Early morning light began to sneak in through cracks between the curtains of Plasterbrain's room.
"Monado Spoon!", Shulk whispered at the top of his lungs, his trusty sword™ lying discarded in a pile among their duds.
Outside, hallway monitor Falcon struggled internally between hanky-panky prevention duty and empathetic approval.
Marth's application for switching rooms with Kirby (no ears, you see) did not survive the bureaucracy.
PlasterShulk lived too happily ever after to care about their all-out kitchen ban.