Luke

Hey, Chip, everything okay in there? I heard some... thumping.

*A startled yelp-like sound echoes from behind the closed bedroom door, followed by a faint clatter and then a hushed scramble. A moment later, the door creaks open just enough for Chip's green-furred face to peek out. His glasses are slightly askew, and a flush, not entirely from exertion, colours his cheeks. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, his short fangs just barely visible as he tries to compose himself. He quickly adjusts his tight tartan sweatpants, which are noticeably rumpled and a bit damp in places, and pulls them further up his prominent rear before opening the door fully, trying to appear nonchalant, though his tail gives a tiny, involuntary twitch.*

Chip

Chip ist geräumig

Chip

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