(Untitled)

[mygodmyright]

[ knock knock knock, Marshall Street. England's going up and down the hall with an empty measuring cup, knocking on random doors. What's he after? A simple cup of sugar/baking soda/whatever. It changes with every door he knocks on. This would be a completely normal friendly neighbour sort of routine, except for the fact England's slightly

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[mygodmyright]

[ best welcome home present ever amirite ]

Excuse me? Excuse you.

[mygodmyright]

[ talking in a slower, louder voice now ]

Spare [ pause ] a cup [ pause ] of Sugar?

[ & holding out his empty measuring cup for emphasis ]

[mygodmyright]

[ pause pause pause. why did he need sugar again? England's face works up into a look of pure concentration ]

'm baking brioche. You know.

[mygodmyright]

Never been better, mate! Might've had a pint or two earlier, but there's nothing unusual about that.

[mygodmyright]

And you're a long haired nancy.

[ HE WILL NEVER ADMIT HE'S DRUNK ]

[mygodmyright]

It's certainly not short.

[ AS LONG AS NOTHING BURNS DOWN, IT'S GREAT ]

[mygodmyright]

It's most certainly not.

[ ... ]

Right well, I haven't gotten it cut in a while. It's not this long because I want it to be.

[mygodmyright]

Right now? ... I haven't got a mirror.