[Kimblee is still shaking, the laughter ripping its way through his body in waves; his head is bowed a bit, his hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides. For the time being, the shrieking has stopped; just the same, he still doesn't seem to be able to control himself. Perhaps he isn't trying.
However much his control may be suffering right now, however...somehow, miraculously, his hearing is not. He doesn't turn around at the sound of that voice behind him, though he does straighten up a bit; from what he's been able to work out about the man behind him, Armstrong is the sort that will at least do him the courtesy of stabbing him in the front.]
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However much his control may be suffering right now, however...somehow, miraculously, his hearing is not. He doesn't turn around at the sound of that voice behind him, though he does straighten up a bit; from what he's been able to work out about the man behind him, Armstrong is the sort that will at least do him the courtesy of stabbing him in the front.]
...Major Armstrong.
[His voice is shaking almost as badly as he is.]
To what do I owe the pleasure?