72. Mischief Managed
He doesn't have much time. He'll have to work fast. Grab the bottle. One second to unscrew the lid, five to remove the seal. The next bottle takes a second and a half to open, but no seal this time. Ten seconds to dump and rinse the contents down the drain. Twenty to empty the first bottle into the second. A swipe of a sponge to clean up the evidence eats up another six seconds. Two seconds to make certain everything's back in it's proper place. Then the empty bottle's snug in his pocket and he's casually sauntering back to the front of the office. Forty-five and a half seconds total, which means he finished with about fifteen to spare.
He picks up a magazine and pretends to be engrossed in an article about mani/pedis, which isn't hard because proper cuticle care is very serious business, while listening for any sounds from the kitchen. After about eighteen seconds, he hears his partner shuffle in. Water runs, a spoon clinks against the sides of a bowl, and the microwave runs for a few minutes. After the microwave dings, there's the sound of a cabinet door opening and a faint rustle like something powdery being poured.
He starts to grin, his feet already moving, when he hears the loud gag.
"Shawn!" Even Gus' loudest angry voice sounds muffled from the cold that's knocked the Super Smeller out of commission. "You want to tell me why I'm eating paprika on my oatmeal instead of cinnamon?"
As he slips out the front door, Shawn indulges in a little evil cackling.
Kristin: The sensory deprivation continues. Bwahaha. I don't know why I'm so mean to poor Gus. I never intend to be. Something about him just makes it too easy.
18/100