That's the sound of Misaki dislodging an approximate metric ton of stuffed flamingos as she sits up, squinting into an overwhelming mass of pink. Okay. It's... some kind of tropical gift shop? Not the weirdest place she's woken up, honestly. ]
...The aquarium? No, this isn't - aah!
[ And that was the sound of Misaki putting a foot out and realizing her impromptu sleeping arrangement comes with a steep vertical drop. She yanks her leg back onto the shelf, sending a few flamingos raining down to the floor and narrowly avoiding joining them.
Okay. If she got up here, she can get down. Theoretically, she could just climb down the shelves below, avoiding their assortment of souvenir cups and stationery... if she can trust them to hold her weight. Which is why this plan isn't one she's super jazzed about. She casts a glance toward the doorway, hoping a plan B will walk by, and raises her voice: ]
...Uh. Help?
[ Later, assuming Misaki escapes that particular plight, she'll be found wandering the resort, her worry meter ticking up slowly but steadily at each sign of disarray, disorder, or general Not Right-ness. Upon nearly stepping in a particularly fresh bloodstain, she visibly pales. ]
You think we've been dragged into some kind of murder mystery? I mean, a fake murder mystery, obviously - a really, really fake one... right?
[ please be ketchup please be ketchup plEASE BE KETCHUP ]
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That's the sound of Misaki dislodging an approximate metric ton of stuffed flamingos as she sits up, squinting into an overwhelming mass of pink. Okay. It's... some kind of tropical gift shop? Not the weirdest place she's woken up, honestly. ]
...The aquarium? No, this isn't - aah!
[ And that was the sound of Misaki putting a foot out and realizing her impromptu sleeping arrangement comes with a steep vertical drop. She yanks her leg back onto the shelf, sending a few flamingos raining down to the floor and narrowly avoiding joining them.
Okay. If she got up here, she can get down. Theoretically, she could just climb down the shelves below, avoiding their assortment of souvenir cups and stationery... if she can trust them to hold her weight. Which is why this plan isn't one she's super jazzed about. She casts a glance toward the doorway, hoping a plan B will walk by, and raises her voice: ]
...Uh. Help?
[ Later, assuming Misaki escapes that particular plight, she'll be found wandering the resort, her worry meter ticking up slowly but steadily at each sign of disarray, disorder, or general Not Right-ness. Upon nearly stepping in a particularly fresh bloodstain, she visibly pales. ]
You think we've been dragged into some kind of murder mystery? I mean, a fake murder mystery, obviously - a really, really fake one... right?
[ please be ketchup please be ketchup plEASE BE KETCHUP ]