An Excursion from the Lake
The odd sound of wet rubber slapping against the sleek floor should be explained if one were to look to the entrance, from where Control was walking in, looking calm and content with himself. If one had only caught glimpse of his face rather than what he was wearing, they probably would have incorrectly assumed that he was just another patron walking in with a smile.
Most people, however, noticed his outfit first.
He was dressed normally, as any sensible man could be, in black pinstriped suit jacket, a white dress shirt and a flower decorated red tie that completely failed to cooperate with either of them. This formal appearance held true right down to his waist, from where he was clad only in his striped boxers and a pair of neon green flippers.
He was also, as could be expected when one is wearing a pair of neon green flippers, sopping wet, the water from his sleeves coalescing at his shirt cuffs before dripping off onto the floor. If one was a detective, or just someone who noticed these things, they could probably guess that he had just come from the lake. Barely ten minutes ago, in fact, if the rather large puddle that Control had managed to create was anything to go by. He ignored the water and waddled his flipper clad feet to the Bar, sat down, crossed his ankles, and asked for a cup of coffee.
The story may be an interesting one. And detrimental to the mental health.
[OOC: Completely useless excuse to use that picture? You don't say.]
Most people, however, noticed his outfit first.
He was dressed normally, as any sensible man could be, in black pinstriped suit jacket, a white dress shirt and a flower decorated red tie that completely failed to cooperate with either of them. This formal appearance held true right down to his waist, from where he was clad only in his striped boxers and a pair of neon green flippers.
He was also, as could be expected when one is wearing a pair of neon green flippers, sopping wet, the water from his sleeves coalescing at his shirt cuffs before dripping off onto the floor. If one was a detective, or just someone who noticed these things, they could probably guess that he had just come from the lake. Barely ten minutes ago, in fact, if the rather large puddle that Control had managed to create was anything to go by. He ignored the water and waddled his flipper clad feet to the Bar, sat down, crossed his ankles, and asked for a cup of coffee.
The story may be an interesting one. And detrimental to the mental health.
[OOC: Completely useless excuse to use that picture? You don't say.]