Guybrush snorted, still a little sore about the part where he turned into whatever-a-tailypo-was and gave Javert another thrilling experience to tell the handful of remaining members of the Search & Rescue. Sure, everything was back in its rightful place by morning, and the inspector said to put it aside, but there was some wounded pride rearing its head, even if Guybrush did bring the consequences on himself.

No, especially because he brought them on himself. This was why weird potions ought to be left to the experts. Or the idiots. Or the more gullible idiots than himself, at the very least. Elaine would have rolled her eyes at his reckless antics somewhere along the way, but desperation made a man do crazy things, like drink mystery concoctions in a spooky infirmary where he was being held hostage.

"Being careful really isn't my specialty," Guybrush admitted, finally uncapping the pen and making a scribble on the sheet in front of him. He took no caution mentioning his blade in front of the guards- they took it away during the day anyway, and probably thought he was delusional at best. What would they do, give him even worse food? "Not that I go wandering around unarmed. I've got my own sword, and I'm an expert in the art of insult swordfighting. I'm more formidable than I look."