~fingers~
"Do you think?" Orsino wondered aloud, slowly turning his head to look over his shoulder at the crate. It sat there, mocking them with its atrocious orange color.
He looked back to Penny, raising an eyebrow. Or trying to. Snickering again, he pointed at the crate. "I think it's more our fault than the crate's..."
Suddenly he stood, perhaps a bit too quickly, because he stumbled into the couch before righting himself. Orsino knew this feeling. He was still aware of himself and what was going on around him, but he felt oddly ambivalent about it all. Anything could happen, and he would probably just smile and sit there.
"You know..." he said, bouncing a bit on his heels. "You should probably stand on it anyway, teach it a lesson. Crates who drink whisky get stood on."
Weren't they supposed to hug, or something? He'd been here for...how long...and he was pretty sure all they'd done was eaten spam sandwiches and gone through another round of Penny's informal interrogation game. And gone through too much of the Ogden's. Time to get down to business.