[ It's a small miracle for all involved that Lion was already halfway into the bubble, wrapped up in their own private bitchstorm and thus completely oblivious to any telepathic dunkings or physical emotion-noogies. All is fine, all is forgiven, clearly they just need time to cool off. Time they won't have in a three-hour fantasy car ride, but time nonetheless.

Except. Then a sentence of such utter hypocrisy was uttered within earshot that they actually, physically, seriously freeze in place and flat-line for a good second or two. ]

I'm sorry, what.

[ Hi, Will, how are you today, are you enjoying the sheer disbelief being thrown your way. ]

Don't be an ass, Will, I've heard you say sentences that contain about a third of the syllables they're meant to have.