<strong>Throckbottle ~ Four letter words</strong><br/><br/>There were things that should not happen. This was one of them. These slaves were his charge. It would not be smart to allow this incident to in any way involved them or him especially with Mad Woody Cleaver stepping off into a puddle of insanity.<br/><br/>Throckbottle tightened his grip on the slut’s collars as they gobbled surprise meat. The wrestling match and dog pile only a few feet away. The sprinkler buzzing gaily over head so that his gel styled quaff now lay plastered to his forehead. He’d spent a good hour on it this morning, damn them.<br/><br/>Reinforcement would be along soon enough.  It was time to call it a day and head back to the dance studio. He gave them both a good shake as he hissed instructions.<br/><br/>“This never happened and to prove it we’re going straight away to the dance studio and continue your lessons.”<br/><br/>He jerked them around and had them along the wall as he aimed them toward the equipment lift and the back way. No one would even remember much about the incident by tomorrow. He pressed them solidly against the wall as a group of medical, three security and one fire man raced past them.<br/><br/>“Quick march!” Throckbottle hissed threateningly in a way that inferred he meant to do more than was possible with a paper bag if they gave him the least bit of trouble.<br/>