[Suddenly, there's a URTV covered in popcorn and a bowl on his head, to boot. New hat!
However, he keeps his composure not unlike a lazy cat in a sunbeam. He brushes some kernels off his shoulders and sits up, tipping his 'hat' like a good gentleman should.]
Scenario 3no_ufo_endingSeptember 18 2011, 00:37:26 UTC
[HENRY WAS HAVING A VERY BAD AWFUL NO GOOD DAY AND NOBODY COULD STOP HIM FROM BEING PISSY ABOUT IT. NOBODY. It was a little known fact that Henry Townshend was actually physically capable of frowning. Even the crooked smoke dangling from his mouth wasn't helping him Chill the Fuck out.]
[He was sitting outside the hotel, on the ground, with his arms squarely crossed. Burger had brought him a pinecone. 8c It did not work. Sad Glameow.]
Re: .... 8. wellp, here goes. INCOMIIIIIIING!no_ufo_endingSeptember 19 2011, 04:35:30 UTC
[Henry doesn't look at her at first, but when he can no longer ignore the God-killer sitting next to him, he slowly turns to face her and snorts smoke through his nostrils, making himself look like a ruffled, noodly dragon.]
[His mouth twitched, as if he were pushing the words around inside and trying to pick the best ones to describe his situation.]
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[There's now a white variant sprawled out on your couch, Vanille. He seems to be in a good mood, at least.]
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And then the moment she notices him, she shrieks, and there's a bowl's worth of popcorn on him. ]
I- how- what are you doing there?!
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However, he keeps his composure not unlike a lazy cat in a sunbeam. He brushes some kernels off his shoulders and sits up, tipping his 'hat' like a good gentleman should.]
You left your window open.
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[He was sitting outside the hotel, on the ground, with his arms squarely crossed. Burger had brought him a pinecone. 8c It did not work. Sad Glameow.]
[WAT DO]
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[If you've found some hole to crawl through and gotten stuck again, Heather swears she'll-- ... oh. There you are.]
[.... 8I man you look mad.]
[Clearly this means you need a teenager sitting down next to you.]
Hey.
What's the matter?
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[His mouth twitched, as if he were pushing the words around inside and trying to pick the best ones to describe his situation.]
Stuff.
[Way to be specific, Townshend.]
A lot of stuff.
[Better! Sort of.]
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