You hear a shout of "Hey, get down from there!" and your head snaps sideways in its direction.
A bevy of gentlemen with "SECURITY" emblazoned across their chests is striding toward you. They don't seem too terribly pleased with you for some reason! You can't say that you can imagine why. Maybe you were a little too loud. Dirk is always having to tell you to keep your voice down. Not that you ever pay a whole whack of attention to the concept of an "indoor voice". True gentleman explorers never stay indoors for long, and what's the use in saying a blasted thing if you can't shout it to high heaven?
They're gesturing to you to get off of the replica. You oblige, but are still puzzled. They can hardly put something like that up there and expect a person NOT to want to climb up and gaze over a majestic sea that's entirely an invention of your own imagination! Still, you awkwardly hop off, and no harm done, it seems, although many patrons are still staring. Some are laughing, strangely enough.
You begin to feel the slightest bit embarrassed, and find yourself fervently wishing that someone else besides the aforementioned bevy of disgruntled gentlemen could be said to have been striding toward you.
> Jake: Accept consequences. (FILL: TEAM JOHN<3ROSE)
A bevy of gentlemen with "SECURITY" emblazoned across their chests is striding toward you. They don't seem too terribly pleased with you for some reason! You can't say that you can imagine why. Maybe you were a little too loud. Dirk is always having to tell you to keep your voice down. Not that you ever pay a whole whack of attention to the concept of an "indoor voice". True gentleman explorers never stay indoors for long, and what's the use in saying a blasted thing if you can't shout it to high heaven?
They're gesturing to you to get off of the replica. You oblige, but are still puzzled. They can hardly put something like that up there and expect a person NOT to want to climb up and gaze over a majestic sea that's entirely an invention of your own imagination! Still, you awkwardly hop off, and no harm done, it seems, although many patrons are still staring. Some are laughing, strangely enough.
You begin to feel the slightest bit embarrassed, and find yourself fervently wishing that someone else besides the aforementioned bevy of disgruntled gentlemen could be said to have been striding toward you.
Like, for instance, a certain Mr. Strider.
> A certain Mr. Strider: Stride.