It had been a breeze skipping out on 401. Well... not so much skipping out as keeping well beyond the awareness of others. There had been considerable creeping and crawling involved in getting there before the period began. Then the wedging of his body within the cramped dungeon closet, the door of which had felt as though it would betray him (like a filthy little snitch) at any given moment. Of course, it hadn't. Froth had gotten a private back-row seat to Mr. Minopolinoski blowing every single one of his gaskets at once in the space of what must have been ten minutes. Which was moderately entertaining, he'd admit.<br/><br/>But then... class dismissed. What a let down that had been. All that trouble to indulge in these itchy voyeuristic tendencies and it didn't even go ahead. Really, what was the point of sex education if he couldn't get it going in a<i>fucking dungeon</i>of all places? All because of a virgin hole. He'd have laughed if he wasn't so agitated.<br/><br/><i>Sod's law at every turn</i>, he'd thought bitterly upon slithering from behind the door, room vacated and no one the wiser. Still, there had been that adrenaline rush of dirtiness and the thrill of deception. How piquant the idea of being caught was though. He scolded himself for being such a tease - and a very bad boy.<br/><br/>Then proceeded to continue being those things.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">-​</div><br/>Froth tailed the human and her buddies all the way to The Fount, with nothing to lose and heaps of mischief entangling his guts. Making his heart rapidly hammer at his sternum. He took glee in the occasional suspicious look shot from passersby, breaking his stare on the trio to glare back and mean every threat one might expect such a look to communicate. But he would not break his cover. Humans were few and far between. To investigate was inevitable; an invisible rope pulled him along on adventure and he was helpless to it.<br/><br/>It was a purely academic intrigue. That is what he'd say. That is what he'd believe. For now.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">-​</div><br/>Once settled in the bar, Froth once again lurked and observed. This time with a plus-one in his hand, its straw in his mouth and his claws tapping the glass to the tolerable music. There wasn't so much conversation he could take note of from this far back and with other noise filtering out voices, but he read body language just fine. Or could. As the cocktails added up there came more difficulty in discerning what he was and wasn't capable of.<br/><br/>Karaoke was probably high on the list of things this affected.