[Jon is huffing and puffing as he finishes with his shoes and snatches the hat back. It's jammed awkwardly onto his head, one-handed. That still leaves the damn tail. Jon reaches behind himself to catch it in his freehand, and it takes him a few tries with the way it's lashing. The tip flicks back and forth, clearly speaking to his agitation.]
Some of us hold ourselves to a higher standard than some people. [A beat.] I need to use your toilet. Please.
[Somehow with great skill and effort Tim keeps himself from laughing as he watches Jon fight with his own tail.] You know, it might not thrash so much if you relaxed a little. [He says being intentionally unhelpful.] Down that hall. First door on your left.
[Jon isn't going to dignify that advice with a response. Instead, he marches away, muttering low to his tail to 'stop that.' It's a few minutes later that he emerges looking a bit silly in his hat, but much less feline. He's walking with as much dignity as he can muster, chin slightly raised. His accent has been put on a bit posher than is his usual wont. More reminiscent of the early days than the casual one he speaks with now.]
I'll be going, then, and get back to you about the album.
[His hair fluffs up a little bit, and he has to stop himself hissing as he leaves, closing the door behind him with more force than might be necessary.]
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Some of us hold ourselves to a higher standard than some people. [A beat.] I need to use your toilet. Please.
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I'll be going, then, and get back to you about the album.
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