fifteen - to the inmate, but public and inviting heckling.
OTTO!
BISMARK!
YES. YOU. INMATE.
I have a list! Of things! About three.
1) Those potatoes of yours. TERRIBLE. TERRIBLE. What were you doing, smashing your face in with a pan whilst trying to cook? I told you about that! It NEVER leads to better food. NEVER. Why weren't they in a tower? I expect better service than this from you! Don't tell me you were talking English in that kitchen.... No wonder it was rubbish.
2) I ALSO HAVE SEEN NO APOLOGY, MISTER. My promise about leaving you to the tigers come next port (even if we end up in Antarctica or something, I will FIND tigers to leave you to. I'll even buy some especially in) still stands. SO GET TO OR MUNCHY MUNCHY.
Threeeeeeee) Your moustache is stupid. Just so you know. Even the tigers would throw it back. Shave it off for me.
FOUR!) New philosopher for the week. This time, lighter volumes. Hit the Rousseau. Because you can't hit me over the head with it. By which, dammit, I mean The Social Contract and none of that heavy bullshit like Confessions or Emile.
cinque) You're coming with me to Armand (yes, St-Just)'s book club. Knowledge is...well, you need to stock up, mate. And it doesn't tend to come in giant buckets for sale, so this'll have to do.
sechs) (yes, I know, I've totally by passed three) I still hate that moustache. Do you really want to borrow a razor?
sept) The provision of wine would be most appreciated, sir. Because I am in the library. Wine is not. See my issue? Go get me some. Good man. I might hold off on those tigers and downgrade to vicious spider monkies.
восым) I...forget. Don't do anything stupid. That's it. I'm sure that's it.
Yep, that's it. Answers on a postcard to the usual address, Otto. Or, you know, in an itemised reply. Don't forget to answer each point in turn. Skipped questions count as minus points. Bonus points for creativity.
((ooc: oh, and the potatoes weren't terrible. Bernard's just being an arse.))
BISMARK!
YES. YOU. INMATE.
I have a list! Of things! About three.
1) Those potatoes of yours. TERRIBLE. TERRIBLE. What were you doing, smashing your face in with a pan whilst trying to cook? I told you about that! It NEVER leads to better food. NEVER. Why weren't they in a tower? I expect better service than this from you! Don't tell me you were talking English in that kitchen.... No wonder it was rubbish.
2) I ALSO HAVE SEEN NO APOLOGY, MISTER. My promise about leaving you to the tigers come next port (even if we end up in Antarctica or something, I will FIND tigers to leave you to. I'll even buy some especially in) still stands. SO GET TO OR MUNCHY MUNCHY.
Threeeeeeee) Your moustache is stupid. Just so you know. Even the tigers would throw it back. Shave it off for me.
FOUR!) New philosopher for the week. This time, lighter volumes. Hit the Rousseau. Because you can't hit me over the head with it. By which, dammit, I mean The Social Contract and none of that heavy bullshit like Confessions or Emile.
cinque) You're coming with me to Armand (yes, St-Just)'s book club. Knowledge is...well, you need to stock up, mate. And it doesn't tend to come in giant buckets for sale, so this'll have to do.
sechs) (yes, I know, I've totally by passed three) I still hate that moustache. Do you really want to borrow a razor?
sept) The provision of wine would be most appreciated, sir. Because I am in the library. Wine is not. See my issue? Go get me some. Good man. I might hold off on those tigers and downgrade to vicious spider monkies.
восым) I...forget. Don't do anything stupid. That's it. I'm sure that's it.
Yep, that's it. Answers on a postcard to the usual address, Otto. Or, you know, in an itemised reply. Don't forget to answer each point in turn. Skipped questions count as minus points. Bonus points for creativity.
((ooc: oh, and the potatoes weren't terrible. Bernard's just being an arse.))