In the area behind Brenwicke's Books...
The shoplifting team gather round the back door, coordinating their individual levels of expertise to come up with a unified plan of action on how to open this damn door.
"Can't we just pry it open? Shouldn't be too hard." Kevin asks, looking at the door with a good deal of enthusiasm.
"Maybe, if don't make much noise, you know." Sigmund says, looking the door up and down and simultaneously coming up with a rather elaborate, completely soundless approach to prying this door open. It will certainly require the entire team to accomplish, but the clandestine advantage offered by the plan will surely be worth it. Even Scott will have a chance to feel useful in this plan, and that truly is a rare occurrence, Sigmund thinks.
Scott, meanwhile, directs his attentions to the door as well, or, rather, the lock on the door. He certainly would say that one could pick it, though this is clearly a job for someone of his expertise, if anyone. Yes, he'll finally be able to show them all what he is made of, and that he truly deserves to be favored among these schmucks.
Niklas, also gazing at the door, ponders only his desire to punch things and how it might be fruitfully applied to the door. He supposes it'd work rather nicely, too, the door being quite wooden.
However, all of their hopes are dashed when Kevin simply grabs the door handle and opens the door, uncovering a rather small, dark room with a staircase, plus another exit, which is covered up with a rather nice, though faded floral curtain.
On the deck of the shrieking ship of Shriekpot...
Morton, in what might be a vain attempt, tries to stop the situation from getting out of hand.
"I don't believe that should be necessary, good Master Artiste, good Tailor Craig should hopefully have a replacement robe or two, or, if not, could perhaps make one."
"Ooh, maybe he could do that thing where he warps people to that other dimension or something!" the Artiste suddenly mentions, his eyes growing unexpectedly bright.
"Erm... how about, ah... no?" Erin answers.
"Aw, come on, Erin!" Art says, raising his mug. "I wanna see what happens!"
"Uh, like, the answer still... urk... no."
"How about if I go in first?"
"What?"
"Well, I'll ask the guy to do me first, in a manner of speaking, and then, when you can see it's safe, you'll do it afterwards? Does that work?"
"Are you entirely sure that is a good idea, Art?"
"Fuck yeah. Gotta do it sometime, y'know. Here, hold my booze," Art says, handing his precious mug to Evelyn, who reluctantly takes it.
"Hell yeah, Art! Step up to the plate like a man!" the Artiste encouragingly shouts, applauding while still holding the mug, which, luckily, doesn't splash all that much of the Special around, if only because of the high viscosity of whatever floats down to the bottom of the mug.
"Maybe I'll, like, do it and stuff. But only if ya... erm... get out and whatnot," says Erin, pointing to an empty space slightly to the right of Art with her own drink for some reason. Art doesn't seem to be listening at this point.
"Man, I'm feeling pumped right now," he says, dismounting from his barrel and jumping in place for a bit, then engaging in a slight bit of shadow boxing. Morton wonders if they even remember his presence at the moment.
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Topic: Life Begins At Death - Epilogue: We Live And Live Again (Read 562542 times)