He couldn't quite remember what innocent people did with their hands. Did they fold them? He put his on his hips. No, underneath his chin. Innocent people who didn’t cheat at sword fighting tournaments definitely had chins.
The swordsperson leapt to her feet. Her face was like thunder. Particularly in the way it made Cuthbert deeply uncomfortable and wish his childhood dog was nearby.
Cuthbert grinned at her. 'If you're impressed with what I can do with butter, you should see some of my macaroni bracelets,' he said because if reading Success: What Is It and How to Get the Thing It Is Once You Know had taught him one thing, it was: you could never sell yourself too much at a business meeting.
It had also taught him the importance of having a pithy name, which was why he decided to shorten his to Cuthbert Tattersall, from Cuthbert Wulfric Alexander Milliken-McGoldrick Tattersall the third. Well, that and to answer personal ads more cheaply.
Cuthbert leaned against a pillar, whistling as innocuously and as what-me-cheating-right-now-in-the-open-in-front-of-all-these-witnesses-of-course-not as he could.
Cuthbert clenched his hands into fists. Mostly to stop the temptation of wrapping them around the man with a clipboard's neck. 'But since I don't have a sword,' he said, very reasonably, 'couldn't I just go in? It would be the same as having a sword and handing it in, since the end result is still me going in without a sword.' He tried to smile. His eye twitched.
The man looked down at his clipboard. He hmmed. 'I don't know about that,' he said, shaking his head. 'It's quite clear here that I can't let you in without you having handed in your sword. I think we'd better just stick to the rules on this one.'
