Good evening, Every Bunny,
Charlie grabbed her pencil, straightened out the sheet of paper with this very post on it, and threw a suspicious look at her hoomin. "This is going to be easy-peasy, right, hoomin?" asked Charlie rhetorically, with a hint of hope. The hoomin nodded silently, staring at the floor, holding his paws behind his back and fidgeting.
Charlie focused on the paper and started muttering as she guided her eyes across the page with the pencil, "If this goes well, you might get your decaf privileges. Maybe even some Sweet’n Low. Weather ... that's good ... yes ... OK ... salaaaaad, yes ..." Suddenly, she looked up at the hoomin and jabbed him with a non-sequitur, "The wheatgrass, it's getting stale. I suggest you get a new bag."
She went back to "proofreading" raising her eyebrow here and there, and shaking her head when she had to "improve" something. Her eraser had no mercy, and every time she used it, she would look up at the hoomin, causing beads of cold sweat to appear on his forehead. "At this rate, she'll cut my water in half!" feared the biped. When Charlie got to the end, she sat up and smiled at the hoomin, "You'll get your decaf privileges, but you're not ready for Sweet’n Low."
The hoomin tried to show no emotions. "Would you like some sugar with your decaf, hoomin? Would you?" asked Charlie. The hoomin winced.
"You can have the sugar tonight, hoomin," teased Charlie. She looked straight at him and, after what felt like an eternity, said, "You can have sugar, but tell me, what did you do with the other two thousand words? Where are they?"
Good night, and good luck,