrush replied with a sheepish smile. "I took one a few days ago, and still feel pretty fresh."
"You will be taking one, or we will put you on report and you'll not get any meals for the rest of the day."
"You say that like it's a bad thing. Have you even seen what they're feeding us?"
The soldier passed between Guybrush and the rest of the Sun Room, stepping forward to force him into the bathroom. "Shower. Now."
And so came the walk across the bathroom, through which Guybrush had to be toted by two soldiers due to the mildly shameful, panic-stricken fit he immediately had. It was a good thing he was flimsier than most pirates: it made carrying him past the numerous urinals easier. Beyond the blatantly porcelain toilets and into the room of questionably porcelain tiles (they could have been another kind of ceramic, he told himself), he was left to his own devices. Once he was finished huddling in a corner, rocking back and forth, convincing himself that this still wasn't the most traumatic thing he'd ever faced, he undressed and headed toward an empty shower head.
He picked a relatively secluded one in the corner this time, deciding that his previous choices of ones near the entrance were just asking for someone like LeChuck to come looking for trouble. As much as he didn't want to see his nemesis, the knowledge he hadn't escaped after all would undoubtedly be one positive mark in the sea of increasingly unpleasant happenings.
Speaking of unpleasant happenings, Guybrush's towel began to slip as he squeezed shampoo into his hand (which, with the other hand being a hook, was more awkward than one might expect). With his natural reaction being to catch the falling towel, the shampoo bottle clattered noisily to the floor. These kinds of locations were just plain problematic.
[Mike!]