Jan 25, 2017
@lumbering
Charles has stumbled into a most unfortunate fate. In this case, that fate is a wooden, gum-spotted wall and the stumbling is very literal.
He enters Sir’s office, face sheepish, speckled in pink spots: one a stretched out taffy tentacle on his neck like he tried to pull it off, one on the knot of his tie, two on his coat lapel, and one on his shirt collar.
“Ah, oh, forgive me, I seem to have gotten myself into a, ah--”
“--sticky situation.”
He gives an embarrassed smile at the whole ordeal and a puff of air exits through his nose with such a lack of exuberance that does not merit the use of the technical term ‘chuckle’.