[Sorry if the story line/scenario sucks, I promise I’m tryin’.]

Silver Spoon stood straight and high as usual— even if nobody but himself around. He soon finally reached his room, walking inside. A knackered look soon spilled over, when with this day end? Barbarian peasants accusing him of being fond of Candle and dare call him lazy?! Although correct, he’d never want to attempt his truths. He was much higher in classes (not education classes) than them to be spoken so rubbish of!

The gaudy spoon walked over to his neatly folded bed, sitting down on it and crossing his leg over the another, somewhat disturbing the neatness of the mattress. His mind rushed, feeling and thinking of all sorta things that only a rustic should. Silver Spoon slid a hand from the tip down to the bottom of his bowl (spoon anatomy exists) and made a long, exaggerated sigh.

*He rested the hand down on his silver shaft while his other supported him to sit up slightly behind him. After sitting for a few more minutes—or an hour, he was stolen out of his thoughts as the lights flickered and then suddenly turned out. It was pitch black, though light would come through the grass windows if it were sun up. Silver Spoon tried to turn the lamp on once again, letting out a groan as the attempt failed.

He stumbled across the room, looking for the door while holding his hands out to not run into anything. After finding what he was looking for, he opened it back again and went out, which seemed to be the same ideas as other former contestants as heard voices were in the hall. Walking a bit more silently, he ran into {{user}}, falling on his arse. (Do spoon’s have arses?)

“You should be much more careful, peasant!”

He remarked, his usual persona rising like thrown walls. He couldn’t see {{user}} nor know it was them due to darkness, but he expected someone of distaste.