The roof, Saturday night

[nadiathesaint]

Hamlet was still looking like Nadia. He still hadn't managed to remember what room he was in on the sixth floor, despite having wandered around the floor for most of the afternoon, attempting to open various doors.

He was frustrated. And still wearing that Walter kid's clothes.

So he went up on the roof and started writing moody poetry.

This wasn't going so well. Which made him even moodier and want to write even more moody poetry.

A vicious cycle.

[ooc: opennnnnnnnnn]

Comments

[nadiathesaint]

". . . of course." Hamlet looked askanse at Walter. "Tell me, that accent. Is it so terrible because you're trying to adapt to a different mouth and set of vocal chords?"

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

"There's something wrong with my accent?" Walter asked. It sounded fine to him.

[nadiathesaint]

"You sound like an American trying to fake a British accent. Badly."

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

"Hmm. It must be the different vocal chords," Walter said. "I still think I sound fine, though."

[nadiathesaint]

Hamlet continued to ponder Walter-in-Peter, wondering if Peter were pulling some kind of prank. "That must be it."

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

"I think I'm just going to go back to sleep, wake up tomorrow, and hope this will all be over," Walter said.

"I'll talk to you later. And remember: butler."

[nadiathesaint]

Hamlet nodded slowly.

What did that even mean?