Entry tags:
seven minutes in hell
[how in the hell did either of us get talked into this.
and by either of us i mean me and dave both.
no reason to lose his cool, though. he's totally got this shit. got it locked up like lindsay lohan.
...he's gotta remind his subconscious to ease up on the pitbull, later.]
and by either of us i mean me and dave both.
no reason to lose his cool, though. he's totally got this shit. got it locked up like lindsay lohan.
...he's gotta remind his subconscious to ease up on the pitbull, later.]
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Or that I must have been extremely charming, if it's of any comfort.
Jane is considerably less cool. She's not panicking, just a little fidgety. Though with every passing moment that goes by without anything happening, she gets more and more nervous.]
So um, here we are. In a closet. Just us.
[Thank you for boarding the S.S. Shit That Really Didn't Need Pointing Out, this is your captain speaking, SoFucking Obvious. We hope you enjoy your trip.]
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outwardly.
the specification of which implies nothing of any kind of inward panic, naturally. i don't know why i even bothered mentioning it.]
That's definitely a thing that's true right now. Us being in a closet. Tens, possibly even sevens of people outside all pressed with their ears to the keyhole like they're listening for Santa's footsteps on Christmas Eve, because they know actually laying their eyes on him breaks the spell and turns them into salt forever. This is basically the closet of Sodom here.
[~*the closet of Sodom*~. dave silently thanks himself for making that reference and effectively making the entire situation about twice as awkward and terrifying as before.]
what am i writing.
Besides, the only keyholes that are actually kind of holey only happen in ancient doors. And Disney movies.