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“I’m sorry, did you just call Altaïr a twink?” One would think that a bomb had gone off with how silent the hideout becomes. “Nonono, Rebecca, answer for your sins!” Somewhere in the distance, Desmond can hear something that sounds oddly like a glass shattering against the stone floor of the cave. Probably Bill. Hopefully Bill. Bill doesn’t deserve nice things.
But that’s not the point. The point is Rebecca sitting at her little desk, cackling like a madwoman. “I-I’m just saying!” She laughs. “He-he’s built like a twink! Have you seen him?!” Rebecca questions, trying to get her breathing under control.
Oh you’ve got to be kidding. “Yes, Rebecca, I have. You know, every single time I look in the mirror, Rebecca. Because of the genetic baseball bat I got hit with, Rebecca.” Okay, so maybe Desmond is a little cranky, but he’s spent all day running around during the American Revolution, cut him some slack.
“Please, he’s at the very least a twunk.”
“…Shaun, I will put oregano in your tea leaves, do not think for a
moment
I won’t.”