The notebook continued to back up to the door, pointing the eraser of his pencil at the clock as he does so. “Oh no, no fight for you. Even though it’d bring me great joy to stab you…” Note seemed a little more collected since he was able to pull off a rhyme, but the death grip he had on his pencil said otherwise.
"At least, not in the way you like, that I can confirm. No, we’ll fight on my terms.” And with that, Notebook swiftly left the room to go storm off to his sanctuary of creativity… Where he would begin his attack.
This was war, clock. This was war.
*When you walk away, you don't hear me say, pleaaaasseee oh baby-- I win again.*













