“…. My what place, it’s just that I got a call from a civilian that
a Daemon was in her apartment. So … wait why can you talk? most
daemons can’t even comprehend human languages?“ He squinted and changed
his aim to a non vital spot  and would fire if the guy took too long to
respond because from his point of view he was the enemy right now and he
was burglarizing some lady’s house.

“…Daemon…?” he echoed. That was a new one. He wouldn’t question it though; not with the gun still pointed at him. Even if, as a Toon, he wouldn’t die, it would still smart. “N-no, I’m just a blob of ink.”

He backed up, a little offended at the notion he shouldn’t be able to talk.

“Hey,” he said, “just because I’m a ‘30s Toon, that doesn’t mean I don’t know my languages! Why can I talk? I was written to understand English–” He took a moment to slap a piece of tape on that tiny break in the Wall “–and I picked up on a few other languages the same way anyone else would!”

He suddenly remembered his place in this situation, and put his hands back up.

“…Anyway, I should be out in a minute or two. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother anyone, but I simply have to fix the Wall.”

He started sweating. He figured he wouldn’t be left alone in this apartment, but he hoped at least he’d be allowed to leave in peace.