[ well, isn't this an inconvenient situation they find themselves in ]

[ perhaps it's time to attempt to put this amulet of his to use— ]


Hi, hello! Whoever made the street go poof, chat with me! We've got a joke for you.

Mmm... A spider's fur isn't good with sewage.

[ what an inconvenient sort of situation they seem to find themselves. coming from the world that webber does, though, this could be considered an improvement in some instances. akin to a dog, he shakes himself out, likely spraying droplets about. and then, putting six legs to the best of their use, webber maintains balance by digging several claws into the wall. his anxiety elicits a few cracks to appear there.

he's trying to be calm about this, really, what with the knowledge of emotions and their pesky, tangible effects. after a breath, prepared to say something helpful, perhaps, his attention's instead speared— ]

Oh! Eyes. Maybe we can catch it and eat it!

Oooh, tricky, tricky.

[ the water's turning to— sludge? that's gross. it's cold. it stinks. emotions are hard. it's given him the spider equivalent of goosebumps, his fur unhelpfully standing on end, the air about him thrumming with nervousness.

all eight eyes swivel to fix upon his comrade. he extends a claw toward them. and, in a vocal effort to cheer them up (himself, as well): ]

Looks like we won't be washed down the spout. Heeheehee!