[L isn't actually looking at his watch when the SQUIP sends the message, nor is it even on his person. He's sitting cross-legged on the floor when the SQUIP storms in, doing something resembling a sloppy job of folding their laundry, only he's taking an interesting approach to his own socks. A pair of scissors in hand, he's cutting them neatly down the center, making them absolutely unwearable and tossing them aside when he's done.
Socks have a lot of uses. They reduce foot odor and absorb sweat. They make wearing shoes more comfortable. They are expected with certain socially acceptable professional ensembles. L despises them utterly, and unfocused eyes swerve toward the door, the blades of the scissors coming dangerously close to his fingertips.]
I said, I told you...
[He raises a finger, and it wavers mid-air, emphasizing his slurred point.]
<LindenTailor>
Socks have a lot of uses. They reduce foot odor and absorb sweat. They make wearing shoes more comfortable. They are expected with certain socially acceptable professional ensembles. L despises them utterly, and unfocused eyes swerve toward the door, the blades of the scissors coming dangerously close to his fingertips.]
I said, I told you...
[He raises a finger, and it wavers mid-air, emphasizing his slurred point.]
If you're taking the night off, so am I.