Tux, penguin suit, potato sack - what's the difference again?
Tricked was how Gin felt. Lured away from his afternoon nap by a warm hand ruffling his hair, a pretty smile and the promise of a snack, he was trudging after Aizen grumpily. He didn't know where they were headed, but he was absolutely sure that he wasn't going to have a snack any time soon.
The words 'snack after blah blah' ghosted around in his head, and the publicist wished he'd paid attention to what his CEO had said instead of marvelling at how their noses were almost touching back in his office.
"Are we there, yet?" he asked again, pulling on Aizen's sleeve. "I'm gonna faint if I don't get somethin' in my stomach soon."
The words 'snack after blah blah' ghosted around in his head, and the publicist wished he'd paid attention to what his CEO had said instead of marvelling at how their noses were almost touching back in his office.
"Are we there, yet?" he asked again, pulling on Aizen's sleeve. "I'm gonna faint if I don't get somethin' in my stomach soon."