In a shadowed corner, far from the noise of others, lost and alone, and more than slightly befuddled arrives Chicken Brent.
Still Chicken-suited from his shift at McCluckersons he runs a wing nervously under his nose and leans on his giant red arrow sign with a sigh and a sniffle. Mold. Good thing he had tissues in the drumstick pocket.
Pulling one out he noisily blows his nose and stuffs it in the opposing drumstick where he keeps his trash. People might think he's an idiot, but he's got a system. More or less.
Upon discovering that the door which had led him here - he thought it was the kitchen - was gone, he shrugged. He was a man of the world, after all his adventures and everything. He'd seen things.
Lost and Alone and a Chicken
Still Chicken-suited from his shift at McCluckersons he runs a wing nervously under his nose and leans on his giant red arrow sign with a sigh and a sniffle. Mold. Good thing he had tissues in the drumstick pocket.
Pulling one out he noisily blows his nose and stuffs it in the opposing drumstick where he keeps his trash. People might think he's an idiot, but he's got a system. More or less.
Upon discovering that the door which had led him here - he thought it was the kitchen - was gone, he shrugged. He was a man of the world, after all his adventures and everything. He'd seen things.
He'd seen things.
"Hello?"