[ Some attempt at a word becomes her Famous Last Syllable, shrieking before her whole body is dropped on the floor. Messy hair thrown across her face, Cellar's reintroduced to reality with a pillow to her head, one attempt to shield herself with her arms turning into a spider leg-like construct emerging from her shadow on the floor, ready to catch the next assault on the pointy tip — except the next one never comes. Finally daring to look up, her expression a cocktail of confusion, hurt and indignation, Cellar's pitch goes up between breaks. ]
What the fuck! What is wrong with you?! What do you mean who do I think I am? Who are you? Ow—!
[ Oop, she rolled onto some random ashtray on the floor. Eugh, it even had ashes. She tosses that away too. ]
welcome
What the fuck! What is wrong with you?! What do you mean who do I think I am? Who are you? Ow—!
[ Oop, she rolled onto some random ashtray on the floor. Eugh, it even had ashes. She tosses that away too. ]
... This isn't my room.