[There's an uncertain gurgle from the barrel and then, with great resignation, Fiddleford pulls his head out of the water again. He shakes out his floppy bangs and removes his glasses to wipe them dry, but when he puts them back on it becomes clear that he's determined to look at everything but Marco. Look, fleshcoat-guy, if he's going to talk to you he can't look at your fleshcoat. Them's the breaks.]
Apologies, I'm just a little... discombobulated lately.
[And doesn't he look it, fidgety and dripping wet as he is.]
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Apologies, I'm just a little... discombobulated lately.
[And doesn't he look it, fidgety and dripping wet as he is.]
Y'said somethin' about pools?