Room #414, Thursday Afternoon.
Joxer was in a worried panic. He'd killed Pete.
He killed Pete. This was bad. Very, very bad. Joxer was pacing back and forth, chewing on his nails. He had no idea what to do. He had no idea who to turn to.
Eep.
[ooc: For one in particular, but open for visitors -before- the expected visitor.]
He killed Pete. This was bad. Very, very bad. Joxer was pacing back and forth, chewing on his nails. He had no idea what to do. He had no idea who to turn to.
Eep.
[ooc: For one in particular, but open for visitors -before- the expected visitor.]