[He scoffs. Loudly! He won't even afford her a sidelong glance this time, though, looking to focus enough so he doesn't make a fool of himself again.
So, Weir throws his dart. It hits a balloon, and the popping noise resounds loudly.]
There, see.
[See what, Weir? That you have decent aim? Good for you. Anyway, he won't even ask to switch turns again. He just grabs another dart and repeats the task, with the same flick of the wrist, and another one goes pop!
Lights flash. A little ringing noise of success emanates from the booth, and the "prize" shelf nearby lights up, hereby illuminating...
A row of sticky hands in little plastic baggies. You know, so they remain sticky until they're opened up.
...Weir just looks like a feral cat deciding whether or not to step away until the racket stops, but. It's probably fine?]
Prize. [He says blandly, at least once all the noise recedes. Distrusting as he is, he's slow to reach for one, examining it dubiously, before opening up the little sealable bag and unearthing...
Weir makes a face. It's sticky? It's wiggly? He pulls it up by its string, the "hand" part of it hanging down uselessly.]
[Idly, he gives it a flick with his wrist, not knowing exactly how springing the sticky hand is. And boy, it sure is. It flings outward and sticks right... on Gebura's cheek with a wet little slap.
Assuming she doesn't swat it away in time, of course.]
But she does startle a bit, eyes flicking down to the sticky THING on her face before she gives him a very displeased Look and reaches up to peel it off. ]
Not worth the effort of having to earn it, at least.
Even Weir is not immune to amusement when something becomes so ridiculous it loop back around into being so absurd it's a little funny. Watching her slowly peel off the hand from her face qualifies.
...He swings it at her again, though not necessarily aimed at her face this time.]
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I was distracted. Do you blame me?
[Even he misses!! Sometimes!!!]
Let me go again, then. [He's already fishing a dart out of his cup, damnable things.]
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[ Well, maybe she does blame him. Good-naturedly, though. ]
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So, Weir throws his dart. It hits a balloon, and the popping noise resounds loudly.]
There, see.
[See what, Weir? That you have decent aim? Good for you. Anyway, he won't even ask to switch turns again. He just grabs another dart and repeats the task, with the same flick of the wrist, and another one goes pop!
Lights flash. A little ringing noise of success emanates from the booth, and the "prize" shelf nearby lights up, hereby illuminating...
A row of sticky hands in little plastic baggies. You know, so they remain sticky until they're opened up.
...Weir just looks like a feral cat deciding whether or not to step away until the racket stops, but. It's probably fine?]
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Well. Go get your...
... Prize.
[ Amazing. Think of the destruction he can cause with a sticky hand!
What have they learned from this, exactly? Absolutely nothing. ]
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Weir makes a face. It's sticky? It's wiggly? He pulls it up by its string, the "hand" part of it hanging down uselessly.]
What is this supposed to be.
[help he's just a ye olde?]
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[ not like she knows any more than he does!! ]
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If this is a toy, it's not a very impressive one.
[Idly, he gives it a flick with his wrist, not knowing exactly how springing the sticky hand is. And boy, it sure is. It flings outward and sticks right... on Gebura's cheek with a wet little slap.
Assuming she doesn't swat it away in time, of course.]
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But she does startle a bit, eyes flicking down to the sticky THING on her face before she gives him a very displeased Look and reaches up to peel it off. ]
Not worth the effort of having to earn it, at least.
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Even Weir is not immune to amusement when something becomes so ridiculous it loop back around into being so absurd it's a little funny. Watching her slowly peel off the hand from her face qualifies.
...He swings it at her again, though not necessarily aimed at her face this time.]
What, you don't want your own?
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Pass. You get all your fun out of it while you can.
[ By swinging your sticky thing at innocent, unsuspecting women. ]
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...And neither is Weir, who lets it fall and then stick its little fingers to his own clothes.]
I think you've earned it, Gebura.
[But he can be sarcastic.]