[That's it. They're dead. RIP in pizza, Chara Dreemurr. They slide the rest of the way down the wall, end up an utterly ungraceful lump on the floor, shrieking with childish, giddy laughter. God, the trouble they'd be in if someone saw! The hallway's a mess, from top to bottom. How in the world would you even go about cleaning a ceiling cupcake? They know the mansion will probably undo it, but all the same, the idea of a cupcake just being stuck up there for so long it becomes like a part of the interior decorating just - god, it's too much.
They sit up, gasping for breath and wiping their eyes. Still up there. Still no signs of coming unstuck. It's like performance art, honestly.]
Maybe you'd better come inside, before somebody shows up. If anyone asks, we were the victims of a drive-by.
no subject
They sit up, gasping for breath and wiping their eyes. Still up there. Still no signs of coming unstuck. It's like performance art, honestly.]
Maybe you'd better come inside, before somebody shows up. If anyone asks, we were the victims of a drive-by.