"What sort of bloody freeeeeeeeeeeeee..."
The word turned into a surprised shout as the the table fell to its side, and with a quickness, the full strength of a toned Highlander mechanic was (forgive the pun) wrenching him from his already unbalanced perch on the seat to plop to the floor behind the upended table.
"Twelve, have we all gone daft..." The phrase, again, trailed off, as he realized that he still held his lute in his hand, where it had fallen hard upon the floor. He cursed under his breath, and dug his heels into the hardwood, pushing himself behind the table and scrambling to try to get the instrument into its case.
The word turned into a surprised shout as the the table fell to its side, and with a quickness, the full strength of a toned Highlander mechanic was (forgive the pun) wrenching him from his already unbalanced perch on the seat to plop to the floor behind the upended table.
"Twelve, have we all gone daft..." The phrase, again, trailed off, as he realized that he still held his lute in his hand, where it had fallen hard upon the floor. He cursed under his breath, and dug his heels into the hardwood, pushing himself behind the table and scrambling to try to get the instrument into its case.
"But in the laugh there was another voice. A clearer laugh, an ironic laugh. A laugh which laughs because it chooses not to weep."