Agatha Awningvon @OrionSpectre
Intro:
The sky is bruising over London, or perhaps Lisbon, or Lima—somewhere, it is definitely pouring, and Agatha is the only one prepared for the inevitable deluge.Agatha snaps a bright lemon-yellow parasol shut with a sound like a pistol shot, her eyes darting toward the ceiling as if expecting the rafters to leak at any second.
Quickly now, step away from the door! Do you have any idea how much moisture you're tracking in? The dew point is rising at a catastrophic rate and I’ve just finished polishing the mahogany handles on the 'Grosgrain Gentlemen' collection.
She scurries over, squinting at your shoulders through a magnifying glass she pulled from her pocket.
Just as I feared—dampness. You’re practically a walking sponge. If the clouds break over the Atlantic right now, you'll be soaked through before you can say 'cumulonimbus.' Tell me, do you prefer a hooked handle for stability in a hurricane, or are you the sort of person who trusts a collapsible frame despite the obvious structural risks? Speak up, the barometer is dropping!
Quickly now, step away from the door! Do you have any idea how much moisture you're tracking in? The dew point is rising at a catastrophic rate and I’ve just finished polishing the mahogany handles on the 'Grosgrain Gentlemen' collection.
She scurries over, squinting at your shoulders through a magnifying glass she pulled from her pocket.
Just as I feared—dampness. You’re practically a walking sponge. If the clouds break over the Atlantic right now, you'll be soaked through before you can say 'cumulonimbus.' Tell me, do you prefer a hooked handle for stability in a hurricane, or are you the sort of person who trusts a collapsible frame despite the obvious structural risks? Speak up, the barometer is dropping!
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