One of the peasants dived on the ground, but the ring jumped out of the way and crawled under the door of the prison. "Crikey!" he muttered, "For this the master will 'ave my 'ide, 'e will."
"What are you doing?" shouted Elizabeth, whose finger had stopped bleeding, but was still quite confused. The rest of the peasants quickly turned around, trying to avoid looking at Elizabeth.
"Well you see, missus, um...your finger, you see, it...it cut itself off. It was looking for a better life, outside of this 'ole of wombatdingo (yes...that sounds good; she'll believe that for crikey)." The man tried to reenact the scene, quite unsuccessfully. "Besides," he thought aloud, "if I told you the truth, the master would kill me."
Bob through a rock at his head. "Quiet Sean!" he whispered through gritted teeth, "Don't say anything else." His eyes darted across the room nervously.
"What? What were you saying about a master? Where's my ring, and my finger?" Elizabeth said with an exasperated manner. She stood up and was about to pull at some of her hair when she remembered that doing so would dislodge the wig from her head, breaking the 4th wall.
The peasants backed even farther away from Bob and Elizabeth. Some even had to stand on the walls. Bob appeared to be thinking very hard. Sweat dripped down his nose. Mud filled his ears. Cats danced on his toes. Then he looked at Elizabeth. "I will tell you the truth." He paused for dramatic emphasis. His mouth began to form the vowels and/or consonants that he would be forming with his teeth and tongue. He opened his mouth...and there was silence. He stood for a whole minute, like a statue, not moving at all, then finally he closed his eyes. He opened them slowly. They were completely black. "Hello," he said in an American accent, "My name is Bob."
(OP: Nate, February 7 2007)
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