XVIII

[punsofiron]

[Iron Liz, office chair, fancy dress--wait what?]

Hey guys, I'm gonna have to postpone Warhammer night 'cause I can't find my gamemaster's notebook. I know exactly where I put it, too...I think we have some troublemakers again. Not pointing fingers or anything, I'm just saying this is becoming a pattern. Next thing you know the Mads are gonna set us up with a mandatory seminar about respecting personal property.

And speaking of? I'm not liking the pattern I'm seeing on the Sattelite this week. Keep an eye out the window.

Comments

[punsofiron]

I think you of all people should know. I mean think about it. Early 20th century fashion, singing mice, Dr. F's warning...

...rapping dogs.

[milliondollarpipes]

[...okay that's starting to ring a bell.]

...this ain't about that one time with the kid's boss, is it? The booze airlift? [Once he realized the Critic was a pompous ass, he started ignoring most of what he said or did. But he definitely remembers that particular incident.]

[punsofiron]

[Probably a wiser course of action. She's just lucky he hasn't roped her into a cameo yet.]

That's the one.

[milliondollarpipes]

Aw, hell. [He rubs tiredly at his temples - was one week off too much to ask?] Guess that explains the dress.

[punsofiron]

[She waves a hand casually - wait, was she wearing gloves before?]

Sure. If anything happens, not only am I a woman, I'm first class! So I'm in the clear.

[milliondollarpipes]

'Least we've - [He pauses, blinking at the sudden gloves. Well, he can guess what that's about.] - got that. Just don't let the kid go givin' you any necklaces.

[As for him, he'll...go brush up on his hymns?]

[punsofiron]

[She smirks a little] He can't really draw, anyway.