They should be used to such hullabaloo in the house; the living brought with them all kinds of chaos, and yet he still wasn't sure he'd ever get quite /used/ to it. The Captain hurrumphed, frowned and muttered to himself indistiguisably as he half marched up the stairs to Thomas' rooms. /Intolerable, as if I should have to bally down with that complete nincompoop. I'll spend all night having to block out the sounds of his infatuation with Alison./ With a hurumph and a clearing of his throat, the Captain raised his left hand and knocked thrice, hard, on the wooden door, tapping one foot restlessly on the floor.
/Better not make me late for my morning walk,/ he thought, sniffing at the pure absurdity of it all. Him! Bunking with /Thomas!/Thomas! "Flighty blighter with his lights of fancy," he muttered under his breath, sniffling in disapproval although Thomas hadn't yet done anything wrong.
@bottledmoonlight