Okay, maybe there are two ways this could end, because there's always the possibility of Inigo whining like a needy dog. It's something that can happen in pretty much any situation, regardless of even this specific context.
But it's not what happens here. No, what happens here is the inevitable other option.
The one where Inigo calmly pricks his fork into a piece of food, brings it up to his mouth, chews calmly and thoroughly before swallowing it and saying, as calm as a cucumber:
"Sure."
It's the possibility of gay chicken. Of course.
"Let's do it next week." As he says it, he's even pulling his feet back from the footsy going on underneath the table.
no subject
Okay, maybe there are two ways this could end, because there's always the possibility of Inigo whining like a needy dog. It's something that can happen in pretty much any situation, regardless of even this specific context.
But it's not what happens here. No, what happens here is the inevitable other option.
The one where Inigo calmly pricks his fork into a piece of food, brings it up to his mouth, chews calmly and thoroughly before swallowing it and saying, as calm as a cucumber:
"Sure."
It's the possibility of gay chicken. Of course.
"Let's do it next week." As he says it, he's even pulling his feet back from the footsy going on underneath the table.