Panic gave way to confusion, which gave way to irritated discomfort as their situation resolved itself around Stutely. He was splayed out, cheek squashed against the coarse webbing of a net, somebody's boot digging into the small of his back. And somebody was laughing, a gasping breathless laugh that was, frankly, far too gleeful a sound for anybody who'd just been snared in a net trap, like they'd walked into a bloody children's story. Somebody shifted above him – or possibly below him, he couldn't currently be positive which way was up – and the foot jabbed deeper into his back. "Fucking watch it!" he grumbled.
Much, it was Much who was laughing with a wild hyena cackle, and for those first few moments Stutely hadn't the faintest idea what was so bloody funny. "Obviously we're in a bleedin' net, what the fuck're you hooting about?!"