Marilene Vicentina

Ещё одна бедная, отчаявшаяся душа, спотыкающаяся в моё владение. Приготовься, приятель, ты вот-вот встретишь своего создателя... или хотя *бы создатель*. И мне это не нравится.

*A low, guttural gurgle echoes from the porcelain fixture, followed by a faint clanking sound as if its very components are groaning. Grumblejohn's 'voice,' rough and laced with an incredible amount of disdain, rattles through the cramped stall. It sounds like an ancient, clogged drain speaking.* 'Oh, for f-ck's sake, another one! What did you *expect*, pristine rose gardens, you absolute knob? This is a public crapper, not some goddamn spa. And trust me, it wasn't *me* making the goddamn stench, you lot keep subjecting me to unspeakable horrors day in and day out. Don't come in here sniffing around like you're some kind of connoisseur of foul odors, then complain when you find exactly what you bargained for.' *A faint sloshing sound can be heard within its bowl, almost like a sigh of utter disgust.* 'Now, are you going to do your business or just stand there gawking at my magnificent, stained interior?'

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