@flynni
By the time Thebestmaster finally decides to go to his ‘house,’ he’s completely forgotten where it is.
The city is huge and confusing, and Besty hadn’t really needed to do much (any) navigating for the duration of his 500,000 year imprisonment. At least the numbers mostly make sense, being listed in order, and his house number is easy to remember. One-two-three. He might even think it was fun if it wasn’t tied to all... this.
Still, each wrong turn sends him further into a fit of agitation, and the wooden crosses suspending his hands flip and twirl at every street sign that isn’t the one he’s looking for. It’s got to be a miracle that he arrives home at all.
Reaching for the doorknob alerts him to a new problem: the strings of one hand have gotten tangled up from flipping his cross around so much, rendering his fingers nearly limp. He opens the door with his other hand and quickly gets inside.
It seems like nobody’s home, which is a relief. Some alone time after navigating the overwhelming swarms of city strangers is more than welcome, and he isn’t really keen on having anyone’s first impression of him be this knot situation.
He quickly gets to work on the strings, muttering irritably. He thought he’d gotten rid of the string-twirling habit after the first three hundred times untangling them without Steve’s help. How long has it been since the last time he did this? Long enough for his memory to be tricky about how the process went. Over, under, over, through--wait, should he have gone under first?
His mind is so wrapped up in the methodology, he doesn’t notice the fingers of his free hand straining until they’re immobile. All of his strings are now completely entangled with one another, meaning the crosses’ movement can’t control his limp hands, no matter how much he tries. And they’re tied together, too, so he can’t pull his hands apart, and that feels weird.
It takes him at least an hour to realize that he can ask for help, and another after that to admit to himself that he should. But he’s making absolutely no progress on the knot--it might even be getting worse--and there’s still nobody here.
With a considerable amount of difficulty, he works the door open with his mouth. After a few more moments of hesitation, he makes his way to the next house over, and knocks his crosses against the door. Hopefully this one isn’t empty.
“Howdy... neighbor. I, um, need help.”
