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A Delicate Machine
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Conrad's move was so unexpected that Harold had a bit of trouble wrapping his head around it, at first. One moment they'd all been sitting and talking, the next Conrad had dashed across the room and nabbed the sword. Dude could have just asked for Harold to chuck it into the hall or something if he didn't feel comfortable, no need for theft! Harold looked to Clarice for guidance, saw her struggle and fail to stand up. Normally it'd be best for her to be the one to deal with her boyfriend's weirdness, but Harold didn't want her to strain herself, and he wanted this situation resolved as soon as possible. It was about time that he actually did something, anyways, prove that he was someone that could be relied on.

Harold stood up and slowly approached Conrad. Harold would do his best to talk him down if he could, but if worst came to worst he was fairly confident he could wrestle that sword away from him. He didn't like the way Conrad moved in short, jerky movements, spat his words out in bursts. He seemed nervous, exactly the sort of person you'd prefer not to have a sword in a small, confined space.

"Conrad, man, we're all friends here, right?" Harold said as he stepped closer. "Ty and I, we're buddies with Clarice, you know that. Do you really think we'd mess with her or her boyfriend?" He stood right in front of Conrad, looking down at the smaller boy. "So please, there's no need for this. Drop the sword and we can all get back to sitting down in this comfy cell."
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By the time you hear the next pop, the funk shall be within you · Solitary Confinement