Day 20 - Camp

"Come on, chum, that's no way to do it. You've really gotta sell it! Strut your stuff!"

Strut? Like a peacock struts? Of course there's no choicer candidate: Groose puffs out his chest a third time, boisterously flourishes his cape, and drives proudest thumb's pad straight into his brooched sternum, all while making prodigious gesticulatory use of his mohawk's crest.

"Now that's more like it! See, it's about the thrill of the thing - two kids, outcasts from their hometowns, living life our way and loving it!"

"Hey, now." Groose frowns, somehow still smug. "I walked out on my own terms."