[There was a rustling of items being shifted around and a voice emanating from his bedroom closet. Arsene Lupin III, head buried in a book that was part of the prize awarded for solving a complex puzzle given to him by his girlfriend, stares at it with glasses askew.
Clearly, the quiet of Luceti was really driving him mad.
The tome was familiar, but nostalgic. He could tell the stories without reference, adding his own flair if he wanted--he set it aside, knowing full well that he pick it up again whenever he wanted.
Gun in hand, he wanders over. He'd shoot if he was truely mad. If not, no more bullets would be wasted in a place where ammo was scarce.]
I'm pretty sure I'm not called 'Amidamaru'. [There's the click of metal on metal as he unlatches the safety on his Walther. A thief himself, he doesn't take kindly to his own abode being broken into.] Care to tell me why you're in my closet?
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Clearly, the quiet of Luceti was really driving him mad.
The tome was familiar, but nostalgic. He could tell the stories without reference, adding his own flair if he wanted--he set it aside, knowing full well that he pick it up again whenever he wanted.
Gun in hand, he wanders over. He'd shoot if he was truely mad. If not, no more bullets would be wasted in a place where ammo was scarce.]
I'm pretty sure I'm not called 'Amidamaru'. [There's the click of metal on metal as he unlatches the safety on his Walther. A thief himself, he doesn't take kindly to his own abode being broken into.] Care to tell me why you're in my closet?