You rats are all quiet this week. [Justin is not quiet. He's loud and on the verge of laughing. He's in a rather dark building somewhere.] Are you that scared of the punishments?
[Stein, who chose to battle this week's experiment by literally sewing his lips shut, just shrugs. It's not like he could really talk even if he wanted to at this point. Not without finding some scissors at the very least. Scared? Of course not. Feeling a little vulnerable now that he's unarmed again and would rather not deal with these punishments if he doesn't have to? A bit.]
[Stein rolls the sleeve of his sweater up to free up enough space to write that doesn't involve him encircling his arm with writing.
"I assume I'd die. Especially if someone pulled it out. The pain itself would probably make me fall unconscious from shock and brains and the environment tend to not get along. As for twisting it too much, I would more than likely pass out -> coma -> critical organ failure"
It sort of made him wonder why no one ever seemed to aim for it in a fight. Maybe no one could figure out what it was for? Or was he just incredibly lucky? Who could really say.]
[Well murder is kind of a fuzzy concept here anyway. Besides, Stein's just as crazy as Justin most days so he gets that whole "No mental filters ever" thing.
So with a smile a bit wider than it should be given the conversation and the fact that Stein's lips are now tugging the stitches slightly, he sloppily writes on his other arm: If you can manage, it's yours. Keep it as a trophy.]
[Good luck reading it, now that we've verged into 'Stein can't write with his left hand' territory, but he does at least attempt to make it legible. "What an honor. I'm so flattered"]
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"I assume I'd die. Especially if someone pulled it out. The pain itself would probably make me fall unconscious from shock and brains and the environment tend to not get along. As for twisting it too much, I would more than likely pass out -> coma -> critical organ failure"
It sort of made him wonder why no one ever seemed to aim for it in a fight. Maybe no one could figure out what it was for? Or was he just incredibly lucky? Who could really say.]
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So with a smile a bit wider than it should be given the conversation and the fact that Stein's lips are now tugging the stitches slightly, he sloppily writes on his other arm: If you can manage, it's yours. Keep it as a trophy.]
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