seven minutes in hell

[sweetcred]

[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.]

Comments

[sweetcred]

[yeah, there's. definitely no way, in any sense, that dave is freaking the fuck out right now. why would that even happen, jeez. he's the picture of calm right now.

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.

[bethegodderp]

Pft, you can't have that many people all pressing themselves to the keyhole, Dave, it would have to be a pretty big one. And anyway, this is a closet, not a bedroom, or anything, so there is no keyhole.

Besides, the only keyholes that are actually kind of holey only happen in ancient doors. And Disney movies.