The door to the supply closet swung open. A tall, stern-looking fairy in crisp, grey robes stood there, its face a mask of pure, bureaucratic disapproval. Beyond it, the soft, rhythmic scratching of a thousand quills had stopped. Hundreds of tiny, bored fairy eyes were now all staring in their direction, a silent, collective judgment that made Pip's skin crawl.
The team froze. Pip, who had been celebrating his discovery of illegal stationery, now looked like he was about to be filed away under "miscellaneous cautionary tales."
Gilda's hand tightened on her axe. Zazu just looked weary, as if the universe had a personal vendetta against his peace and quiet.
The administrator's cold gaze swept over the scene, taking in the scattered metal stamps on the floor, the half-eaten, form-free crackers clutched in their hands, and finally, lingering on Sir Crumplebuns, who was trying his best to look both innocent and heroic at the same time.
