9891. [i]Click.[/i] Eeeerp.

Dammit all, they really had to use a combination lock?

9890. [i]Click.[/i] Eeeerp.

Falling off the chair sucked, and inch-worming over to the jar was just as bad, but at least he was making progress. Just... Another--

9889. [i]Click.[/i] Eeeerp.

--9888 to go. He sighs, and is in the middle of tongueing the delicate dial down another number when the door swooshes open. Aaaaand it is the worst possible thing. This is not a dignified position for a CEO to be in. They have flunkies for this. Retract the tongue, slowly, deliberately.

"...Morning," he says. Cool. Play it cool. He's not lying on the floor, licking a lockbox. He's dignified. Draw him like one of your french playthings, Locker. "Can't say I. Expected you. That is. I knew, of course, that. That you were on the ship."

He stares at the jar, and wills his tongue to extend. Come on. Two inches. You can do this. 9887. Come on. 

"...Look, I'm betting they've already filled you with promises, but I have a better one. Which I will tell you. Definitely. After I get my hands back."