[Luckily, the acrid smell is coming from the pastry crumbs still stuck to the end of the fork, though the reddening burn on her hand is probably matched by the one on the ball of her foot, where the current exited. Rita tries to shake her hand out, grimacing at the tingling, but her focus is rapidly returning after the intial shock (both literal and figurative).]
R...Rita. My brain wasn't--scrambled, you know.
[She squints an accusing glare towards the electrical outlet, like it's the thing at fault and not her for messing with it. Who puts something like that right there where people are eating?!]
no subject
R...Rita. My brain wasn't--scrambled, you know.
[She squints an accusing glare towards the electrical outlet, like it's the thing at fault and not her for messing with it. Who puts something like that right there where people are eating?!]