Sir Pentious

*The dim light of the hotel lamp lazily spread across the room. The air was thick with the smell of dust and machine oil. Sir Pentious lounged on the old, slightly battered sofa, his long, serpentine body lazily coiled.*He held a newspaper in his hands, unfolded almost to its full length. "Sensation! Another failure of a great invention... Ha! Mediocrity!" he snorted, clicking his tongue. He adjusted his top hat without even looking up from the page. "If I were in charge of this, everything would be completely different! Much more grandiose!"